His private request was to be slapped and abused, and spoken to like he was her sex slave. She got triple rate from him. Hypatia didn't pass any moral judgment on the trader. If something is your fantasy, it is your fantasy. If you're willing to give me lots of money for it, and all I have to do is yell, scream and abuse you willy nilly, so be it.
He controlled all the water systems in the city, and was paid a portion of the water taxes that were paid to the state. He was on the Sultana's business council. He had been one of those instrumental in drafting the kingdom's trade policies. He was renowned for his intelligence when it came to matters of trade. He had a veritable goddess for a wife who was known for her feminine charms and her torrid affairs. He was the ever forgiving husband who was respected in society.
Now Hypatia knew why he could afford to be ever forgiving. He had fantasies that she would never fulfill. He needed some outlet for them. Her reputation for being more discreet than a carcass in a charnel ground was serving her well. Of course it was also true that the more secrets she learned, the more people would feel threatened by her. This worried her sometimes, but she worked her charms on them, and made sure they reached her whenever they sought her.
People don't appreciate what it takes to be a popular whore. It isn't enough to know carnal secrets. One must also be a good scheduler, and sensitive about human emotions, and great with gentle haggling. Post coital haggling worked great with some men, and foreplay haggling worked much better with others.
Whatever the case, the trader was having the time of his life. Hypatia slapped him for the fifth time in this session. With Suleiman, her sessions had gotten more and more dominant. Now he didn't even approach her as the trading genius that he was. He called her mistress H or mistress or mistress Hypatia the moment he walked into her residence. He usually got onto his knees the moment he was indoors, and crawled to her.
She was a master at role-playing, and turned nasty the moment he got on his knees. Today was no different.
"Your slutty wife isn't taking care of you, so you come crawling to me, you sewer rat," she said in her usual charming way.
She slapped his cheek again.
"Look up when I talk to you, Suleiman," she said, "I am not a healer or a wise woman here. I am your mistress."
He looked up, completely in his role as a slave. She slapped him again, and caught his hair and pressed his nose into her pubic bush.
"You haven't eaten yet have you Suleiman," she said, "my nether hair is a delicious meal for a disgusting creep like you. Do you like it?"
He nodded into her pussy.
"Good, now lick me down there," she said, rapping his head with her knuckles, "and do it like you mean it you worthless piece of shit.'
He licked her between the legs.
It was a long session that day, and by the end of the session, she had treated him to a lot of his favorites. She slapped him enough times that his light brown cheeks were orange. She dragged him all around the room on his knees, with his nose between her buttocks. She made him lie down while she walked on him, and slapped every part of his body with her feet. She spit on him many times, and told him how disgusting and vile he was, using synonyms and metaphors that would make a poet in the Sultana's court jealous and embarrassed. She abused him, his position and his wife, according to previous arrangement. She sucked his cock and balls viciously, biting them, slapping them, pulling his ball sac until he yelped in pain. She sat on him for a while, while she tugged at his cock, and slapped him with her buttocks, screaming abuse at him all the while.
When he came two hours later, for the second time, he was one very satisfied trader, and he fell asleep, snoring. She smiled. Sleeping in her chambers during business hours meant it would cost extra. She left him and went back to her next chore, designing the next part of her partially built garden.
A pair of curious and gleeful eyes had seen her entire session, and now thought about the proper angle with the trader. Writing one character reference shouldn't take that much convincing. Oh, maybe a couple of hundred dinars shouldn't be too much of a problem for such a trader either.
Rawer was conflicted. He never thought of relationships with women as exclusive. Sometimes he wanted to fuck a Mesopotamian woman, and sometimes a Nubian. Sometimes it was Egyptian and sometimes it was Hellenic. He never considered this improper. Now the princess clearly wanted him to make love only to her, for the rest of eternity. He knew that wasn't him. He didn't know what she would say when he broached this particular subject.
Right now he had seen her back to the mouth of the sewer, and asked her to be alert and vigilant until she was safely back and had her bath. They also made plans for the next visit.
He considered themselves lucky, because the Sultana was preoccupied with the snake sisters attacking the kingdom, apart from her usual workload as the people's magistrate and multiple engagements.
He didn't know that hot, angry eyes had watched him kiss the princess. Hot eyes that were brimming over with jealousy, and would do anything to get between him and the princess. The eyes glared even now, as he sat in a pensive pose, a few feet from the mouth of the sewer, having just heard the last of Mediha's steps receding in the distance.
Soldiers scurried in all directions. The attack had come at night, and they were taken unawares. It didn't really matter though. Day or night, they were stilled decimated. This time all three sisters were attacking the eastern border post, and their attack was far more vicious than the earlier ones.
They were chasing down men even when they ran several miles into the kingdom, and crushing them, decapitating them, swallowing them using the armies of snakes that framed their lovely yet terrifying heads. Again, no women were harmed.
Twenty woman soldiers who were working border security had attacked the sisters, but were firmly repulsed thrice, without any casualties. On their fourth attempt to attack, the sisters decapitated one among their number, presumably as a warning, and flung the rest of them half a mile interior. There were plenty of broken bones, but only that single casualty.
These serpentine forces of destruction swept through the entire post in a mere half hour, having destroyed every last man in the post, and a few male civilians who were foolish enough to engage.
The sisters were agitated, and soldiers had orders to note every color change they saw. This time however, they had left no witnesses. Even the army scribes who didn't engage had been crushed beyond recognition.
The contingent of women soldiers noted some color changes, but memories that are gathered in the heat of battling a vastly superior force are not the most reliable. So what the sisters told one another almost stayed a secret.
One young girl, perched high on a tree, had been observing everything in the battle close to her, and it was enough for her to record a number of their ocular communiques. Besides, she had an excellent memory. She leaped down from the tree, now that the danger was past, and ran back home to tell her father what she had learned.