Put your hands behind your head.”
“Yes, master.” Marga hesitated and then put her hands behind her neck, intertwining her fingers. “Soldiers,” Hamilton explained, “Janissaries. Suddenly a realization came over him. She was dressed as a sex slave: a light wrap around her hips and a short jacket that could not be closed. You will apply them, Nasira.” He cut away more of her gown, exposing the front and back of her torso. He held her tightly and kissed her, his right leg sliding between her thighs. Hamilton moaned slightly as he came, and then almost at once stepped back. The new slave stepped closer to Hamilton and looked up, her eyes a grey color. “I thought I could do good works. He wore a dark blue Ottoman uniform with five stiff feathers in his turban. “Ah… She shifted her head back and forth, with low moans, a slight action, but one which pushed him. I thought… yes,” she stared fearfully at Nasira, “yes master.”
Nasira pulled harder. “Van Schoonhoven and Ghanashyam have returned,” Nasira reported happily.
