Madam Kons Daughter Ch 02

He awoke alone on the large bed beneath the huge, open window. The small bit of foliage he could see outside the window was deep green, dotted with beautiful, tiny, yellow flowers. It smelled fresh and clean and cleared his head instantly, as if coming out of a sleepy dreamworld. Beyond the foliage, he could see the light blue of the early morning sky.

The smell of fruit and honey was very rich and thick in the air. He thought it came from outside, the wonderful smells of the world drifting in to wake him up, but he found a table loaded with fruits and honey and juices and wines on a table in the same room. His mouth watered with hunger at the sight, and he realized how hungry all the activity of the night before had made him.

He got out of bed and found his clothes cleaned and pressed and lying out for him. He proceeded to dress, enjoying appreciatively the fresh smell and the crisp cleanness of his clothes. As he tasted the delicious fruit, he wondered vaguely if he would be able to see Hashma again. If he didn't, he thought, it was still unbelievably wonderful to have had the opportunity to spend a single night with her. He shall always remember her fondly and with great joy.

He checked his tie in the mirror to see that it was straight and left the room to find Madame Kon or Fatima or someone and let them know he was going to be on his way. The halls were nicely lit with early morning sunshine, but there didn't appear to be a soul in the whole house. The walls of the huge hallways echoed with his footsteps. He listened for any signs of activity, but found none. He was sure the other men who had arrived with him had to be around somewhere, but there were so many countless rooms in this house that me might spend the rest of his life trying to find them. That wouldn't be too bad, he thought amusedly, if he happened to run into Hashma somewhere along the way.

Wandering through the house brought him to a hall lined with doorways. As he passed, he heard faint voices from the other side of one of the doors. He decided to see if anyone on the other side was anyone he knew, or if they could help him. He knocked and opened the door. He stepped in, just about to speak, but was struck speechless at the sight of more than a dozen gorgeous, half-naked young women all looking at him with curiosity and amusement.

He smiled. "Hi," he said, waving.

One young woman, with jet black hair, who looked a little bit older than all the others, said, "Come in, please," and got up and walked towards him, her breasts jiggling erotically. He tore his eyes away from her breasts, with great difficulty, and put his hand in her proffered hand. Her delightfully cool fingers closed about his hand and she pulled him into the room and into the pack of young women, all giggling like embarrassed virgins.

"We're so glad you could join us," said the young woman holding his hand. "We were afraid you wouldn't have the time." She sat him down on a stool and every one of the girls closed around him, engulfing him in a tiny sea of tender, young flesh and an aroma of unsullen female excitement. It was very heady stuff.

"My name's Caledonia," she continued, stroking his thigh. His face was flushed bright red and he couldn't seem to get rid of the stupid grin on his face.

"How do you do," he muttered.

"I do very well," Caledonia said. "Some say I'm better than any they've ever had." Her hand drifted casually up his thigh and rested on his crotch, where his penis was quickly growing painfully stiff and he was finding that his pants must have shrunk from the wash because they were suddenly too tight. "I would be pleased if you were to give me your opinion, once you were completely satisfied, of course." Her delicate fingers closed around his erection and she cooed like a surprised dove.

"Of course. I would be more than happy to do my best for you." He reached for her chest and felt the weight of her beautiful breast as he closed his hand around it. Her nipple instantly stood up at attention. All around him, more than a dozen pairs of nipples grew hard simultaneously, and he found it very difficult to hold himself under control.

Caledonia was working his pants loose and he was just about to drop his head and lick her lovely, pink nipple when he heard a soft voice. They all looked up and found Fatima walking towards them, looking rather stern and upset. She was dressed in a flowing, yet casual gown that floated on the breeze behind her. The young women were all silent as she approached.

She stopped in front of him and held out her hand. "Please come with me," she said, looking into his eyes.

Caledonia spoke up in protest. "Oh, can't he stay with us, just for a little while? We won't hurt him, much." His eyebrows flickered up in surprise.

"That won't be possible," Fatima said, looking firmly at Caledonia. Caledonia said nothing further.

"I would kind of like to stay here for just a little while," he said, when Fatima looked back at him, but he did not feel any of the elation from the girls he had felt earlier, and he sensed that they knew something he did not.

Fatima said, "That won't be possible. You have been requested elsewhere."

His eyes lit up with joy at what it could be. "Is it Hashma?" he asked, hoping beyond hope that it could be the best of his dreams, but there was no reaction in Fatima's eyes to give him any indication. "It must be Madame Kon. She wants me to settle my bill, of course." He got up, put his hand in hers and let her lead him away. "I'll never be able to cover the expenses of my friends, I'm sure. I know them." He turned and waved goodbye to all the gorgeous young women he was leaving behind, and they waved back, with sad smiles on their faces. He strained for one last look at their bare breasts before Fatima let go of his hand and closed the door.

He was once again in the vast hallway lined with doors, and tiny, young Fatima stood beside him, looking sweet and demure and lovely as ever.

"Which way?" he asked. Fatima held out her hand, smiling, and waited for him. He smiled back and started off in that direction. They walked through a part of the house he didn't think could have existed. He didn't recall that it looked this large from the outside, but maybe he just wasn't paying attention. Still, this place was turning out to be more like a sprawling palace than a housing for a family of prostitutes.

"I apologize for not greeting you when you woke," Fatima said. "I was instructed to help you find your way, but I did not expect you to rise so early and begin to search through the house for me."

"There is no need for you to apologize."

"But you may have felt lost. The halls of this house can be confusing."

"Confusing it may be, but I found my way to Caledonia all on my own, and she would have taken very good care of me."

Fatima snickered. "Yes, she would have."

"I might have died in the hands of the others girls, but it would have been an exquisitely pleasurable way to die. Perhaps it is better that you rescued me, after all."

"I did not rescue you, but you did need to be saved for your own good."

They reached a door smaller than most of the other doors in the house and Fatima opened it, standing to the side to allow him to enter.

"Saved why?"

"That you will learn soon enough."

He looked at her with the incredulous disbelief that someone as innocent as Fatima could be so strong willed. He went through the door and found himself in a bath chamber tiled in deep blue and aquamarine colors. He was fascinated by how luxurious it looked, considering it was not as large as he would have expected. Fatima stepped around him and turned on the water in the bathtub, which was sunk into a raised platform with short steps leading up to its edge. The tub quickly filled with steaming water. Fatima came down the steps and approached him.

"A bath?" he said. "It would be easier for me to take a shower."

"Yes," Fatima said succinctly, and began to unbutton his shirt. He watched her for a moment, and began to unbuckle his belt, but Fatima pulled his hands away, and continued where he began.

"I'm old enough to take a bath on my own, you know." Fatima nodded, smiling, as she opened his pants and lowered them, holding them for him to step out of. His penis, which was still mostly erect, hung from below the edge of his shirt, and he was slightly embarrassed in this position before the girl, but she did not seem to be aware of his discomfort or his erection.

"Are you going to take a bath with me?" he asked.

"No," Fatima said, without looking up. He was sure she was blushing. With patient care, she picked up his pants, folded them neatly, and laid them across the top of a chest of drawers along the far wall. She helped him remove his shirt, folded it as well, and laid it on top of his pants.

"Please," she said, holding out her hand like a maitre'd, inviting him into the tub. He stood awkwardly naked in the center of the bathroom, his stiff penis hanging in front of him. It bobbed like a tree branch in a strong wind as he walked up the few shallow steps and lowered himself into the clear, warm, soothing water. A ledge was built into the tub, making a seat like a small recliner, and his legs stretched across the floor of the tub. His hard penis stood tall in his lap and just broke the surface of the water. He coughed, embarrassed, and tried to keep the uncooperative thing down.

Standing beside the tub, Fatima removed her light, flowing gown, which turned out to be less than what he had originally believed. Beneath it she wore something resembling a thong bikini, or a loin cloth and a strapless bikini top. Her dark skin and the advanced development of her body belied her true age. She looked and moved like a woman twice her age. His mouth hung open, astounded at her beauty. He caught himself staring and abruptly looked away before she turned back to him.

Fatima produced a small, dark blue terrycloth towel and a bar of green, perfumed soap, both of which she soaked in the water, and lathered up the towel. Sitting on the edge and leaning over the tub, she put the lathered, wet towel on his back and rubbed vigorously. He leaned forward slightly to afford her less difficulty. She brought the towel up his neck and washed his ears, shoulders, and around his neck. Her touch was tender and soft, as if she was washing an infant.

With a small bowl, which appeared to be made of the same material and color as the dark blue tiles on the bathroom floor, she scooped up a generous amount of warm water from the tub and poured it carefully over his back, making him shiver with delight and pleasure. His eyes were closed and he wore a slight, sleepy smile, enjoying the soothing comfort of the water and Fatima's massaging wash.

He heard a plunking sound and opened his eyes. Fatima had stepped into the tub beside him and stood over him, lathering the bar of soap in the towel. He felt like a little boy still in school as he looked up at her, even though he knew he was much older than her. She did not smile, but her face was a look of concentration and rapture, completely involved in her task.

Fatima knelt and rubbed the towel vigorously across his chest. He smiled dumbly at her, rocking side to side with her strong motions, but she was too caught up in her work to notice him. She scooped up a bowlful of water and poured it over his chest in small amounts.

She touched his shoulder to get his attention. "I am going to wash your hair," she said, looking into his eyes to ensure that he understood. "Please close your eyes and hold your breath."

He closed his eyes and waited. After a moment, he felt the first drops of water on his head, followed by the gush of warm water soaking his hair and drenching all down his face. Fatima lathered the soap in his hair and scrubbed his scalp with her fingers. She scrubbed his face with the towel and doused him again with warm water.

She got into the tub beside him again. "Please stand," she said, lathering the towel generously with soap. He stood up gingerly in the tub, very careful not to slip. His penis, which remained hard and long, was right on a level with her face, but she was not yet looking up. He looked down on her small form and felt a strong rush of desire, which made his penis ache just a little more.

She looked up, holding the soapy towel in her hands, saw him looking down at her over his hard penis, and smiled. Entranced by her beauty, he was unaware that he was staring at her, and when she smiled she broke his trance, and he shook his head. She gently held his penis and washed it and his balls. He groaned and felt his knees begin to buckle.

He pulled her to her feet and reached for her tits, squeezing them in his fingers, but she pulled away, giggling. The top of her bathing suit came away in his hands, revealing her beautiful breasts, but she made no effort to cover them up or feign modesty in his presence.

"Please," he said. "Let's make love, right here, in the water. It feels so good."

"No," she said.

"But you looked so beautiful last night when you were orgasming on top of me."

She blushed bashfully and looked away, suddenly sounding very serious. "I'm not allowed to make you cum," she said.

"Why not? What am I saving it for?"

"Have patience. You'll be satisfied soon enough."

"I won't if you're not there." Fatima looked at him, but did not respond. He sensed that she did not agree, but would have liked to be with him. She knew something and wasn't going to tell him. She stepped out of the tub and, her breasts bobbing as she walked down the steps, picked up a robe that hung on the back of the door and held it open for him to step into. He stepped out of the tub and slipped into the warm, comfortable robe. However, his penis was still painfully stiff between his legs.

Fatima led him through the double doorway at the end of the bathroom. One door was partially open, and she beckoned him to enter. He went in. The room on the other side of the doors was elegant, like a monarch's royal living quarters. The ceiling stretched almost out of sight, and the view out the windows along the far wall was enough to take his breath away.

"Do you sleep here?"

"Oh, no," she answered quickly, shaking her head. "My room is much more modest."

"Who sleeps here?"

Fatima hesitated for a moment, before answering, in a low voice, "the Princess."

"The Princess?" he said, incredulously, with a wildly bemused expression across his face. Fatima's expression remained very serious and he broke into laughter, delighting in the idea that a prostitute in a whorehouse was referred to as "Princess".

"And who is this Princess?" he asked, condescendingly, but Fatima declined to answer. "Am I to meet her, considering I am in her bedroom?"

"Yes." She turned to leave, but he grabbed her arm.

"Wait," he said. "I would by far rather make love with you than receive a royal blowjob any 'Princess' could give me."

Fatima pried his fingers off.

"You will wait," she said, and was quickly out of the room.

He sighed, frustrated and a little upset at being pushed around. Fatima was behaving very suspiciously, and he didn't care who this Princess was, he didn't want to meet her. He wanted to see Hashma again, and he wanted Fatima to be there with them, not off scurrying down the hallways like she probably did. He sat and waited.

The entire room was silent, so quiet he could almost hear his heart beating, and he was a little alarmed at how hard it pounded. He hardly realized that he was getting nervous. He looked around at the splendor on display before him. The vastness of it was difficult to gauge.

The double doors on the other side of the room opened and a woman entered, silhouetted in bright light from the next room. He wondered briefly, as the mysterious woman sauntered in, how many rooms of this house were interconnected. He could not discern the identity of the woman, but he could see her entire form through the shear, colorful, gossamer-like gown she wore. She slowly approached him, and he watched in awe, his gaze transfixed on her shape as if he was mesmerized by her presence. She stood before him, her hips undulating side to side, and he was dumfounded by her exquisite appearance. Her face was covered by a dark veil, but her beautiful eyes seemed to pierce right through him and expose his vulnerability. He seemed to appreciate this quality she possessed, if only he knew who she was.

She pulled off the veil and he was elated to see Hashma smiling back at him. She giggled as his expression changed from one of confusion and puzzlement to one of surprise and joy.

"Hashma," he said. "Where have you been?" Then something dawned on him. "Are you the Princess?" he said, rising to his feet.

In a graceful twirl, she spun away with a happy, playful laugh, and began removing her clothes. He followed her around the room, picking up each piece of clothing as she discarded it. In moments, she was completely naked, backing away from towards the bed, wearing only a mischievous grin, which she partly covered with her hand. She reached the bed and climbed on it on her back, scooting up to the head and resting on the pillows. He stopped, holding the pieces of her clothing in his hand.

She laid back on the pile of pillows, naked, smiling, her legs spread, her pussy glistening, and she motioned him toward her with a finger. Her long, slim legs were spread.

He dropped her clothes, threw off the robe and leaped onto the bed. She squealed with laughter as the bed bounced under her. He touched the soft, warm insides of her thighs. His fingers trailed up through the tangle of her dark pubic fur. He touched her pussy and his fingers became slightly wet. He raised his fingers to his lips and tasted the heavy sweetness of Hashma's sexual essence.

He moved to suck Hashma's clitoris. His cock was already stiff as he knelt over her naked body like a holy man knelt before a temple. He felt her breath on his face and shoulders. He kissed the nipples on her soft breasts first, gently nudging them with his lips and sucking them in his mouth to make them as stiff as his penis. Hashma's lips curled into a sly smile, and a soft moan passed from her mouth.

He trailed his tongue down her body, between the rising and falling mounds of her breasts, and over her belly, slowly and lightly. Her body seemed to arch up to meet the touch of his tongue as he moved down to her moist pussy.

He slipped a finger into her wet vagina and placed his lips over her small red clitoris. Gradually, she hardened and her clitoris became more deeply red, poking through the dark, kinky hairs of her pussy.

Hashma sat up, moaning appreciatively, laughing and smiling as he continued licking her cunt. She put her hands around the sides of his head and urged him to lick harder and bring her to a climax as before.

He felt her orgasm rising, felt the shuddering in her legs. Her thighs closed against his head and she arched up from the bed, the most intense phase of a long series of orgasms taking control of her body. She writhed and shouted with an animal pleasure, a feline, erotic joy he'd never known before.

Finally, her body dropped to the bed, and he thought she must be exhausted from that much exertion, but he silently prayed that she didn't roll over and go to sleep again. She touched his chin and lifted his face to look directly into her's. He looked at her curiously. She put her hand on his shoulder and tugged him up farther and he realized she wanted him to fuck her.

He crawled up the bed, sliding between her thighs until he was looking directly down into her eyes. Her hand was between their bodies, groping for the shaft of his cock. Their eyes were locked together in a gaze that could not have been broken by the explosion of a volcano. Her hand was tentative as it wrapped around his thick cock, and she was trembling all over. He felt the same nervous excitement, and his shivers gave him goosebumps.