Submission
In submission, Snama felt her number one gift to give was trust.
Flying across the world, to a land unknown, to a man she felt equally that she knew and did not know at all, this took trust.
Now, naked and before him she felt both powerful and submissive. In fact, she believed her feeling of power to come from her submission.
Neshe commanded her to part herself, and she did submit. "Part your buttocks for me, Snama" he had said " I want to see all of you." She had parted herself and burned with humility under his eyes.
Submission was the flame that strengthened her.
She had parted herself, and he had fallen into her with his eyes. His gaze seemed a penetration of rampant desire. She called to him with her gift. He knew he tortured her with shame. She knew she tortured him with lust.
Two captives they were, each held fast by the nature of the other.
Her branding, while trying her emotions, did bring her joy. He marked his territory and his territory was her. She welcomed him. He was Man, perfect compliment to her, woman. She allowed him to stake his claim.
She was signified, five times, in his name.
The comfort and joy she received from her branding was almost inexplicable. She took it as a promise, a promise from Neshe to care for her as a valuable complement.
She knew that in return for the gift of his name, his caring, his passion, she would honour him. She would act with a grace that met his gracefulness. She would return his passion and more.
Neshe undid her. He stripped her so completely that she felt he could see inside her soul. He took her with intensity and she did feel ravaged. He delved into all of her entrances, with his hands, his mouth, his male sword.
Snama wanted it, him, in all ways, even those ways she had never before experienced. She trusted him implicitly.
Her back passage had never been entered by a man. Neshe made it clear that this was going to change. During their lovemaking he began to prepare her for this eventuality.
Deeply, with his finger, he entered the tightly closed door of her bottom. Shame was soon overtaken by lust, and she became wanton. She called out to him over and over in a soft but desparate cry "Yes! Yes Neshe, oh yes!".
To his satyr, she became a nymph.
Deep dark desire he unleashed from her step by step.
It is impossible to go through life without trust.
That is to be imprisoned in the worst cell of all, oneself.
--GRAHAM GREENE--
THE MINISTRY OF FEAR
Neshe was off, away on his business day. Snama was left to her own devices. She wandered to his library and felt as though she were walking into a part of his mind. A man's library is an enticing place.
She ran her hands across his books, stroking the spines of familiar and loved titles, curiously pulling down unknown titles of interest and fanning the pages front to back. At the back of the book she would stop and that's where she would begin to read. From this quick pass through frontwards and slower approach backwards she would decide if this book held any potential to excite her.
The leather bindings on certain books, the varieties of papers, the variety of texts, there was so much just sensually to enjoy, without truly even going to content.
She breathed the paper of a modern textbook and experienced a schoolgirl shiver that raced through her like static from her nipples to her clitoris. Deeply she inhaled and allowed the feeling again, this time savouring it slowly, flipping the pages so the scent of the book could feed her.
She smiled, closed the book and replaced it to it's original position.
Snama wandered to the table that stood in the corner and picked up a paper...
Ali Behdad
My paper dears with Nasir-al Din Shah's photographs of his harem and the ways in which such self-representations are mediated by orientalist aesthetic modes. I will read a series of these photographs to address both the aesthetic dimensions of his work and the ideological implications of these representations. Among the issues that i will discuss is the notion of self exoticism, and oriental perception of oneself that enable the King to both empower himself as a King and fall into European ideologies of otherness.
Snama took immediate interest in the paper and sat herself down in one of the comfortable leather chairs to read. While she attempted to remain focused on the topic, she found her mind wandering over and over, back to Neshe, back to his expressed desire and his confident determination that he would get what he wanted.
Again a shiver ran through her; this time not a schoolgirlish tickle of pleasure, but the full out blatant rush of sexual sensibility of a newly maturing woman. A red hot blood rush and a tensing of her bottom and the backs of her thighs.
For how long she held this dark thought, held her breath, held her tension, she did not know. Eventually she laid the paper down in her lap and rubbed her tired eyes. Enough studying. It was time to breathe....the exhalation especially important.
Exhalation, the underlooked, underestimated part of breathing. Laughter, sobbing, sighing, sex....these natural occurrences are often a well needed release of pent up exhalation of breath and emotion.
Snama leaned back in the chair, not in a mood to laugh or to cry. But sex, this did not leave her mind. She was alit.
She unfasted the tie at the waist of her loose gauze trousers and slipped her right hand down under her panties, laying the tip of her right finger on the aroused pistil nestled within her.
She barely moved the soft pad of her fingertip. There was enough stimulation between the two connection points that the sexual build was extremely quiet and effective. She moistened, and her finger reached into herself and trailed upwards in the hot crevice, picking up her own juices, and carrying them back to her highly stimulated bud lubricating it. Tiny, almost imperceptable movements she made, but to her they were a wick burning toward a dynamic explosion.
It did not take long. With the stimulation of the place, the promise/threat of the man, the workings of her own hand; she achieved a heavy, pulsing satisfying orgasm.
And she sighed, a deep and needed exhalation of relief.
Snama accepted the luncheon offered by Neshe's staff, and sat quietly in his library enjoying the meal. As she dined, she began to think on Neshe.
She thought of his hand in all of their meeting, his pursuit, her slow fall. The trace of a smile crossed her lips as she thought of how the image of a hennaed hand had meant so much. Even still the impact of this gesture surprised her.
The thought was a trigger. She'd like to surprise Neshe now. She'd like to present a new adornment, a new image, for him to discover. She wanted a graphic that said...You are welcome here.
She did not know what she was inviting Neshe to, except that whatever it was, she would submit willing.
Speaking with one of Neshe's housepeople, she described what she wanted to do. Quick arrangments were made for later that morning.
Snama was going to make a surprise presentation to Neshe when he next uncovered her. A delicate gift he would find.....
her new submission.
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