Chapter 4: The Harem of Suleiman

Evening, 1530 CE, Topkapi Palace Bathhouse, Istanbul, Ottoman Empire

The bathhouse of Topkapi Palace glowed under the flicker of oil lamps, their light dancing on turquoise tiles inlaid with mother-of-pearl, the air thick with steam, rosewater, and the faint hum of a ney flute from the courtyard beyond, the evening sky above the domed skylight a deep violet, the year 1530 CE a peak of Ottoman splendor. Suleiman the Magnificent (Cillian Murphy), 36, stood at the chamber’s edge, his broad frame draped in a silk kaftan, emerald green with gold threads, his tanned skin glistening with sweat, his dark beard framing a stern jaw, his amber eyes sharp with desire, his cock stirring beneath the fabric, his scent of oud and amber a regal command, his voice a low growl as he surveyed his harem, the steam curling around him, the marble floor warm beneath his feet, the night a canvas of power and lust, his empire’s might a pulse in his veins, the bathhouse a sanctuary, a stage for his pleasure, the stars above a silent witness to his reign.

Hürrem Sultan (Florence Pugh), 27, knelt in the center of the bathhouse, her pale skin flushed from the heat, her auburn hair unbound, cascading over her shoulders, her body bare, heavy breasts full, pink nipples leaking milk, her trimmed auburn bush framing a dripping slit, her green eyes glinting with ambition, her scent of rosewater and honey a seductive lure, her voice a purr, “My lord,” as she beckoned Suleiman, the steam thickening, the rosewater scent a veil, the ney flute a distant rhythm, the night a promise of primal connection, her fingers tracing her leaking nipples, her body trembling with anticipation, the air around her charged with the promise of their shared desire, the stars above a canopy to her ascent.

Gülbahar (Anya Chalotra), 24, stood nearby, her olive skin glowing in the lamplight, her dark hair piled high, her linen shift clinging to her curves, her pert breasts high, small brown nipples tight, her black bush matted with sweat, her slit dripping, her brown eyes wide with devotion, her voice a whisper, “My lady,” as she pressed against Hürrem, her role as a concubine a delicate balance, the rosewater scent mixing with her own jasmine, her body a gift, a surrender, the night a promise of connection, her fingers trembling as she clutched a silver tray of oils, the air thick with the promise of their shared pleasure, the stars above a silent witness.

A young eunuch, Cem (Timothée Chalamet), 19, stood in the shadows near a tiled archway, his tanned body clad in a simple tunic, his dark hair damp with steam, his hands steady as he held a clay lamp of melted beeswax, his breath shallow, the scent of rosewater and oud mixing with his own sweat, his role to serve the harem, his presence a silent witness, the lamplight casting his shadow on the tiles, the ney flute a backdrop to his racing heart, the night a forbidden spectacle, his gaze fixed on the trio, his body tense, his mind a whirl of awe and restraint, the bathhouse a world beyond his own, the stars above a canopy to his silent longing, his fingers gripping the lamp tightly, his chest heaving with each breath, the sight before him a spectacle he could neither join nor escape, the air around him charged with their tension, the night a tapestry of forbidden beauty.

Hürrem’s voice softened, her green eyes on Suleiman, her hands cupping her heavy breasts, fingers squeezing her pink nipples, milk dripping onto the tiles, her touch a spark, Suleiman’s growl deep, “My flame,” her slit dripping, the steam curling around her, the rosewater scent sharp in the humid night, her body trembling under his gaze, her lips parted in a silent plea. She rose, the steam parting, her slit glistening, her moan low, “Mmm,” as she approached Suleiman, Suleiman’s amber eyes darkening, his kaftan discarded, his cock throbbing, desire a pulse, the chamber watching, voyeurs to her play, Hürrem’s bath a spell. Gülbahar shed her shift, her olive body bare, pert breasts high, black bush soaked, her slit gaping, her brown eyes hungry, joining Hürrem on the marble bench, her voice a purr, “Let me serve,” her hands roaming Hürrem’s thighs, her scent of jasmine sharp, her body trembling, her devotion a fire, the rosewater scent a veil, the steam thickening, the ney flute a distant hum, her dark hair catching the light, her skin flushed with arousal, her fingers digging into Hürrem’s flesh, her breath hot against Hürrem’s skin, her own slit dripping onto the marble, her body aching for Hürrem’s touch, the night a canvas for their shared desire.

Hürrem leaned back, her heavy breasts heaving, her slit dripping, her rosewater scent sharp, as she guided Gülbahar’s mouth to her leaking nipple, the milk flowing, Gülbahar’s moan muffled, “Mmm, so sweet,” as she sucked, her tongue lapping at the milk, her hands roaming Hürrem’s thighs, her slit dripping, her black bush soaked, her asshole twitching, the marble bench warm beneath them, the ney flute a rhythm, the night a tapestry of lust, love, connection, Cem’s eyes wide, his lamp trembling, his breath hitching, the forbidden sight a fire in his blood, the stars above a silent judge, his body frozen in the shadows, his restraint a painful reminder of his role, the air around him thick with their shared lust. Suleiman approached, his cock throbbing, his amber eyes hungry, as he knelt before Hürrem, his tongue plunging into her slit, sucking her clit, lapping at her juices, his growl low, “My queen,” her slit gaping around his tongue, her body trembling, the milk dripping from Gülbahar’s lips, her pleasure a fiery edge, the steam a witness, the night a blaze of primal connection, their bond a dance of power and lust, a hymn to the empire, Cem’s gaze locked, his breath ragged, the sight a forbidden dream, the bathhouse a world of sultans, the stars above a witness to his awe, his body trembling with the weight of their desire, the air around him charged with their moans.

Suleiman pulled back, his lips slick with Hürrem’s taste, his cock throbbing, his oud scent sharp, as he retrieved a carved jade dildo from a silver chest, its surface etched with crescent moons, glistening with rose-scented oil, its scent earthy, primal, his voice a command, “For you, Gülbahar,” his eyes on the concubine, his hands guiding her closer, Gülbahar’s gasp loud, “Oh lord,” her slit dripping, her black bush soaked, her asshole stretched, the marble bench warm beneath her, the ney flute a distant rhythm, the night a tapestry of lust, power, connection, Cem’s lamp trembling, the beeswax spilling slightly, his breath ragged, the sight a forbidden dream, the bathhouse a temple of lust, the stars above a witness to his restraint, the air around him thick with their moans. Suleiman slid the jade dildo into Gülbahar’s slit, the polished jade stretching her, fucking her slow, then hard, the rose-scented oil slick, Gülbahar’s juices squirting, her moan raw, “Oh gods, deeper,” her slit gaping around the jade, her body trembling, her pleasure a fiery edge, the steam a witness, the night a blaze of primal connection, their bond a hymn to the sultan’s power, Cem’s hands shaking, the lamp slipping further, the wax pooling on the tiles, his breath a gasp, the sight a forbidden fire, the stars above a silent witness, the air around him charged with their moans.