Voyage of the Crimean Slaver Pt. 01

January 1800, Istanbul

"Six," she said.

"Six?" He sat on the wide window sill two stories up and looked out across the courtyard. It was a cold morning and only a handful of servants and guards were about; a group of women carrying laundry from the barracks, a groom slowly walking a horse, a pair of French mercenaries -- exiled Royalists -- around a small fire as nearby, a pair of Turkish guards -- former sailors -- bargained with a traveling yogurt seller.

"Yes, I took that little Greek down to the quay to be sold."

"Andrea? Yes. Good." He thought of the lithe, dark haired young woman but only for a moment. There was a sharp crack and a yell from across the compound. The tile setter had been taking bundles into the mansion. Apparently someone had slipped. Not for the first time he was glad his living quarters were in the older building she insisted on calling the kuatuphanesii. He had almost learned to pronounce 'Tesamayageri,' the name of the compound in Turkish, but that was about as far as he wanted to go. He called his home the library. "Six? I have more sex slaves than that."

"You own seven pleasure slaves, master, if you count me." She laughed.

"I always count you Nasira," said Edward Hamilton with a broad smile. Hamilton was a Lieutenant of the Royal Navy, at least he hoped he still was. He had been in Istanbul now for almost five months following the success of his last mission. There was little excuse for delay, and he should have found passage back to Gibraltor. Instead had sent letters to the Admiralty knowing it could take weeks for a reply.

"You have also used a few of the domestics," Nasira bint Evranaki said as she stretched out on the layered carpet. "Maybe that has confused you."

"They're also my slaves." Hamilton paused. He shrugged.

Nasira laughed. She had it explained it too many times to repeat it. In the Ottoman Empire there were many types of slaves, from the ones who were property subject to the whims of their owner, to those who ran businesses and merely had to repaid a fixed sum to become free. Hamilton had given up trying to keep track of the official status of the pretty women who worked in the Tesamayageri compound.

"Do you require more slaves, master?"

Hamilton looked down at Nasira, his slave and his love. She wore only a thin silken wrap around her hips; the winter chill from the open window giving her skin a reddish tint and very erect nipples. Hamilton, wearing only a light trousers and a kaftan, suddenly felt the cold himself. He stepped down from the window and closed the window and wooden shutters. Nasira rolled to her back and put out her arms as he moved down next to her on the soft layered carpets. He held her tightly and kissed her, his right leg sliding between her thighs.

"Oh, I might have enough for now," he said playfully, a moment later, as his fingers traveled slowly over her breasts.

The door opened before Nasira could answer. A young woman stepped inside with a small brazier to replace the one in the center of the room. She was dressed as a sex slave: a light wrap around her hips and a short jacket that could not be closed.

"Is that Galina?" Hamilton asked Nasira.

"This is Aysu," Nasira replied. The slave, a dark haired beauty from the mountains of Anatolia, heard her name and set down the cooled brazier. She dropped to her knees.

"It was much easier when they spoke English," Hamilton said idly, his hand still exploring Nasira's body as he watched the other slave.

"You should make sail with the Tigress to hunt for such slaves."

Hamilton smiled. He had commanded the brig-sloop Tigress under secret orders from the Foreign Office. There was a very good reason they were secret. Hamilton had been directed to take Katherine Abington, the Viscountess Dunsbrooke, to Istanbul where she would enter the Imperial Harem as a secret gift of the English government. The gift of such a beautiful woman, it was thought, would help insure that the Sultan did not align with France in the great war that raged across Europe. Hamilton had been skeptical of the efficacy of such diplomacy, but he obeyed his orders. In the end it hardly mattered, the political reasons for this gesture had evaporated. Had the French army in Egypt continued its drive north it might have frightened the Sublime Porte enough to come to terms with the enemy. But the French had been stopped in Syria and their young general Bonaparte had returned to France. The French remained along the Nile, but without a direct threat to Istanbul there was little reason to believe the Ottomans would renew their historic ties to France.

"Edward," Nasira whispered, "I think you are worrying again."

Hamilton smiled. He kissed his love and held her close. He had successfully completed the mission given to him by the Admiralty and secret departments of the Foreign Office. He had delivered Katherine Abington to the Sultan's Imperial Harem and in the process had defeated and killed the Irish renegade and Corsair captain, Mor Cuanaich. That had been five months ago. It was becoming time to return to England.

Nasira spread her legs and guided his hand to her pussy. "Think only of this, master." Then she looked at Asyu. "Or would you prefer to use that slave?"

Hamilton glanced over to Aysu for a moment. "I don't have to choose."

"As you wish, my master."

He took his hand off Nasira just long enough to indicate to Aysu that she should take off her jacket and reveal her smooth breasts, not large, but deliciously shaped.

"Yes master," Aysu said with a heavy accent, speaking the words slowly and phonetically.

"I freely admit the life of a Corsair raider does have its appeals," said Hamilton as he motioned the beautiful slave Asyu closer.

Hamilton pointed to Asyu and then to Nasira's left breast. The slave nodded and leaned down, her tongue out and sliding over Nasira's erect nipple. Hamilton watched for a moment and then moved to lick and suck on the other nipple. He reached down to pull on the slave wrap around Nasira's hips. She lifted her ass just enough, and it slipped off, leaving her naked as both of her breasts were teased.

Hamilton propped himself up and on his elbows and watched as Nasira began to writhe under the expert touch of the Anatolian slave. Aysu was a beautiful woman and he couldn't help but reach out and touch her breasts, hanging down under her body as she kissed Nasira's nipples. But Hamilton soon had his hand caressing Nasira's thighs. Yes, other women were beautiful, and objectively he knew that some of those women were more beautiful than Nasira. And yet... and yet... there was something about his love that was more, much more than could possibly exist in any other woman. There were so many things; the soft curve of her waist to her hips, the smoothness of her inner thighs, the way she moved her head when he kissed her neck, the motion of her breasts when she straddled him and slid his cock inside her, the subtle streaks of red in her long black hair, the sweet taste of her pussy. Hamilton gently pushed Asyu aside and leaned down, his chest against Nasira's breast and his arms wrapped tightly around her. He rolled her to her side as his lips pressed against her as he kissed her, his slave, his love, his Nasira.

Nasira looked at Asyu. "I want to tie her up."

Hamilton glanced at Aysu for a moment, and then said to Nasira, "so you're giving the orders now?"

"Might I bind this slave for your pleasure, my master," Nasira said, her voice trembling with submission.

"Yes. Do that," replied Hamilton as he rolled to the side. He stood up and began to take off his clothes.

Nasira spoke to Aysu in Turkish. The slave's eyes widened in fear but she nodded. Standing up she walked to a small ornate chest and pulled out several lengths of silken rope. She fell to her knees before Nasira and held them up. Nasira took a long loop and moved behind the slave. Nasira whispered something in her ear as she pulled the slave's arms back and tied the rope around her wrists, yanking hard and then slipping the other end through an iron ring bolted to a ceiling beam. Aysu, her arms now pulled back tightly into a painful strappado struggled to her feet. Nasira slapped her ass hard and pushed her down.

"I told her to stay on her knees, master."

Hamilton put his hand on Aysu's face. Now naked, his cock was hard and ready. Aysu nodded and opened her mouth, clearly expecting to suck his shaft. But instead his hands moved down over her breasts, and his fingers teased her nipples. "Bring over the nipple chain."

Aysu didn't understand English but she seemed to sense what he had said. She turned her head around and saw Nasira pull out a thin golden chain from the small chest. Aysu began to shake her head and say, "hayir, hayir." No, no. Hamilton took the chain from Nasira. At each end was a small clamp that fit nicely over the erect nipples of the Anatolian sex slave, linking them with a thin golden chain.

Aysu let her head fall as she grimaced from the pain in her arms and along the nipples. Nasira took additional lengths of rope, wrapping one around the slave's thigh and the other around an ankle. She brought it close so that Aysu's leg was bent, calf against thigh, and then did the same with the other leg.

Hamilton pulled lightly on the nipple chain and Aysu groaned. She was now balancing on her knees, her ankles pressed to her thighs, and with her arms stretched back behind her, bound to a ceiling ring. "Very good, Nasira. Now, I want you to come over here."

"Yes, my master."

Hamilton sat down in front of the bound Aysu and had Nasira lie on her back. "I want you to slide under and lick her cunt."

"Yes, master." Nasira tilted her head up to look at Aysu and told her what was happening in Turkish. Then Nasira slipped her body under that of the bound slave. She put her arms around her bound legs and the brought her head up just enough for her tongue to find Aysu's slit. The bound slave groaned again, a mix of pleasure and pain, as her legs were pressed apart.

Hamilton stayed on his knees as he lifted Nasira's ass up. He spread her legs, balancing her ass on his own legs as his cock slipped into her wet cunt. Nasira, on her back, was now being bent upwards on both ends, as she leaned up to lick deeper into Aysu's pussy while Hamilton held her hips up as he began to fuck her harder. Hamilton did not waste time, he pounded Nasira as she wrapped her thighs tightly around him. Nasira began to grind her hips into him and finally gave up trying to lick Aysu's cunt; she laid under the slave as his cock was moved rapidly in and out of her wet pussy.

Hamilton moaned slightly as he came, and then almost at once stepped back. Nasira slid out from under Aysu and smoothly opened her mouth to take his cock, licking and cleaning as she knew was her duty as his pleasure slave.

Hamilton lay back on the carpeted floor, holding Nasira. "You see, I could never forget you, my slave."

She looked up and him and kissed his chest lightly. "Did you forget Aysu?"

"What? Oh." Hamilton sat up. "Yes, untie her and tell her she can return to changing the braziers. Then come back here."

Hamilton lay with Nasira in his arms wishing he could stay this way forever. Inevitably something broke the spell. A loud commotion brought Hamilton to his feet. He opened the window and cracked the wooden shutter. One of the guards by the compound's western gate was signaling to his officer.

Nasira stepped to the window and opened it wide, seemingly oblivious to the cold on her naked breasts. She shouted down to one of the guards. Nasira was a slave, everyone knew that, but they also knew that she spoke with the authority of Hamilton himself. "A carriage and outriders approach from the east."

"They're back earlier than I expected," Hamilton said idly, but without much enthusiasm. Van Schoonhoven and Ghanashyam had gone to Topaki Palace, the great complex of the Sultan and much of the Imperial government on the eastern tip of the city. There were numerous details, mostly small, that needed to be settled about Tesamayageri with some of the numerous officials who lived and worked on the grounds, but that wasn't what Hamilton cared about.

Nasira saw his expression. She closed the shudders and put her hand on his cheek. "I don't care what your Admirals say, master, you do not have to leave."

"I know," said Hamilton.

"It may not be them. We should be prepared and dress appropriately."

Hamilton sighed, small groups from the local guilds, the district evcadi, and even the corbachi of the orta of the Janissary corps that were serving as the district police liked to visit Tesamayageri. He followed Nasira to their bedroom and brought out some of his more formal clothing. He first pulled on his salvar (loose fitting trousers) and began to work the many buttons of his gomlek (embroidered shirt), followed by a red zibin (Turkish style jacket), and the short Yemeni boots. Last he put on his second best kaftan which, unlike his most expensive one, was well lined for the winter chills. The result was a far cry from the breeches, silk stockings, blue jacket and cocked-hat he had worn on the quarter deck, but he had found had found Turkish dress to be quite comfortable, though he could never remember the local names for the various items of clothing. His one concession to England was that he did not wear a turban.

Nasira was always able to get dressed faster even though she has a more complex attire. She was dressed as a wealthy free woman, with a long entari coat over her loose pants and short jacket, the shalvar and chirka, and with a tall cap. She would not wear a veil unless they were returning a visit to one of the local functionaries.

There was a sharp knock on the bedroom door. "Capitaine!," cried Antoine Garnier, "a courier from the Palace of the Sultan!"

"It is an Imperial Messenger," Nasira said with some surprise.

Hamilton, relieved, followed Nasira down the stairs and outside. Garnier had gone ahead and waited in front of the library. Together they walked across the light covering of dusty snow to the stairs in front of the great house Nasira and most of the others called the buyuk konak. To Hamilton it was the mansion.

"I was expecting monsieurs Von Schoonhoven and Ghanashyam," Garnier said. Unlike Hamilton, the Frenchman and his men wore more of the usual European military attire, though only Garnier still had a tattered but serviceable jacket in Bourbon white. Despite himself, Hamilton liked Garnier. He was the last Duc de Roannais, and unlike others in the aristocracy he had fled to England not to languish but to fight. With a small company of one hundred men they had struck out on daring raids deep in revolutionary France. Six years later, with a mere two dozen comrades left, Garnier had a change of heart. The Ancien Régime was not going to return. They went east as a small but elite unit of mercenaries. A number of sailors from the Tigress joined Hamilton in Tesamayageri, but he welcomed the addition of soldiers, even if they were French.

At the gate the lead rider trotted out in front, stopping in front of the steps. He wore a dark blue Ottoman uniform with five stiff feathers in his turban. Each was an award for exceptional valor. The rest of the small squad followed, flanking the carriage.

"Peace be on you, effendi" Hamilton said in Turkish. It was one of the few phrases he knew. He added in English, "welcome to Tesam."

Nasira translated, using the full name of the compound, Tesamayageri. The officer acknowledged the greeting and handed her a sealed packet of documents. He was an officer of the Sultan's Messenger Corps and would have been well briefed.

"He brings greetings from his patron," Nasira relayed after she broke the seal.

"Who's his patron?"

"It does not say." Nasira paused to inspect the documents. "The calligraphy on the seal is distinctive. It mimics the tugra."

"What does that mean?"

"It is from the Palace, Capitaine," Garnier said.

The Ottoman officer pointed to the carriage.

"That is a gift for you, Edward," said Nasira after a pause. She looked down at the documents. "You have full rights and title."

"A fine carriage. The Sultan is very generous."

"Padishah."

"Oh? Yes. The Padishah is very generous," he said, slightly annoyed.

"You Franks should learn the correct term for the ruler of the Protected Dominion."

"Franks?" he sighed. Garnier laughed. Hamilton got the point.

"We do not know this gift is from the Padishah. I will tell him you say the patron is very generous," she answered before speaking to the officer.

The Ottoman officer nodded and then barked a command. One of the outriders leaned over in the saddle with a heavy key. He unlocked and opened the door.

A woman stepped out. She wore a long white gown, somewhat frayed along the edges, with a small bonnet struggling to contain her blonde hair. She was near panic as she looked around, her eyes swollen from crying. But she was strikingly beautiful and Hamilton could barely keep his eyes off her

"Vous êtes un homme heureux, le Capitaine," Garnier muttered.

The woman said in a pronounced American accent, "please! There must a generous man who can assist me! I am in dire need."

Nasira frowned as she noticed Hamilton's gaze, then she asked the Messenger a question. "He says there is no baggage."

Hamilton nodded as he stepped toward the American. "Have the baggage sent inside," he said absently.

Garnier laughed and Nasira muttered something. The Ottoman officer saluted smartly, and turned back to the gate. The carriage wheeled around was soon rumbling behind. Hamilton's attention finally turned from the American woman. Military officers serving in Istanbul were rarely in a hurry and it was common, and expected, that guests would stay for a cup of coffee and idle conversation while their horses were watered.

"There is no baggage, Edward," said Nasira, clearly annoyed.

"Yes. Thank you Nasira."

"You speak English!" the American woman cried out as he ran to him.

"I do." Hamilton said, after a pause, then he indicated Nasira. "She does as well."

"We should go back to the kuatuphanesii," Nasira said.

"And what manner of place is that?" the woman stopped on her tracks and asked

"I will return to my duties, Captaine," said Garnier, slowly, his eyes locked on the woman.

Hamilton clasped him on the shoulder. "You are right Antoine, I am a lucky man."

Hamilton lead the American woman inside to a side room brightly lit by wide windows. The woman stepped in and hesitated in front of a low divan, before sitting down, adjusting her dress over and over, clearly embarrassed by the mud stains and frayed hem.

Hamilton sat cross-legged on a wide pillow across from her while Nasira remained standing in the doorway, still looking through the documents.

"Oh, sir! Those men, those abhorrent men were very free with me when I was brought here. I must protest this horrid, fiendish treatment."

Hamilton said nothing, he just stared at her, blonde hair spilling from her bonnet, he worn dress clinging to her chest and hip. She was an incredible beauty.

"You are speaking with Edward Hamilton," said Nasira, though he couldn't tell if she was amused or annoyed.

"Yes and this is my, uh" Hamilton paused, "companion, Nasira. And who might you be?"

"I am Caroline Sutherland, sir. I must ask you, with great urgency for assistance. The two men with whom I was traveling -- my cousins, Mr. Hoshea Eliphelet Harkleroad and Mr. Thomas Daniel Anderson -- have been taken hostage by a band of outlaws!"

"Those outlaws are uzunbacaklar," Nasira said, flatly.

"Soldiers," Hamilton explained, "Janissaries. They serve as police in this district."

"Police! They were criminals! They beat those poor men!"