Suleiman yawned as he stood up from his desk. A neat stack of papers and scrolls were on the left side of his desk, ready to be delivered by courier across the town. Next to it was a smaller pile destined for outside of the city, mostly to his allies to the north and some merchants across the sea.

Stretching, he padded over to his window. Outside, the setting sun clutched the city in red fingers. The stone glowed with the last of the fading light and the sounds of the city had quieted down into a low din. In a few short hours, the streets would be nearly empty except for the impromptu festivities that always filled Alanya's streets at night.

He leaned against a stone railing and peered down. Below his bedroom was his harem, which consisted of a bathing area, gardens, and sleeping quarters. He used to visit it frequently, back in the days when the harem was filled with beautiful women. But, as his slaves died, he found the empty rooms depressing. Now, he was content to summon Juliana to his room instead of coming to her.

Suleiman chuckled and wondered if he was going to get Lydia or Celeste in his room that night. Juliana, as the longest living slave, was responsible for managing the women. He wanted to focus on each one individually, not only to learn the pleasures of their body but also to remind Juliana of her place by making her wait. If she came up, he would simply send her back.

Soft sobbing rose up from the garden. Curious, he leaned over the railing and peered down. It was Lydia. She had been dressed in a diaphanous gown that did nothing to hide the curves of her body, even from the floor above. She had selected a dark purple outfit and he enjoyed the tantalizing sight of her bared thigh or the way her brown hair shimmered in the red sunlight.

Lydia had curled up on the end of a bench, with her knees to her chest, as she held her face in her hands. With each sob, her shoulders shook and she clutched herself tighter.

Suleiman's lips pressed into a thin line as he watched her. Juliana should have warned her about crying outside of her room. If Suleiman had guests, which he did frequently, seeing a sobbing harem girl would be a slap on his face and his honor.

Shaking his head, he stood up. Juliana should have known better. She was there when he had killed another woman for the very same thing. His eyes lifted to the statue in the center of the garden, of a horse rearing up with a massive cock. They had cleaned up the blood years ago, but he could still seeing its latest victim screaming as she slid down the stone cock.

He turned and headed to the door. Opening it, he addressed one of the guards outside. “Bring Juliana up here,” his voice was sharp.

The guard rushed off and Suleiman returned to his desk. Sitting down, he pulled out another letter, a request from a local merchant for a new license to sell smoking herbs. He thought about it for a moment and began to pen a response.

The clink of jewelry and the whiff of saffron alerted him to Juliana's presence. He glanced up.

Juliana stood in the doorway of the room, head bowed respectfully and her body held tightly in place. Her muscles clenched and she inhaled deeply, pushing her breasts against her brassiere. She had arranged her hair along the curve of her breasts and one hand rested on the small of her back as she rocked her hips.

Suleiman had to fight the rising lust for her. With a grunt, he pointed to the window. “Stand there,” he ordered before returning to his notes.

As she crossed the he watched with the corner of her eye. Her hips rocked back and forth, giving tantalizing flashes of her furred slit through the translucent fabric of her skirt. The little pieces of metal clinked together, adding to the sway of her body. He wanted her and she knew it.

But, he could still hear Lydia crying from below. The pitiful cries were an irritation and he didn't have the patience to handle her emotions. Harem girls were for fucking and showing off, not listening to them sob.

Juliana stopped by the balcony. She started to turn back to Suleiman, but then stopped. A flicker of confusion crossed her face and she peered down into the garden.

Suleiman lifted his head and watched.

For a long moment, Juliana peered down, but then her face grew pale. Gulping, she peeked over her shoulder and caught him looking at her. With a gasp, she spun around and stood up. There was fear in her eyes.

Suleiman stood up and picked up a curved knife from the corner of his desk. As the hilt scraped along his table, Juliana let out a whimper. He strolled toward her, watching her carefully.

Juliana glanced around her but Suleiman stood between her and the door. The only way she could escape was jumping off the balcony and he knew she wouldn't do that. The look of fear in her eyes sent a thrill through his veins, bringing his thoughts to all the other women who died because they failed in him in some manner.

He toyed with the knife as he said, “Do you hear that?”

Juliana's face was pale. She stared down at the blade only inches away from her belly. Judging from the sweat that prickled her brow, she was no doubt thinking of the dozen of harem women she saw killed over the years. None of their deaths were pretty, or peaceful. Gulping, she clutched the stony balcony. “Y-Yes, my sultan.”

Suleiman shifted forward and pressed the tip of the knife to her taut belly.

She whimpered and her body trembled. “Please don't.”

He pressed the blade forward, just enough to dimple the skin.

Juliana sobbed, her breasts and shoulders shaking, and she ground against the stone railing. Her stomach caved in as she sucked in her gut.

He followed her movement, keeping the light pressure of the knife right above her belly button.

Her stomach trembled as she struggled to keep her belly pulled in, away from the knife poised to gut her. “I-I'm,” she croaked, “I'm going to stop her… right away, my sultan.”

With a chuckle, Suleiman leaned into her until their lips were almost touching. “Don't fail me, Juliana. You know what happens.”

He increased the pressure on the knife, dimpling the flesh. He could feel the resistance of her skin and knew that if he kept driving it forward, it would soon break and the knife would bury to the hilt.

Tears ran down her face. “My sultan,” she sobbed.

Satisfied, Suleiman pulled the blade away. He held it to his side. Part of his mind was swimming with the rush of power. He could have killed her and they both knew it. His cock was hard with the same excitement and he heard the faint drip of blood on the tile floor. He glanced down to see a thin trickle of blood rolling down her belly from where the tip of the knife pricked her skin.

“You better hope that doesn't scar, Juliana.” He lifted his eyes to her and almost moaned at the terror in her eyes.

She pressed her hand to her belly, covering the wound with her palm. “It won't, my sultan,” she whispered as she trembled. Sweat dripped down her face, joining with tears that curved along her cheek.

Suleiman chuckled and stepped back. His cock tented his pants and swayed with his movement.

Juliana stepped forward, preparing to kneel down, but he stopped her.

“No, you don't deserve that now.”

The devastated look almost pushed him into an orgasm.

Suleiman gestured to the door. “Send up Celeste.”