The Greatest Harem

A Lem/T-Mec Production

story written by LEM/ illustration by T-mec

CHAPTER FOUR

"Your wish is my command, Oh, master. Now, tell me - do you think a man has ever felt a breast the way you are feeling mine? You are feeling nothing but it. It is your entire world." He tried to get up, but her smooth breast formed a wobbling precipice that seemed to promise a tumble downward from every direction.

"This is insubordination! I am your sultan! I am all-powerful!"

"Pardon me, oh great one, but I think you are not. I think you are a scared little man."

"Y-you are a peasant you have no-"

"On the contrary. I know the look of helplessness. I have seen it in the reflection of puddles I have stood over. After all, I have been small and powerless for most of my life. It is a most uneasy feeling, is it not?"

"Yes," he confessed with absolute sincerity.

"And that is how I felt around you. But now I feel differently. Now I am the powerful one. Now to you, power means being able to take as you please, does it not?" He nodded. "But I see it as being able to give as I please."

As these word left her, the sultan became aware of a swelling beneath him, as her nipples became excited and pressed against the flimsy material that covered them, one of them sprung up against his groin, and his member acted in kind.

"Oh, sultan," she sighed, "your little body is so exciting."

"Y-you do not understand. You are not wise in the ways of love yet - "

"Yet. But was I not to be yours today? You know, I found the thought of making love to you thrilling. You are - you were - so tall, and so handsome and mighty. But I also feared you. You could do anything you wanted to me with impunity. And I had heard that you had done many things.

"But now," she giggled, "Now I am the master, and I find you as desirable as ever, if not as imposing." Her giant left hand came up behind him as she gently wrapped her index finger and thumb around his waist and lifted him into a sitting position on her breast.

She retained her grip as her right hand came slowly forward and she inserted a polished nail into the waistline of his breeches. He tried to say, "stop," but his voice was too weak as he felt the polished nail rub against his stomach.

His pants, made of smooth yet strong material, tore apart as she removed her nail, and his most prized possession stood exposed to her. "So this is what I was cleaned and dressed and trained to amuse," she observed. "But it seems rather flimsy. I was sure it was a hard little thing a few moments ago."

As she said this her finger, as thick as his leg, rubbed the under shaft of his member gently, and despite his embarrassment, he felt it rising at her command.

"Oh, my! You ARE a mighty monarch!" she cooed, only half joking. "Quite an intimidating process at its former scale, I'm sure, but still quite pleasant to look at in its current state."

He tried to cover himself, but her left hand pinned his arms to his side. "Never," he stammered, "have I allowed a woman to look at me unclothed."

"Fear not, Oh, sultan. You are far too handsome to remain hidden. But if what you said is true, then perhaps you have never experienced this. One of the harem girls told me about it yesterday, and I've a mind to try it." She lifted him towards her mouth. Soon her tongue moved so that his privates were thoroughly covered by it. He moaned as she gently rubbed it and applied pressure in different ways.

She reveled in the feeling of his small tool n her sensitive tongue, and she was thrilled by the feeling of sexual power she had over him. She brought him to the edge of climax, and almost instinctively stopped just before he passed the brink. She then placed him by her side.

"Do not stop," he yelled with little dignity.

She remained coy. "I have decided that perhaps you are right. One such as I cannot deign to force myself upon the greatest monarch in the world."

Overcome by desire, he tried to scale the pillow next to her, only to find its silky surface too daunting, and sliding off. Then he ran to her hips where he started struggling up the waistline of her leggings. "Are you forcing yourself me, great one?" she laughed.

The sultan was too busy trying to complete his journey to reply. Though the soft pillow beneath her would break his fall if necessary, he did not want to experience the unnecessary delay and exertion of restarting his climb.

Finally, he was on top of her, so to speak, standing on her gently heaving stomach. "Are you there, my lord" she asked, peering through her ample cleavage.

"Finish what you have started!" he bellowed as strongly as his tiny, reedy voice could. When she ignored him, he threw himself down on her warm stomach and tried to release his passions against her.

Sara was a little aghast, though also amused, at his undignified behavior. "Really, great one, one as experienced in the ways of love as yourself would know that is not the proper place to please a woman, and even one as experienced as I know it would be someplace close to...here."

Her giant hand reached down, but to the sultan's surprise, its shadow passed over him and pulled up her waistband. Then she raised herself enough so that the (relatively) flat plane of her stomach became the steep incline of a hill, and he felt himself plunging downwards into a warm, dark cave. Before he knew what do her hand released he waistband, giving him only what light would come though its taut edges or would penetrate the flimsy material.

He found himself stopping his decline by grabbing hairs--small, wiry hairs, yet soft and delicate. But what his feet felt was softer still. and moist.

"Oh, sultan," cooed the girl, to whom his most desperate struggles felt like delicate play. Sometimes, she had played with herself in such a manner, but to feel someone else play with her, especially in her aroused state, was something that was truly thrilling.

She toyed with him no longer. Her hand reached down and, through the material, forced him down against her most delicate parts, increasing the pressure and sensation.

Now the sultan truly panicked, for he could see the titanic woman was no longer in control of her actions, but guided by lust. But a part of him was thrilled as well, and when her finger forced his head into her for the third time, nearly smothering him, he decided to take over as a matter of survival.

He had previously cared little for women other than knowing what about them pleased him. But he did know of an area they seemed to find pleasure in, one with a small, almost hidden bump. He felt around and it proved anything but hidden. "Oh, Sultan," moaned Sara, "your size belies your skill."

He continued, suddenly lost in the art of conquest, his greatest passion. With his size and power removed, his only mean to victory was his skill, and little as the conquest of women seemed an hour ago, it now appeared to be quite a feat.

In a way, it was a good match for both. Sara liked tenderness, and the sultan liked roughness, and at his size he could be brutally rough and she would feel only the most delicate of sensations. finally, she came in such abundance that he slid out of her.

Sara picked up her tiny charge out of her leggings and cleaned him off. His efforts had exhausted him. "Rest, oh conqueror. I will make sure your existence - and our relationship - is secret." She carried him back to his miniature palace, and gently placed him back in his throne room, also being careful to re-hang the fallen tapestry.

The sensation of the soft carpet awakened him, and he looked up to see Sara closing the palace. "Stay away from the windows, Sultan, and I shall visit tomorrow with food and other pleasures."