Turkish Tea

Turkish Tea
War was afoot. Obviously, since Her Majesty, the Queen, wouldn’t have sent an army 30,00 strong along with the French if we weren’t at war. The Vizier Jaffar was quite pleased that the peace negotiation had failed, and that the British Empire would bleed for his Sultan against the Russians.  Fortunately, the Siege of Sevastopol had started out well. Just a week ago, the Russian Batteries had been crippled by the newly launched ironclad, HMS Watchman, who had destroyed several Russian batteries. The advances of the week would be celebrated tonight, and as the British liaison between Lord Raglan and Jaffar, who served a similar purpose to his commander, you were stuck talking to him. Jaffar was not your kind of man, having achieved his position by virtue of backstabbing his higher ups and being a distant relative to the Sultan at 42nd in line for the throne.
He was noisy, nosey, and never washed his hands, but there was one good quality about him: He knew how to plan a party, and he loved his raki and his women. Oh, dear LORD GOD he loved his women. You had never seen so many women in one place, besides church. And Market. Convents and at a ball once. Never so many beautiful women before. Many were of foreign lands, many were slaves, or effectively so, by owing money to someone within the royal court, or whatever. You noticed that all were veiled with silk so thin it could be seen through, just barely enough to pretend that they had a sliver of modesty. Eunuchs with large revolvers guarded the women, to make sure they were not accosted by any of the guests. These girls in particular seemed to be a mix of copper skinned Egyptians, pale Slavs, greasy Albanians, wonderful Circassians and even some Orientals, and one clearly French girl, possibly a political prisoner.
She was clearly French though, and not worth any attention
“Life is beautiful! How is the party?” Jaffar asked, waving his filthy hand to gesture. “It is, hmm, rather invigorating I should say.” Jaffar caught your cheeky comment, and told you that as a reward for helping get the Watchman launched and into battle so quickly from so far away from her drydock, that he would give you a gift. Some of his finest silks, no doubt, especially since he had so much to give away, it was basically useless to him. ‘Cheap Bastard’ you thought. “Aww, you give me too much credit, sire. I just filed the paperwork.” you said.
“Ahaha no, you are a big boy today, and you did a big boy job for us. You will like your present, tonight, yes.” Jaffar seemed to smile sickly. He was a man of practical jokes, occasionally, always in bad taste, but this crooked smile could easily be from his slurred speech from the raki. Or his mouth was always like that. It could be either.
Eventually the party winded down, and the room seemed to spin less, and bed seemed like the proper place to be. Wandering the halls, you finally make it back to your bedroom, there were oil lamps lit in your room, which was strange. The form lounging upon the pillows was stranger, but more comforting. It was silky, but not silk, smooth and pale, with a long golden wave enveloping it, and a set of purple eyes stared back. It took a small moment to realize that the gift had arrived, wrapped with turquoise of the New Mexican desert, and chains of gold strewn across her pale skin, matched only by her luxurious hair. Smokey brown pants of a sort, translucent enough to allow the sheen of her long white legs peer through, but not much else, and a large necklace from the same turquoise, almost like glass, hung from her shoulders. Around her neck was undoubtedly a collar, albeit the most beautiful one you could have imagined. All this upon a girl of not much more than 16, if that. And she was smiling at you.
Everything about this girl radiated a natural beauty not seen since perhaps Aphrodite, and she was here in your bed, in an outfit that would have been scandalous even to a roman aristocrat. Everything was fine until she said hello.
“Ummm uh” you said, diplomatically.
“I’m Karen! I’ll be your present for tonight! And forever probably!”
Bollocks. She sounded…English, in a strange way. But clearly, she was an Anglo, or at least part.
“Please don’t tell me that you are a British slave, or I’ll have to make a diplomatic incident.”
She cocked her head, unsure of the word Diplomatic, but then it quickly shook. “I’m a Nipponese! Or, half at least… My mother was a missionary to Nippon, and my father was a head of the local Zambatsu!”
She was a diplomatic incident from birth. This would have to be dealt with tentatively, with grace.
“What are you doing in my bed?”
“I’m here to serve you, Master! To... uh, make you happy?” She paused, unsure of her words. She must have been new, she hadn’t resigned to her fate, and she lacked any blemishes from more rough men than you. She might even be a virgin, which would mean you could still save her from the harem life, and return her to her parents.
” I can’t let you do that, it’d be… immoral and perverse. I have to take you away from here.”
“TO BRITAIN?” She jumped up a bit in the bed, grabbing your collar and bringing you close, and then began to thank you, by kissing you rather sloppily on the lips, thank you being said between each meeting of your mouths. “I’ve always wanted to go to Britain, maybe my mom is there! She and dad got lost on the ship here, but maybe you can help me find them!”
She was kissing you quite well now, the kissing shifting like those of a dog to that a woman would know, now more slow and deliberate, as her rant died down, small moans of “won’t you help me?” and “I need you” escaping her lips, as your blood started rushing from the scent of saffron, Lebanese cedar, west Indian lilacs, hibiscus touches of frankincense and oranges, altogether, a potent aphrodisiac.
Too potent
You try to protest, but nothing escapes, you think, maybe I’ll just give her a quick kiss- and now you are tugging at her hem and- well maybe you can spend the night with her. You begin thinking as she works her way down from you suddenly bare chest down to your belt, that maybe this girl is worth keeping secret a little while longer.