Coyote Too

At ten, she was working in her mother's market stall in the Punjab, when her beauty and grace caught the eye of a wealthy merchant. With the proper training, he knew she would make a lucrative addition to the harem of the great Kumaragupta, and for a small sum, she became his. He named her Khoshgeli, for her beauty, and for four years she underwent training. Never sullied, but constantly supervised by the greatest erotic masters he could find. Indeed, as knowledge of her grew, clients paid a great deal to be entertained while this slender maiden watched their every action with the rapt attention of her dark eyes. But then came the raids, and the merchant's home was destroyed in by the Hepthalites, and by the time Kumaragupta had driven the nomads back to the Steppes, Khoshgeli was gone from India.

Had she simply been captured by a warrior, she might have ended her days toiling high in the mountains, but the man who took her was a canny merchant himself, and he saw immediately the value of his prize. He knew the Sasanian princes in Persia would pay highly for someone trained in the erotic ways of India, so he kept her under his protection as he traveled to the Persian border. There he sold her to a merchant from far western Persia, but again war intervened before she reached her destination. Her caravan was captured by a Roman patrol, and the captain, seeing a way to buy himself a commission closer to Rome, kept her safe from his men. So, at fifteen, with her pristine beauty in near full flower, she found herself on the shores of the Mediterranean, and there her fortunes took a far stranger turn.

Perhaps it was the Irish mead the stranger provided, far stronger than his watered wine, but in a tavern on the shores of the inland sea, the captain gambled too much with a wilely celtic merchant, and in the end Khoshgeli was the only way he could pay his debts. So it was that at sixteen, she found herself on the deck of an Irish trader, nearing the emerald shores of this land so far from her home. Her black hair, her brown eyes, the dark sheen of her skin, the small buds of her flawless breasts, all stood out in dark contrast to the pale skin and ruddy hair of those around her. Exotic did not begin to describe her beauty.

There was no auction for her sale, the merchant knew a local king who would pay any price for a nubile maiden of such grace and training. She would fetch him more than enough to outfit several boats; let him retire to the shore while others sailed the treacherous waters to southern Europe. 

Yet, still she had one more journey to make. As tempting as her virginity might be to him, the king saw a greater value in her. The rabble-rousing Roman, Patrick, was spreading his Christ religion in the kingdom. It undermined his religion, his authority, his rule. It was said that Patrick had a weakness for women; that the right woman, from the right family, might cause him to look elsewhere with his proselytizing. But what woman would cause Patrick to turn away from an entire kingdom? Who could convince him to focus his attentions on one of Ireland's other realms? This luscious dark beauty that stood before him, motionless, calm, assured; innocent and yet so well-versed; this was the answer to his troubles.

And so, not so many weeks later. Khoshgeli knelt in a small tent in the Irish woods. Her clothes were bundled by the fire. Her breasts glowed in the firelight. On the rough blankets before her lay her destiny, this strange Roman/Irish priest. Slowly she took his clothes from him. Slowly she introduced him to the ways of the exotic east. And as she rode him that night, brought him to climax, dripping on him the blood and juices of her first orgasm, this exotic stranger from the east held back the forces of Christianity for one more generation.

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