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Tamar's Buns

by Y. B. Charles

Published by Y. B. Charles at Smashwords

Copyright 2017 Y. B. Charles

Discover other titles by Y. B. Charles at Smashwords.com

Delicious Delilah (Holy Sex #1)

In the Royal Bath (Holy Sex #2)

The Rape of Tamar (Holy Sex #3)

Naked and Unashamed (Holy Sex #4)

Seducing the Slave (Holy Sex #5)

The Very First Time (Holy Sex #6)

Naaman’s Conquest (Holy Sex #7)

Avenging Dinah’s Rape (Holy Sex #8)

Ben Needs Women (Holy Sex #9)

Fortune's Keys

Take 2 Takes 2

My Sweet Comforter

Lily Loses Her Shirt (Strip Poker Club Series #1)

Queen Over Two Jacks (Strip Poker Club Series #2)

Bound to Cheat (Strip Poker Club Series #3)

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is intended for Mature readers only. It contains adult situations, language, and graphic descriptions of sexual encounters. All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

Author's Note: My original retelling of this Biblical tale, The Rape of Tamar, was prohibited by some eBook distributors. This alternate version of the same story introduces more mutual consent than was probably present in the Biblical text, and moves the actual assault out of the center of the story.

Crown Prince Amnon strode into the room. He needed neither introduction nor announcement, for everyone present knew him on site, and his manner, exuding self-confidence, demanded attention.

He stood a head taller than anyone in his entourage. That head was crowned by gorgeous, shoulder-length hair, dark and wavy and full. Beneath that beautiful hair, his eyes always had a twinkle, and missed little. They stood above his long, straight nose, which drew the admirer's eye down to his full lips. Those lips were stingy with their smiles, spending more time closed, occasionally twisted into a scowl or a sneer, for he did not suffer fools lightly. But when they did smile, it was truly heart-stopping.

His broad shoulders and muscular arms, honed by his princely tasks and exercises, spoke of his physical strength. His body tapered to a fine, thin waist.

The women in the room swooned, swayed, smiled at him as he passed. He was, without doubt, the sexiest, most delicious and most eligible bachelor in the kingdom.

"He's cute," Tamar sighed to her girlfriends. Every one of the ladies in her group gaped across the room at Amnon, and all nodded in agreement.

"Cute hardly covers it," one said. "Dreamy! Hot!"

Tamar knew that nearly every woman in the party hall was focused on Amnon's every move. Could she be the one to catch him? Tamar wondered and hoped. Amnon was in his mid-twenties, just a few years older than her. She was a fine young woman of marriageable age, approaching twenty. That small age gap sounded just right to her.

But Amnon was so well-established in the kingdom, so self-assured, handsome, intimidating. He was, after all, first in line to succeed the incomparable King David on the royal throne. The ease with which he carried himself shouted his confidence in his political and social power.

Those lips. That hair. All the rest of that body. The power and position. It was all so tempting, so delicious to fantasize about.

But Amnon was likely unreachable. Unattainable. Was she really in his class? She feared she was not.

And yet, every once in a while, those dreamy eyes seemed to be gazing back at her. Like right now! Even as he casually scanned the room, observing the swirl of the party, it seemed as though he kept returning to look at her. She was sure of it, sure that this handsome man watched her as much as she watched him. Tamar had been watching Amnon for some time, now. Not just at tonight's little social soiree, either. No, she had admired him, tittered with her girlfriends about him, wondered about getting to know him more, for months. Years, even.

"He's looking this way!" one of her friends squealed, tugging on Tamar's arm.

"Be cool!" she whispered under her breath, trying to maintain a casual gaze. "Don't stare! Just nod politely." They did as she suggested. "Now, let's go down to the floor and dance!" she coaxed. Her girlfriends followed her closer to the musicians. The beat and melody of the music gradually swept her away, although naturally the whole group remained aware of where Amnon was and when he looked their way.

The next day, a courtesan arrived at Tamar's home and interrupted the midday meal she was sharing with some of her friends.

"Lady Tamar," he began, clearing his voice with self-importance. She nodded for him to proceed. "I bring you a message," he continued. His pointed glances at her friends made it clear that he would not deliver the message to the whole group. Her friends excused themselves , giving Tamar some privacy.

"Prince Amnon has taken ill," the messenger announced. "He has requested that you, Lady Tamar, come and assist in preparing his meal."

Tamar was speechless. It was certainly an unusual request.

"The King himself has sent me to find you," the messenger continued. "He bids you to grant this favor to the prince."

What would it be like, she wondered, to be in Amnon's presence, tending to his needs? Possibly in his bedroom, brushing the hair from his face, cooling his fever. It was one thing to dream from across a crowded room. But to be in his house, at his request!

Then nerves overcame her initial excitement. Would she stammer like an idiot? Would he laugh at her silly crush? Would he embarrass her? Would he love her?

The messenger would not be denied, and insisted that she come with him immediately.

She followed him out into the street. They turned a corner at the bottom of the lane, then down the block and up another hill, to the door of Prince Amnon's suite.

They arrived, and a servant led Tamar through a living space, into a kitchen and eating area. An older woman, wrapped in a dirty apron and sweating over a small cooking fire, looked up and nodded to her. Tamar had expected a verbal greeting, a "Milady" or something that acknowledged her own position in the kingdom, as one whom this woman should acknowledge.

Before she could take too strong an offence, however, a voice from the corner startled her.

"Tamar, thank you for coming." She turned and, to her surprise, saw Amnon himself! Hearing her name from his lips was another shock. Her heart skipped a beat. He knows me! She thought. She shook her head. Of course he must know who I am, if he requested me personally. But Amnon is so powerful and important, and a little older. Why should he pay attention to her?

Another thought crossed her mind. Despite what the messenger said, Amnon did not look ill. He leaned casually against the wall, dressed in some informal princely things. His hair and beard were combed and even oiled.

"I am not feeling well, today, and am going to lie down," Amnon said, waving at a small bunk where the cook occasionally rested.

"My cook has much of my evening meal well in hand, but I would also like some light, raised bread. Please gather the ingredients then make it here at the table."

Amnon laid down on the bunk, while Tamar turned to her assigned work, her mind racing, her heart fluttering.

The cook helped her gather the flour, the salt and spices, the liquids, fat and other ingredients. She directed her to the jar of active yeast. Tamar set to work, measuring, stirring and mixing the bread.

This is my best chance to impress him, she thought as she worked. I should make the fanciest bread I can. Rather than a single, large loaf, I should make mini-loaves! Little buns that rise together. It could be symbolic of the two of us rising and growing together.

"What did you think of the party?" Amnon asked.

"It was all right," Tamar shrugged in reply. "The music was nice, but I left when some of the men started getting too drunk."

"Yes, a couple young fellows did get out of hand," Amnon agreed. "They were evicted quickly enough. But it seemed to take some of the air out of the party."

With the back of her hand, she brushed some hair from her face. It left a smear of flour across her forehead. When she looked up, her eyes met his. He seemed to be watching her every move. She began to feel self-conscious, worrying that her plain frock was getting dusted with flour, yet oblivious to her face's own marks.

"You're not into the wild scene?" Amnon asked. "That's when things are at their most interesting!"

"Maybe," she countered, "but my girlfriends and I wanted something quieter and more alone."

"A-ha!" Amnon gleamed, a knowing look in his eyes.

"No! not like that!" Tamar gasped, suddenly grasping the innuendo. Amnon's attention was enthralling, intoxicating. And at the same time a little unnerving. She redirected her attention back to her bread, mixing and kneading it.

"I hope you are not in a rush," she said. "I am making milk buns, and they need to rise twice." She moistened a cloth, covered the dough, and set it aside for the first rising.

They chatted a few more minutes, by which time the cook had set Amnon's supper on the table. The fragrances of the meat and vegetables filled the room. "Your meal is all ready, but for Lady Tamar's bread," the cook said, then set about her clean-up tasks.

"Leave us," Amnon instructed the cook from his cot.

"But, my lord," she protested, "I am not done."

"The clean-up tasks can wait until the bread is prepared," Amnon insisted. "You and the rest of the staff are dismissed. In fact, you may depart for the rest of the day."

As devoted as she was to a clean work-space, the prospect of an extended day off was too good to resist, and the cook quickly disappeared to tell the rest of the staff.

Now was her chance! Tamar thought. She would have an extended period of time to woo Amnon, lead him to fall in love with her. But how do I do that?

Amnon lifted himself off the little cot and moved to the table. He smiled at her as he sipped his drink, then lifted his fork and began to slowly eat his food.

"Please, continue with your bread. I do so enjoy watching you," he instructed.

She removed the damp cloth that covered her bread. Her small fists punched down the soft, sticky dough. She smeared lard on her palms and fingers, then began to shape the dough into balls about the size of a large fig. She arranged the buns into a little decorative pattern on a cooking slab. Back over top of the dough went the damp cloth, for the second rising.

"You have a natural gift for handling balls of dough," Amnon said, while she cleaned herself up. The suggestive pauses separating certain words made her blush. "All that lard, all that kneading and rolling. Maybe your skilled hands can make me rise like your dough!"

All innuendo was laid bare; was he propositioning her? She looked up in surprise at the bluntness of Amnon's latest words. What she saw shocked her.

Sitting in his chair, Amnon had hiked his robe up past his waist. His whole royal manhood was revealed to her. And it was swelling with arousal.

"My lord!" she gasped. After many long seconds of staring, she averted her eyes. That is what a proper woman should do, she told herself. She risked another peek, then averted her eyes again when he laughed.

"No need to be shy or embarrassed," he said evenly. "I like you, very much. And I would very much like to see your own body, and taste your lips." He stood and walked over to her, straightening his robe again as he did so. Its folds did a poor job of hiding his penis from her view, as the bulge pushing on his robe left no doubt of what was beneath.

Amnon grasped both of her shoulders. He stared into her face.

"You are so beautiful," he said. His fingers stroked her smooth cheek, traced down her jaw. Index finger and thumb pinched her chin and tipped it up toward his face. Then he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.

With a soft sigh of a moan, she kissed him back. She melted into his strong body as he wrapped his arms around her, locking her into his embrace. His scent captivated her, and she lost herself in him as his kiss grew more and more sure, more passionate, more forceful.

When he suddenly broke off the kiss, she found herself gasping for air. Her mind was reeling, her body ablaze.

He again held her by the shoulders, and stood an arm's length from her. His eyed looked her all over, drinking in her beauty.

"You spilled some flour right here," he said as he reached up and brushed the white dust from her forehead. She smiled an embarrassed thanks. "And right here," he continued, as his hand traced down her face, along her neck, and onto the fabric covering her chest. His hand gently stroked the bumps of her breasts, pretending to brush away anything covering them.

The sensation of his touch nearly bowled her over. Her breath caught in her throat, and her nipples swelled at his touch.

Amnon smiled at the sight of the growing nipples. He leaned down, opened his mouth, and nibbled lightly on one of them. Her first instinct was to raise her hands, and she pressed them onto his chest, to push him away. Then she hesitated. The roughness of the fabric and the pressure from his teeth sent waves of pleasure through her, and Tamar moaned in delight. Rather than pushing him away, her hands rubbed his chest, feeling the rippling muscles beneath.

Encouraged by her happy sounds and the actions of her hands, Amnon stood straight again and seized both her breasts in his hands. He cupped the small tits from underneath, rolled his fingers along their sides. He tweaked and caressed the nipples with his thumbs.

"I want to knead these as you did the bread," he declared. And so he did, squeezing and stroking each breast with more force, pressing her breasts together, pinching and enfolding them.

Tamar was dizzy with the building ecstasy. This was more than she could have imagined! The handsome crown prince not only knew who she was, he wanted to touch and love her as much as she wanted him to touch and love her.

Amnon slid his hands around behind her. His right arm circled around her shoulders, pressing her chest into his. He lowered his face to hers and they kissed again. Tongues played with each other, a teasing game of hide and seek, in and out.

His hands continued to explore her body. They slid down her back and squeezed her shapely young buttocks, pressing her abdomen into his.

"More buns that need some attention," he whispered. His fingers traced their outline, wiggled their way between them. She tilted her head back and lost herself in his growing passion. Waves of heat washed over her from his hot, firm crotch. He held her tightly to himself. There was nowhere else she would ever want to be than right here.

With his hands exploring all corners of her back and ass, she raised one leg and wrapped it around his body. She could feel the curves of his own ass on the inside of her thigh. Like everything else about him, it was strong, firm, regal. He was perfect! And he was hers.

With the lightest of efforts, Amnon hoisted her off the floor and she wrapped her other leg around his body. They held one another, pressing crotch to crotch, only the thin fabric each of them wore separated his strong, stiff desire from her own eager body. One hand held her aloft. The other danced along her back, entwined her hair around its fingers, held her to him as they kissed deeper than ever.

His tongue traced her lips, and she responded in kind. They played in each other's mouths, as she flicked over each of his perfect, princely teeth, along his lips, back into his warm, moist opening.

Amnon's second hand joined the first under her soft bottom. Rather than support her slight weight, however, this hand worked its way inexorably under the fabric of her dress. The touch of his hand on her skin fired even more flames inside her. But these fingers were not satisfied just to trace circles on her flesh. They pressed onward, seeking her hidden entrances, so modestly covered. They brushed the lips of her labia, and she stiffened and broke off the kiss.

"No, my prince, do not go there," she warned.

"Of course, my lady," he replied. He set her down and released her. A painful yearning filled her at the loss of his touch. "Tell you what," he proposed, "since I showed you my private parts a few minutes ago, will you return me honor by showing me yours?" He gestured at her chest, which he had so recently been enflaming with his touch and kisses though it was covered by her tunic. Her nipples remained even now stiff, raising inviting mounds in the fabric.

Was this peep show the price for cementing their promising relationship? Tamar glanced around shyly, relieved that all doors to the room remained firmly closed. Then, screwing up all of her courage, she loosened the strings tied at the neck of her top. With a smooth motion, she pulled the top up and over her head. Then she turned to face Amnon, naked from the waist up.

His eyes were riveted on her chest.

"Beautiful!" he exclaimed. He reached out one hand and, with a more gentle touch than she believed possible from him, he caressed her breasts. First one, then the other, the lightest of strokes of his finger-tips across her soft, pale, bare flesh. She shivered in delight at the gesture.

Amnon leaned down and blew on her nipples. She closed her eyes and bit her lip in pleasure at the heat of his breath. She could feel her nipple growing stiffer, slowly sticking out farther and farther. His tongue flicked out and licked one, then the other, and she gasped at the thrill it caused. Back and forth his tongue went, and she felt herself sliding under his spell and into his arms again.

They embraced and kissed deeply once again, his hands rubbing her tits, and around her back, up and down her spine.

With her passion again growing, Amnon started once again to work himself closer to her most private corners. She leaned back, and bumped into a counter.

"The buns!" she cried, suddenly remembering her baking. Amnon stopped and stared at her, a startled look upon his face. "They have risen two times, and need to be baked. I must finish before they rise too much and are ruined."

"Fine, as you wish," he said, a look of anger flashing briefly across his face.

Tamar pulled her top back over her head and covered herself, then took the buns over to the fire to cook them.

"I am going to my chamber to lie down and rest," Amnon declared as she worked. "When they are ready to eat, please bring two of the buns to my room." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and left the room.

A few minutes later, the bread was cooked. It had browned nicely, and was tender, soft, aromatic. Delicious! Tamar placed the result of her handiwork on a plate and took it through the door and down the hall to Amnon's bed-chamber.

She knocked, and entered when invited. Inside, Tamar saw Amnon with his back to her. He was undressing, removing his outer garments.

She froze and watched, entranced, as he stripped down to just a loincloth. His wavy hair cascaded down his neck to his upper back. His shoulders rippled with physical power. His shapely legs upheld the rest of him with poise and confidence.

Amnon turned and saw her watching him. He instructed her to set the food on a nearby table.

As she did so, he closed the door behind her. She heard the soft click of a bolt sliding into place, an unbreakable forged rod penetrating its waiting opening.

She froze with the food at the table.

Amnon stepped next to her. This time, he would not be denied everything his heart desired. Tamar's baked buns remained on the table, forgotten, while Amnon devoured her instead.

After he finished raping her, robbing her of her virginity and her dignity, Amnon got up and strode across the room. He picked up one of the buns and took a big bite. It was light and fragrant, but after the passion of the past hours, it seemed bland, tasteless. What did I see in her? he asked himself. Why was I so obsessed with her? He shook his head, disgusted with himself.

"Get out," he ordered.

Tamar sat up on her elbows.

"What?" she stammered.

"Go on! Leave me!" Amnon yelled.

"No!" she cried. "Just sending me away would make things even worse, don't do this to me! Please." she begged and cried.

But Amnon would not be persuaded. He forced her out of his house and bolted the door behind her.

Tamar was hurt, as much emotionally as physically. She was scared, too, about the future. What man, after all, would want to marry someone who was now used-goods?

Where could she go for justice? She had some powerful friends and family, but would even King David do anything? Since Amnon was the first in line for the throne, could anything be done? Should anything be done?

After many minutes of wandering in confusion and fear, Tamar found herself outside the house of her brother Absalom. What had led her here? She wondered. Well, maybe he would know what to do. She raised her hand and knocked on his door.


The biblical tale of Amnon and Tamar can be found in the Old Testament book of 2nd Samuel chapter 13. It is so sordid that it does not need much embellishment. This retelling imagines some consensual affection between Amnon and Tamar, which may or may not be in the Biblical text. My version also only hints at the long, slow, equally intriguing revenge plot Absalom devises against Amnon.

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