Note to readers: this chapter includes sex acts, including male-male, that some may find uncomfortable. Note this chapter's tags and skip this one if you find anything offensive.
Chapter Three
Prince Dagan came with a few of his guards to collect me, bringing along the concubine. She was a bit scared, I thought, and very young. Keep in mind that there was no such thing as a teenager back then. Once a girl went through menarche she was a woman and fair game. Remember also, they didn't live as long back then. Age limits are a Modern Age feature. Dagan was very pleased with me, even though before he'd arrived they'd covered me up with a robe I could wear in public. But they'd done my hair, which had grown to a decent length by then, added faience hair combs, earrings in the exceptional cloisonné they made back then, makeup, and of course my gold bracelet. He was drooling.
"He is younger than our princess," her servants had told me as they prepared me. They talked about how his beard was still growing in. All the men of this time had beards. He was the king's second son by his official wife. The oldest son, however, was a dissolute drunkard, addicted to girls and boys, so the king had designated Dagan as his heir.
His place was quite nice, even nicer than his sister's, and I was very gratified, both as a historian and a woman, that I could spend time in his private apartments. Cedar was rare and expensive, imported from the Cedar Mountains in Canaan, but Prince Dagan's rooms seemed to be half built from that wood. The place smelled wonderful all the time. Linen curtains, bronze hardware, gold and silver here and there. Lots of pillows. It looked like he'd had a pile brought in for lounging. And other activities, no doubt.
I could see he was excited. Not nervous, just looking really pleased with himself and anticipating a great time. He sent away all this servants and guards. I was excited too. He'd removed his leather vest and untied his long hair. I was more than ready for a man and he was very much a man. I tossed off the robe they'd put on me for the walk over, revealing my costume-- that's how I thought of it. I looked like a belly dancer, I thought, in a two-piece getup that didn't hide much, with a silver chain around my waist and copper doodads all over. I was a treat.
I dropped to my knees before him. I'd been given a prepared speech: "Your Highness, the princess Sherua, your loving sister, has offered this slave to you for your pleasure and has directed that I should do whatever pleases you and whatever I can think of--" I added that last part myself-- "to make you as happy as a man can be. Your sister wants this Moon festival to be the best you've ever had." I lowered my eyes and waited for him to give me his first order.
I'd spied his loincloth under the short leather kilt he wore. I was expecting, also hoping, that his first command would involve my handling its contents and soon I would get to touch princely flesh.
"Stand," he ordered instead. "You are a vision. Dance."
Now, I have many skills, but art has never been an emphasis, especially dance. My abdomen is, as you know, more of a six pack than a belly, so belly dancing was out. But his wide eyes and open jaw told me he didn't mind. I had to think fast. I remembered from my preparation that we have a self-defense system I was taught, and one part is a series of movements like you see in martial arts training. So I did those moves.
He laughed. "I'm sorry, Your Highness, please forgive me, I was not trained--"
He waved me silent. "These--" he gestured to my skimpy clothing-- "are very nice. Tell my sister I was very pleased with the presentation of her gift."
"Thank you, your highness. I will do that."
"Take them off."
I couldn't keep the grin off my face and of course he saw it. In seconds I was standing naked before him. He definitely was pleased with his sister's gift. I know that men of your age, many of them, like big tits and blonde hair. If that's a guy's thing then I'm not it. But if I'm your type, well, I'm exquisite. I know that. I just stood before him and let him drink me in.
"You are a vision of Ishtar," he said after a long time of just staring. He undid a belt and tossed away the short sword he still carried. I realized that he had a non-sexual reason he wanted me to disrobe. He trusted his sister, but he was an important and powerful leader; and I was a stranger. It would be all too easy to slip a small dagger into even the skimpy clothes I'd been wearing. He was smart and careful.
I knelt back down before him, very close. I tilted my head back so he could look at my face. I know I have a very attractive face, and the girls had applied elaborate makeup around my eyes in the current style and some kind of reddish ochre coloring to my lips. So there was my pretty face with my pretty mouth only a handspan from the royal organ, ready and willing to make the prince as happy as a prince could be.
Sherua's servants had also told me everything they'd heard about the prince, especially from his concubines' servants, who of course knew their mistresses' complaints. Prince Dagan was tired of his three concubines. All virgins before joining his household, of course, so inexperienced. Men of all times can be quite stupid, wanting a virgin instead of a woman that knows how to please a man. The concubines' complaints all ran in the same vein: he wanted them to do new things, many of which they considered perversions-- they were foreigners, diplomatic gifts from vassal states, mostly with very conservative sexual mores. And Dagan wasn't very interested in impregnating them, which was all they, and their families, were focused on.
Well, one man's goose is another man's poison, is that how it goes? Whatever. I put my hands up toward his thighs, not touching but ready. That leather skirt only came about halfway down them. It was a giant no-no to touch the royal person unless invited. He just watched me as I very slowly, very, very slowly put my hands to his bare skin. Technically, he could have had me executed right then for my transgression. We both knew it, and it really turned me on, I have to admit. I repeated, "Please let me make you as happy as you can be." I slid my hands up under the leather. "As happy as a prince deserves to be."
I moved my hands up further and found the cloth under his skirt. Loincloths, I'd noticed, required constant adjustment. The growing princely rod had made a mess of that and had already escaped the wrap. "I am your slave," I said. I may have said that to a man in the past-- have I ever said that to you? But it's different when you really are someone's slave. It was an incomparably thrilling moment. Shivers raced up and down my spine. My pussy gushed like a faucet. This man, whose stiff cock I was running my finger along, could, any time he wanted, do anything he wanted with me. He could tie me up and rape me. He could piss on me. He could have me whipped, he could brand me, he could throw me in a lion's cage, he could torture and kill me in a dozen ways. It was a unique kind of mental resonance, that the exact acts that would best preserve my life and well-being were exactly the acts I wanted to perform most. And I also realized: this is why I did it all, this is why I went through the effort, pain, and discomfort of preparation for superposition. For moments like this when I truly feel alive.
The leather wrap had a gap, like a kilt does, through which I pulled out his cock. This was the first cock I'd seen since my arrival, at least the first erect one. I was really pleased to see that he was circumcised. It's an ancient practice, so I knew it was possible. "My Lord," I said-- I was mistakenly following the familiar grammatical form that the princess used when she addressed him, and which, I didn't realize it at the time, a slave should never, ever use-- "may I have the honor of making you the happiest man in the world?"
He made the slightest nod.
The first taste of his cock was so delicious. Salty but clean, with the smell of leather and oiled skin-- they liked to oil themselves back then. It was a very dry climate. I lost it a bit then, my first cock in way too long, and went out of character, just enjoyed eating some male flesh.
"Ah! Ah!" He had to push me off and collapsed back onto a divan. I'd almost made him come. His concubines also complained, the girls had told me, that he took too long, screwing them in different positions, trying to make them do obscene things for him, on and on, before he would let them make him come. Always in their precious, unskilled pussies.
"I'm so sorry, my Lord, so sorry!" I put my head down to the floor. "Forgive me, please! I just-- I just--" I was truly scared. The sword was lying nearby where he'd tossed it on the floor, and he could have just sliced my throat or cut my head off, no problem.
But nothing happened to my head. I lifted my eyes up and he was staring at me as he half-lounged on the pillows, where he'd half-fallen. His cock was still poking out of his skirt, straight up. "I don't know what came over me. Your--" I realized I'd never learned the ancient Akkadian word for 'cock'-- that word doesn't show up on government documents-- so I had to improvise. "Your handsome staff overcame my self-control." I crawled to him and slowly moved my head toward his cock, looking in his eyes to try to read him.
"You are the goddess, as they whisper, aren't you?"
