The Captive Flesh by Cleo Cordell Page B

that her whole face was red. Never had anyone spoken to her in such a direct way. And she had never touched herself in the way Leyla described. It had never occurred to her to do so. But she knew what pleasure Leyla spoke of. Sister Anna had first shown her.
    She had to admit she was pleased, flattered, that Leyla thought she was comely. Leyla was very beautiful herself. A far cry from the stern humourless nun who had used Marietta’s body for her own twisted pleasure. She felt a stirring within her as Leyla’s sultry eyes lingered on her naked flesh, as if she was unwilling to look away.
    When Leyla let go of her arms she left them as they were, letting Leyla continue her examination at her leisure. She was more intrigued with each passing moment by the fact that Leyla found her desirable. It was not something that she had given thought to in the convent. Now she felt a new pride beginning. The obvious interest and admiration shown by the slave girls added to her feeling of being special.
    â€˜The soft fleece on your sex is so pretty,’ Leyla said.‘So unusual. Pale, like spun gold. It is a pity that it must be removed. Here it is considered to be a sin to have hair on one’s female parts but I like the mystery it gives. Your sex is concealed from the casual gaze and must be discovered by close inspection – perhaps only by touch. How a lover must long to spread you and feast on your secret flesh. Charming. So charming.’
    She touched Marietta’s mound with gentle hands, pulling at the fine silky hair which covered it, letting the curls kiss her fingers. Then she slid one finger down the slit of the sex and dipped inside the lips momentarily before removing her hand. Marietta was speechless with shock at the casual intimacy of Leyla’s gesture, but too surprised to brush her away.
    Leyla withdrew her hand. She laughed. ‘I forget myself. We are here to bathe. After … we shall see. Come.’
    Leyla began to pull on a pair of stilted bath shoes. Only when Marietta sat down and did the same did she absorb the other woman’s words. Was she too expected to submit to the process of being denuded of all body hair – as it seemed was the custom here? She decided right away that she would refuse to submit to such an indignity. Surely guests were not expected to be bound by such customs?
    Leyla and Marietta entered a side room of the bath house. The slaves came after them, carrying soft towels, perfumes and oils. There were no tubs of hot water as Marietta expected but deep basins lined the stone walls. Heated water flowed directly into the basins from brass taps set above them. The square-shaped plunge pool in the larger room was visible through a line of pillared archways.
    Leyla and Marietta sat on stools, which resembled wicker cages.
    â€˜I will attend you,’ Leyla said in her lovely husky voice, picking up a silver bowl and using it to pour perfumed water over Marietta’s shoulders. ‘Let me introduce you to the potent pleasures of the bath, beautiful Marietta.’
    The water was very hot, but Marietta soon grew used to it. More disturbing was the feel of Leyla’s soft hands on her skin. Sitting behind Marietta, her parted knees brushing the sides of her hips, Leyla rubbed a creamy perfumed concoction into Marietta’s arms, then gradually worked her way down Marietta’s body. Leyla’s hands made small circles up and down her back. She encircled Marietta’s waist, using a rotating motion of her fingers and thumbs to massage the skin, then she cupped Marietta’s buttocks, one in each hand, and began kneading them.
    As Leyla pulled at the globes of flesh, Marietta felt an indirect pressure on her sex. Her buttocks opened and closed, parting the flesh-lips slightly. At each movement that drew back her buttocks the flesh-lips were drawn a little way towards Leyla’s hand. The warm steamy air of the baths penetrated the deep valley