Tales of Scheherazade

ariosto

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I am sure that buried in the departed pages of Literotica's SRP forum, one would find several attempts to bring the lusty and sensuous tales of the Arabian Nights to life. Huntress and I cooked up this version over the last few weeks.

It is the 'Thousand and One Tales' in spirit more than fact and our goal is to have fun and entertain ourselves as well as others.

It will be a story made of stories as each night the lovely Scheherazade (Huntress) weaves a lustful tale to the Sultan Schariar (Ariosto)to distract him from his lecherous and leathal attentions.

As the tales are told we may ask people to post with us when the stories require a greater cast.




IC...

Poor maiden...poor Scheherazade...
The terrible Sultan has bedded and dispatched every virgin in the City and now only the Vizier's daughter remains as the last sacrifice to his lust and madness.
Her distraught Father wrings his hands in worry as the beautiful girl prepares for her final night on earth.
She seems strangely calm for one about to scarifice her maidenhead and her life. It's almost as though she has a plan...
 
In Which Scheherazade meets the Sultan

The Sultan reclines on his saffron hued silk divan and smokes idly from the jade bowled hookah. The smoke drifting lazily towards the gilt dome of the ceiling. Fires burn in brass lamps and the room is richly shadowed and still as death.
Schariar awaits his Grand Vizier and the last most precious offering to assuage his rage at his wife's betrayal.
He is a vain and pompous man, sturdy of body and handsome of face, with a curling black beard and long fingered delicate hands that play with the tiger cub at his feet.

The Vizier's daughter is said to be the most lovely maiden in the kingdom. He saw her once when she was but a child and she showed great promise then and would surely have been included in his seraglio by now but that was before his wife had so greivously decieved him.
Now she comes to him not as a concubine but as a sacrifice...the last sacrifice.

A tentative knock.
"Enter!"

The door swings open and the pitiful old Vizier throws himself on the floor wailing abjectly...
"Noble Lord ...Please do not take my daughter, she is my heart , my jewel... I cannot live..."

"Hush father."
A voice like golden bells...
"Hush father and rise. Give me to our Lord as fate will have it.
Kismet."

The Sultan watches them emerge from the shadows. The distraught graybearded Minister of State and a young woman of extraordinary beauty who kneels before Schariar's slippered feet.

"My Daughter, Most Compassionate One," The old man's voice quavers,
"Scheherazade."
 
Scheherazade

Veiled and clad in turquoise silks, with naught revealed of her form but her remarkable copper colored eyes, Scheherazade gracefully knelt before Schariar and prostrated herself in obeisance to the powerful sultan.

The quaver in her father’s voice pained her greatly. His only daughter, Scheherazade had been his sole companion since her mother’s death. She knew the loneliness of his heart and had dutifully endeavored to provide him with companionship and comfort. Each evening they would sit in the garden after their evening repast and she would entertain him with songs and stories of magical adventures, heroes and fair maidens, jinns and sorcerers. She was determined that his gentle spirit would know no futher grief.

“Rise, that I may look upon you,” Schariar commanded.

Tiny silver ornaments decorated her kooshak and chimed softly as the girl came to her feet with head bowed and eyes lowered as tradition required.

“Turn around and remove your milfa.”

Obediently, Scherezade turned about, silks flowing around her like diaphanous wings. Facing Schariar again, eyes still downcast and unfastened her veil. For a moment the silence was as thick as the Persian rugs which covered the floor as the sultan drank in her beauty. Even the tiger cub was still.

Black hair fell in waves like raven’s wings framing her lovely oval face and lips full and red as pomegranate seeds. It spilled over her high, full breasts; twin moons peeking out from clouds of silk in a midnight sky. Her skin was the color of honeyed milk and the scent of her, sandalwood and precious myrrh, wafted to him on the evening breeze, stirring his loins and his heart.

Pridefully, he banished any thought of tenderness. The wounds inflicted by his wife’s betrayal were as yet too fresh, too keen to allow for a softening of his desire for revenge upon all woman-kind.

“Tut, tut, my faithful Vizier. Keeping such a treasure under lock and key was very wise. I am delighted that you saved this lovely peri for my enjoyment.” The sultan’s eyes twinkled dangerously as he surveyed Scherezade’s graceful figure. “I am quite satisfied. We will wed this evening.”

The Vizier stood wringing his hands, looking at Scherezade with tears in his eyes. She smiled and nodded at him, wordlessly assuring him that her decision was made and he could not dissuade her. Schariar gave him no choice but to quit the chamber.

“Go now. Instruct the cooks to prepare a feast and tell the imam to make ready for the ceremony. I will receive him in the garden at sunset,” he ordered. “Go quickly. I am impatient to consummate our nuptials."
 
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The wedding was brief as was to be expected since the same performance had been repeated each night and every night for a thousand times or more.
Yet Scheherazade was of such beauty and noble bearing that many forgot what fate was in store for her and wished mightily that the Sultan would keep this jewel as his wife and their Queen.
Through it all the maiden smiled and seemed strangely dispassionate with her lot. She sat by her husband at the feasting table and fed him from her own fingers, showing him all the attentions of a loyal and dutiful wife.
During the evening Schariar became more and more intoxicated with her beauty and her charm. He watched with admiration the grace of each gesture.
Her voice was as soft and sweet as the desert wind.Her face was perfection itself, her body supple, curved and rounded. Skin like golden honey...

The Sultan could wait no more!
Rising up he clapped his hands for attention and then dismissed everyone. The Old Vizier gave a last tear filled look at his daughter and quietly closed the door.
They were now alone. A crescent moon hung in the clear desert sky ouside the arched window.
Scheherazade looked at it and gave a silent prayer then turned to face him.

"Scheherazade...beautiful name. I'll call you Zade."
He walked over to her...a tall man, a powerful man...and removed her milfa.
He smiled, he had a nice smile she thought.

"Are you pleased?" she asked.
"Am I beautiful?"

"Oh yes...the 'fairest flower' and all that..."
His words seemed caustic but nothing could hide the desire in his eyes.
He raised her chin with his hand and kissed her full on the lips.
She had never been kissed like this before. She blushed and shuddered at the touch, but when he broke away she somehow wished he hadn't.

Schariar sat back against the green and yellow cushions of the divan and sighed.
"You are very, very beautiful my dear child and fittingly so, since you will be the last
sacrifice to my wife's betrayal."
Scheherazade stared down at her slippered feet and said nothing.

A moment passed. He spoke again, the hardness back in his voice...
"Remove your veils and silks little one, I would see you naked now. I wish to feast my eyes on your cinnamon skin."

She knew that time was running out.
 
Scheherazade

A grim expression clouded Schariar’s noble features as he commanded Scherezade to disrobe.

“Allah be merciful,” she whispered and turned away, stepping to the center of the plush carpet. She nodded to a trio of musicians hidden behind an ornate screen who responded with a lilting, mournful tune. Tambur, flute and drum joined, their voices rising into the warm desert air and Scherezade began to dance.

Full hips undulated with the beat of the drum and her dainty feet, now bare, carried her in a graceful circle as she discarded the first skirt, which drifted to the floor and pooled at the sultan’s feet. As the rhythm increased, so did the removal of her garments, revealing more of her lush figure as she continued to dance.

Schariar watched avidly as the object of his desire whirled through the traditional raks bat’n. With each movement, he became more entranced with her beauty; her nimble hands unfastening veil, and skirts without error, long shapely legs and ankles turning her through the complicated steps of the dance. The music crescendoed in furious clash of the instruments, fading into a whisper as Scherezade sank to the floor with the last strains of the flute, clad in nothing but a shimmering vest and split trousers.

”Truly she is fit to be a queen”, he thought. “Pity that she will not enjoy the title for long.”

Schariar rose from the divan and lifted her chin with a finger. “Come and sit beside me, little dove. I would taste of so ripe a fruit, especially when it is rightfully mine.” His eyes burned into hers as he lifted her up and pulled her close to his breast feeling an ache in his loins he inhaled the aroma of sandalwood which drifted up from the warmth of her bosom. He could take her easily, this fragile desert flower yet he resisted the temptation to mount her then and there, grasping her shoulders and abruptly pushing her way. Instead, he seized her hand and led her to a mass of tasseled cushions, drawing her down beside him as their bodies sank into the yielding bed of pillows.

Her body trembled in his arms as he took her mouth in his, the taste of her lips making his blood boil with nearly uncontrollable desire. His fingers began a journey of heated exploration, tracing the outline of her jaw, shoulder to the tender skin inside her elbow, circling the hollow briefly, caressing lush hip and thigh, over her taut belly and resting finally as they gently cupped the globe of her breast.

He bent and kissed the fragrant skin, marveling at it’s texture and heat, enjoying the trembling response, wanting more. His fingers found the clasp of her vest and deftly flicked it open; the fabric parted readily to expose rosy brown nipples which hardened at his touch. Scherezade inhaled sharply as his burning lips claimed the erect nub. The sultan thought to strip away what was left of her flimsy clothing, to fill her satiny depths with his swollen manhood but stayed his hand as her body stiffened and soft hands crept up to his cheeks.

“My lord, I have another gift for you,” she whispered huskily as she brought his face level with her own. “Pray allow me to present it before I am utterly lost in the spell of your desire.” Limpid pools of copper and ebony held his gaze openly, without pretense or deception. “I am trained as a storyteller and humbly offer a tale of great passion and lust – to delight and entertain you.” Her eyes sparkled in the lamplight and Schariar found himself unable to deny her request.
 
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Tantalize...

OOC: Meant to attach this image to the above post.
 
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The lovely Scheherazade propped herself on one shapely elbow, the globes of her breasts easy playthings for the Sultan and began in the most intimate way to relate to him....


the Tale of Princess Zubeydeh and the Shepherd Boy of Great Endowment.

It came to pass one summer in the small Kingdom of Fanz that a poor but handsome shepherd boy caught the eye of the noble Lady Zubeydeh as she was being carried in her litter across the country to see her ailing grandmother. The boy was asleep on a flat rock in the warm sunshine surrounded by the flock that he cared for. The weather being ferociously hot he had removed all clothing save his white loin cloth and a sheepskin vest. The Princess from her vantage remarked on the boys comely appearence and also on the mighty bulge which seemed to so completely fill the linen cloth around his hips. She watched him until he faded from site behind her. The remembrance of the boy stayed with her.

A week later she followed the same dusty road to her grandmother's home and again passed the boy stretched out on the rock. On this day it was even hotter than before and the lad had removed his vest, so now she saw the whole of his muscular body save the cloth covered private parts which seemed to have grown even more prodigious in the past week. 'He is a young man of great endowments', she thought and her eyes lingered long on the golden skin of the sleeping boy.
For seven days the thought of nothing but the boy and how she would have her way with him, for Princess Zubeydeh was was a lusty girl, full of curiosityand fantastic imagininings.

The next week on the journey to her Grandmother's she stopped the litter bearers well short of the sheperds rock and bade them rest while she searched the barren hills for small flowers.
Looking back to make sure they were all dozing peacefully, the doelike Princess ran to the place where she had seen him and sure enough there he lay. Only on this day the sun was hotter than glowing iron and the boy had removed even the loincloth and now lay sleeping, his great endowment fully exposed to Zubeydeh's shocked and curious eyes. Slowly and quietly she approached him....
 
Scheherazade

… and stood there for several moments admiring the athletic grace of his form and skin of burnished gold, gleaming in the midday sun.

“Aaahhh,” she sighed. “Is this comely boy a gift from almighty Allah or a trick of the Jinn, to torment me?”

So saying, Zubeydeh reached out with curious, tentative fingers to discover for herself the nature of this apparition. Much to her surprise and delight, the flesh of his thigh was warm and yielding. The boy did not awaken at her touch which captivated her even more, and she contemplated the tantalizing possibilities presented by his substantial gifts. Brazenly, she leaned over the supine figure as though to place a kiss on his full lips only to be caught by a pair of startling blue eyes suddenly awake.

“No, Lady, I implore you. Please do not kiss me,“ implored the youth, now sitting up on his rocky bed. “There is a curse upon me and your attentions will only do me greater harm.” So saying, he hung his head sadly and began to weep.

The princess felt a great welling of compassion for the boy and, driven by this new feeling and her desire for his considerable attribute, she begged him to explain the nature of his predicament.

“My name is Bahjat. I now live the life of a simple shepherd, but I was heir to a great kingdom before the jann cursed me.”

“It was my habit to go hunting each day with my retainers in a valley south of my father’s castle. One day we were riding after a white buck when suddenly I found myself in a beautiful garden and my friends were no where to be seen.

A young woman of unsurpassing beauty came to me there. She washed my feet in rosewater and brought me sweet meats, quince and pomegranates, milk and honey. We made mad passionate love all night. In the morning she was gone. Each night she came to my bed and we made love until the sun rose. Each day she went away."

“I was enchanted by her loveliness and sought to engage her in conversation or at least learn her name whenever she came to me. Never did I hear her speak a word though I remained with her in the garden for two months.”

“One evening, there was a terrible roaring to be heard outside the ring of trees which surrounded the garden. As the sound came closer, I saw the lady tremble with fear and hide, cowering beneath a fig tree. Suddenly, a monstrous efrit appeared in the clearing, bellowing with rage. He pointed a great clawed finger at me and …”
 
My wife you have defiled boy!
And his voice made the very earth split open and sulphurus yellow fumes burst forth, I quaked in fear knowing that my end had come! Falling to my knees I implored him...For the sake of my widowed Mother, my blind sightless Grandmother and my poor young brothers and sisters of whom I am their only support....Spare me!
A blast of hot wind blew me over and it was his breath, like the opening of an oven door.
Spare you!...Yes I'll spare you...but know you this!
If ever you couple with a woman again nay even if a woman so much as touches it, then your member shall swell and grow to huge proportions and stay that way FOREVER!

Then in a sudden flash like lightning on a cloudless day the monstrous efrit was gone!

So you see Mistress why poor Bahjat cannot suffer your attentions no matter how lustily he might crave them.

Zubeydeh's eyes had wandered down to the white loin cloth from which protruded just the perfect smooth tip of his great endowment.
She licked her ripe full lips and her lovely hand slid up the copper smoothness of his thigh...
 
Huntress you will be missed.
But the Sultan is very glad to welcome Testarossa as the new Scheherazade!
 
Thanks for your vote of confidence, my randy sultan. I hope to satisfy your every whim.

~Tes
 
Tes, I hope you won't be disappointed but your services won't be needed after all. Thanks for the offer, hon.

~H~
 
Scheherazade

...saying, "You poor boy. Is there nothing that can be done for your 'condition'?”

Bahjat shook his head sadly and a tear slipped down his cheek for he had become enamoured of Zubeydeh’s beauty and lusty nature.

“I will return here tomorrow," she said resolutely. “I know of an wise woman who may be able to help.”

Her eyes lingered on his wondrous endowment for another moment, a distracted smile belying her wanton thoughts. Reluctantly she turned toward her palanquin and strode away to rouse her litter bearers. As she climbed into the litter and settled into its soft cushions, she considered how best to contact the old woman and what excuse she might invent in order to visit the shepherd boy again.

It was late in the day when she returned to her father’s palace. As soon as she had retired to her apartments, Zubeydeh sent one of her maids to search out the old lady and bring her back to the palace. In a short time the maid returned with a wizened crone who was dressed head to toe in black robes which revealed only a pair of inquisitive dark eyes.

“Oh, daughter of Ja’far, what is it you desire of this most unworthy old woman?”

“You have a certain knowledge, grandmother. I would have you share it with me so that I may render assistance to a young man who is suffering under a curse.”

And Zubeydeh related the nature of the curse to the old woman who, after hearing the story, began to weep most bitterly.

“Ah, young one, this is indeed a sad tale. I know the youth of whom you speak and I will help you. I ask only this in return: you must swear by Allah that you will never reveal my true nature to a living soul.”

Zubeydeh immediately sent her maids and servants out of the room. The old woman cast off her robes and, as they landed on the floor, took her proper form; a jinneyh of great comeliness.

“I am she that by her indescretion caused the youth to be so afflicted. It was my husband who cursed him and I have long awaited someone who would desire him enough that I might relieve his unfortunate condition.”

“We must hasten now to the place where you last saw him. The spell must be cast before the cock crows in the morning.”

So saying she picked up her robe and motioning to Zubeydeh to come closer, threw the cloth over them both. In an instant they were standing before the rock where the youth was still reclining, his prodigious endowment standing tall beneath a cloth.

“Oh, my,” said the jinneyeh. “We have no time to lose. Lady you must take firm hold of his staff and…”
 
...mount him quickly. As he begins to swell large inside you I can by means known only to me, keep him from splitting you wide open. If he can be brought to orgasm while still sheathed within you then that is as large as his 'endowment' shall ever again
become.
There is danger though Lady, in that I might not be able to stay the course of his rampant burgeoning and he might indeed swell so large within you as to do greivous harm.
What think you...


Bahjat awoke to find two delicate veiled women standing before him. His loin cloth had slipped, revealing the turgid rod that lay against his thigh. He reached down in embaressment to cover himself but instead one of the beauties stayed his hand and reaching out took hold of his ivory member.

See how it grows!

And indeed, near instantly the shaft began to swell and lengthen. The jinneyh felt it grow heated, stiff...

Hurry Zubeydeh...not a moment is to be lost!

The other woman threw off her veils and slipped from her clothes.
Bahjat drew in his breath!... it was the lovely Princess from...
What was she doing!

She straddled him on the warm rock and began to lower herself onto his rigidly erect and rapidly growing penis. The jinneyh was grasping it in both hands, guiding it to the petaled gate of Zubeydeh's honeyd passage.

Wait!,He cried,
You don't know what your doing!
 
Scheherazade

The young man’s urgent plea fell upon Zubeydeh’s ears too late, for the tip of his engorged staff had already entered the satiny folds of thickened, slippery flesh. Bahjat heard a low, impassioned moan escape her pomegranate colored lips as his prodigious rod slowly penetrated the close, moist passage and his hips rose insistently in response to the sudden heat, driving deeply into the gates of heaven.

A smile of satisfaction crept over the jinneyeh’s lovely mouth as she watched Zubeydeh and Bahjat discover a driving rhythm. She too, cast off her robes, then lifted her arms up toward the darkening sky and rose into the air.

Unaware of anything but their union, Zubeydeh rode the massive pole, feeling it plunge and withdraw, growing larger with each thrust, and yet hungering for more. She sought purchase on the rock with her slender hands and finding none, gripped Bahjat’s shoulders. His driving became more urgent and her hips responded in kind; rising then plunging down, again, and again, and again. All the while, the jinneyeh floated above them, smiling mysteriously.

Stars began to shine in the night sky and a crescent moon rose over the still-warm hillside, illuminating the pair of lovers on the rock. Above them, the jin’s body began to change, becoming translucent and glowing as brightly as the nascent moon but casting no light or shadow. Slowy the voluptuous figure drifted down until it was resting upon the pair. Unearthly lips met Zubeydeh’s and kissed them warmly while a nearly invisible mons met Bahjat’s open, hungry mouth…
 
She was going to burst!
The boy was not going to reach paradise in time!
She felt herself beginning to split in half. She wanted to cry out but she could not stop!
Again and again she drove herself onto his ever thickening shaft...she could not stop!

Tears ran from Bahjat's eyes knowing that a terible fate awaited her and that he was helpless to prevent it. His entire being his every thought and sense was centered on the consuming sensations of his mostrous endowment as it penetrated the lovely princess again and again.

He heard her cry out and then her cry was strangely cut off, muffled as though something was in her mouth, something...
A shadow passed over his face and he felt warm slick swollen lips descend on his own. But they were not the lips from which words came.
No they were...they were...
His tongue slipped out and tasted the sweet flesh. It licked and probed and slid within not finding an answering tongue nor teeth but rather a tight hot sheath that contracted and squeezed around him. He probed farther and he felt a warmth settling over his face and a slow grinding movement commence as though soft flesh were rubbing his cheeks and his jaw.

Zubeydeh too was startled but at least had an idea of what was happening.
The Jinneyh's kiss was deep and lingering, it soothed the growing pain between her loins. She continued to slowly rise and fall upon the shepherds great Staff but now she was able to squeeze on it. She realised suddenly that the fearsome burgeoning of the thing had nearly stopped. Invisible hands began to kneed and squeeze her pomegranite breasts. She shuddered she felt a wave of indescribabale pleasure rising in her...

How delicious this was...the taste of this around his tongue and on his lips was distracting him. He felt the Princess plunging up and down as before but now...now it was this, this wonderfully pungent passage that he was thrusting his tongue into that was drawing him and heating him and heating him and...
He reached up and his hands found ghostly flesh, they pulled down and he felt the lips of the passage open around his mouth he DROVE his tongue in as far as he could...he DROVE his endowment in as far as he could!
The stars sang!...The night exploded! and Bahjat was gushing his long pent up seed into the womb of the Princess Zubeydah!
 
Scheherazade

The taste of honeyed melons descended upon Zubeydeh’s lips with the jinneyh’s kiss, warm and sweet and intoxicating. Suddenly the agony between her legs dissipated as a probing tongue entered her mouth and unseen fingers caressed her cheeks and as the shepherd boy’s mighty staff continued to plow the velvet fields of her secret passage, she felt only pleasure. Feather light Fiery sensations overwhelmed the beautiful princess, catching her up in the powerful spell and she began to ride Bahjat’s hips as she might one of her father’s magnificent white stallions, responding to his rhythmic thrusts in perfect counterpoint.

Stars twinkled dimly through the jinneyh’s translucent form; a filmy, irridescent bridge between the upright and recumbent forms on the rock below. As their passions grew her shape became more lustrous, glowing ethereally from within; shining brighter and brighter with each thrust and tremor until, at the moment of their release, her curvaceous form burst sending a shower of scintillating sparks into the deep indigo sky. Thus was the odious curse dispelled.
_____________________________________________

”And so, my great sultan, ends the tale of the Great Endowment.”

A smile flickered briefly across Scherezade’s lips as she modestly folded her delicate hands in her lap and bowed her head to await his next command.
 
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Schariar had listened to every word of the tale, and watched Scheherazade's beautiful lips form each one.
At first he listened with only half an ear for he was consumed by lust for the girl's precious nubile body.
He had fondled her breasts through much of the story but towards the end he became totally engrossed in the little drama
and his immediate passion for the Vizier's daughter had faded.

It was brought back with a new urgency, an urgency compounded by the very arousing nature of the story.

He raised her face and kissed her lips, then standing before her he stripped off his vestments and she could see his well muscled body and the thick, curving staff of his erection.
A tear coursed down her cheek as she realised that her time had come, that indeed her tale had been only a delay afterall.

Master, if you take me tonight, if you send your royal seed past my maidenhead, then I am doomed to die.
She reached out and touched his dark sinewy thigh,
Then I will not be able to tell you the other tale, more arousing by far then the first...
...and she began to weep bitter tears.

Schariar, stroked his beard in thought and then his face brightened.
I see a way past this dilemma. I will take my pleasure of you
and still be told the story from your lips.


Her great almond eyes looked up at him.
But how....?

The Sultan stepped forward and guided his formidable cock towards Scheherazade's lush full lips.
There are many ways to pleasure me, short of deflowering you my dear girl.
 
Scheherazade

The wondrous sight of Schariar’s erection gave Zade a mild start. This pulsing dark shaft with it’s purpled head was a marvel; silken skin stretched taut along it’s length, it seemed to move of it’s own volition, beckoning, enticing. She could feel it’s warmth on her lips though it had yet to touch them and, while never having tasted such a succulent delicacy, she was drawn by instinct and a compelling desire to do so now.

The pink tip of her tongue flicked out and deftly captured a tiny pearl of liquid which lay suspended in the slit. Salt and sweet musk flavored the droplet and the sensation on her tongue left her craving more. Again, she tasted of his fiery manhood and felt as much as she heard him groan in response, and emboldened by his expression of hunger, took the satiny head between her lips, swirling her tongue gently over the smooth surface, exploring the depths of it’s scant crevice.

Schariar wavered slightly. His surprise at her willingness to take his great gift was vast and wondering. This flower of the desert, this beautiful creature who so delicately obliged his passion’s demand and made him reel with desire. He yearned to impale that exquisite throat with his swollen rod, yet exerted every ounce of will he possessed to resist. His hands clenched with the effort and his face contorted as he struggled to control his voracious, driving appetite.

Gazelle-like eyes lifted to his as she released his mighty staff and tremulously asked,"My lord, have I displeased you?"
 
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Apparently she had not, since his control gave way completely and with a violent jerk his Purpled Staff began to geyser white warm liquid in all directions!

Zade drew back her hands, clasped them to her bosom and watched in alarm as the Sultan shot his royal seed into space.
Well not all of it, as several packets laced hotly across the lovely girls body and rolled into the dusky hollow of her navel.

Schariar sat down with a thump and looked in distress at his shrinking, weeping Wand of Wonder.
The Maiden scooped the milky liquid from her belly button on the tip of a slender finger and licked it off with the tip of her velvet tongue.

"ALAS!"
Cried the Sultan.
"I have gone and cum!
Now I shall be spent until the morrow!"

Scheherazade kept her almond eyes expressionless but a ray of hope was building.

Schariar rose, sliding his undependable member once again within his pantaloons with a slap of disgust.

He clapped his hands and the Vizier entered.
What joy there was on the old man's face when he saw his daughter still alive.
Naked but alive.

"Take her!...She is to return tomorrow night.
Something...happened. I have decided to spare her until the sunsets in the evening."

He lifted her face in his hands.
"THEN I will have her maidenhead."
he smiled.
"Now begone!"
 
Scheherezade

Donning an embroidered robe and hastening out of the room, Zade felt an odd mixture of puzzled relief and disappointment as she followed her father down the corridor to her apartments. The image of Schariar’s splendid rod bobbing in front of her and the lingering taste of his seed caused a bemused smile to creep over her lips. When the Vizier spied the look on her face, he frowned, knowing how persuasive the sultan could be and hoping his little jewel would survive the week.

Lost in her thoughts, she was hardly aware of the women who removed her robe and washed her skin with rosewater, dressed her again in silks of crimson and laid her upon a soft mattress. She gazed at the moon for a long time after they’d extinguished the lamps and retired, whispering about her fate before the door had closed.

A dove’s low call roused her the next morning. She blinked sleepily and looked about for Amouche, her maidservant. She grinned when she saw the older woman still snoring in the corner. Impishly, Zade grabbed a slipper and tossed it at the wall, watched it hit it’s mark and fall onto the woman’s head. Amouche’s arms flung up and waved about wildly as if fending off an attacker and she spluttered a variety of remarkable curses at the unseen foe. Zade laughed with glee at her predicament until she saw a scowl, and quickly put a hand to her mouth stifling the giggle.

“Good morning, Princess. I hope you slept well,” Amouche said gruffly. “Dreamt of your sultan the night through I suppose. Don’t become to comfortable, your highness. It’s only a matter of time until he has his way with you and…” she moved a finger across her throat suggestively. Then her face softened and she said with a sigh, “Oh, I cannot be angry with you, no matter how you vex me.”

“Come now and let me dress you, then we’ll find something for you to eat.”

The day passed quickly and once again Zade found herself in Schariar’s stern presence. The curious tiger cub pounced on her slippered toes as she sank to the cushions at the sultan’s feet and, in spite of himself, Schariar smiled.

Recovering quickly, he gazed impassively at Scheherezade and raised an imperious eyebrow, saying, “How shall you stave off my advances tonight? Have you another tale for me, oh light of the desert?”

Her eyes sparkled as she replied, “Oh merciful sultan, I do have another tale. Listen and I will tell you the strange and wonderful tale of The Lady of Baghdad and The Flying Carpet.”
 
"Are you forgetting something little flower?"
Zade looked confused for a moment and then blushed.
"You mean...?"
"Yes my dear all of them. I want to contemplate your delightful charms as you entertain me."

The maiden stood up and removed her garments, giving them to the admiring servant, another girl of great beauty, that Schariar had summoned.
"Sit here by me Scheherazade."
He patted the soft pillow next to him and the vizier's lovely daughter sat down.
"Bring us sherberts and almonds...wine and cool water."
The Sultan clapped his hands and the servant hurried away.
"Now sweet girl, " he said, bending and kissing her virgin breasts, "tell us your tale."



....and so she recounted;

The Lady of Baghdad and the Flying Carpet

Once Oh Great and Potent Sultan, there was living in the many domed City of Baghdad a woman of easy virtue named Eymara. She had practiced her trade for many a year and now was looking haggard, old and spent. The young men shunned her and even the old men looked the other way when she serviced them.
Once she had commanded the attention of Princes who paid her with fine jewels and gold but now she walked the streets and sold herself for coppers to whoever would have her.
One night she stood on a bridge over a raging river and prepared to throw herself in thus ending her sordid misery.
But a djinn appeared to her in the form of a woman of surpassing beauty.
"Do not end your life."
She said, "It is not time.
Look at what I have for you!"
The djinn unrolled a magnificent carpet of royal purples and blood red crimsons bordered in luminous gold.
Eymara looked at it in wonder.

"Step on it." Said the djinn.
When she did a warm rush washed over her and she found herself young again, young and beautiful as she once had been.
"Now command it to fly!"

"What?"

"Tell it to fly."

Eymara dutifuly commanded the carpet to fly and behold it hovered off the ground!
The surprised woman grabbed the edges to keep from falling off and the djinn laughed.
"You will never fall from the carpet. It will always be under you."
Slowly it drifted back down to earth and Eymara stepped off it becoming once again the wasted hag she'd been a few minutes ago.
She began to cry...

The djinn put an arm around her and comforted her.
"Listen to me. Acomplish these tasks I set you and you shall be forever young, beautiful and graceful as a gazelle."

"yes...YES! anything!"
Eymara looked up with tear filled eyes.
"Anything you tell me, I will do."

"First then, you will take the carpet and fly to the City of Damascus where you'll find and make love to Prince Jafar, a boy of handsome looks and a heart of darkness.
Then you will fly to the city of Samarkand where you'll find and make love to the Sultana, a lovely woman of great virtue whom you must seduce.
Finally you must fly to Alexandria where you will find and make love to the two brothers Hasan and Rashid, comely twins who value their money above all else."

Eymara was stunned!... a prince, a queen and two stingy men.
"Is that...all then. If I do this I will be as I was?"

"Not quite, for you must then return here to Baghdad where the final task will await you and then you will be once again the most desirable courtesan in the City."
The djinn began to dissolve...
"Remember though, you will only have your beauty now while you are on the carpet and only be able to consumate your unions while the carpet is in flight...."

Long after the Djinn disappeared, Eymara eyed the carpet almost with fear and then tentatively she put one foot upon it...
 
… and then the other. Her blood began to sing and she put her hands to breast that were once more full and ripe and she laughed exuberantly.

“Once around the city, carpet. Fly!”

Immediately, the carpet surged upwards in a graceful arc over Baghdad and Eymara gripped the bindings tightly, laughing again as cool winds played with the now glossy black hair streaming down her back and whipped the edges of her robes. Stars gleamed coldly and the moon’s face was absent from it’s celestial domain as the carpet sailed on.

The city lay in semi-darkness, it’s minarets and towers looming against the midnight sky like enormous phalli. Far below the occasional glow from a window shown forth or a bobbing circle of light appeared on a shadowed street as a lantern showed some traveler the road home.

Eymara gazed at the distant mountains and suddenly realized that she hadn’t a clue as to the whereabouts of Damascus or Samarkand or Alexandria. Never before had she been outside of Baghdad and she was filled with a cold dread. Where should she go? To the east? To the west?

“I am doomed before I’ve even begun,” she wailed to the stars. “Surely you did not set me an impossible task, oh mighty djinn -- A cruel trick that would be!”

Not being one to indulge in self-pity for more than a moment, Eymara’s clever mind went to work. The carpet had responded quickly to her command to fly around the city, perhaps all she need do was tell it where to go. With a hammering heart in her chest, she tested the theory.

“Take me to the palace of Prince Jafar of Damascus”, she said timidly.

The carpet continued on it’s present course around the city.

She felt tears beginning to well up in her eyes, but screwed up her courage and called out loudly, “Take me to Damascus and the palace of Prince Jafar!

Immediately the carpet sped off in a north-easterly direction, sailing over mountains, rivers and softly sparkling deserts until she could see the squat towers of a city silhouetted against the pre-dawn sky. Only when it had crossed the outer walls, did the carpet’s pace slow and it veered toward a dull, gray, foreboding palace. Eymara’s heart sank as she perceived it’s ugliness.

“Is eternal youth and beauty worth what it may cost me to seduce such a man as the one who lives in this dreary place?” she wondered aloud and then shrugged saying ruefully, “I’ve done worse for less...”

The fortress walls were thick and topped with toothed crenellations. Inside the walls were the remains of what might once have been a beautiful garden, but was now dead and tangled, and gray like the surrounding walls. A high tower overlooked the courtyard and Eymara decided that she might be safe at it’s top and would use the coming day to decide upon her next course of action… the seduction of Jafar.
 
Jafar looked at the new girl Roxanna, a pale blonde Circassian Christian beauty, bought at the slave market just yesterday.
She was bound by chains to the wall of his bed cahamber. Her arms stretched wide, her delicate feet barely touching the cold stone floor. A fire guttered in the fireplace but it's heat was feeble. The room was as cold and dark as Jafar's black heart.

How had the young Prince come to be such a sinister and cruel tyrant?
No one knew. As a youth he had been loved and respected throughout the kingdom and then on a dark day three years ago he had changed utterly into the malevolent creature he was now. The kingdom withered under his dark tyrannies and his insatiable lusts had claimed fair victims from every quarter.

Roxanna was only the latest.
He approached her in a rampant state and she wilted at the size of his monstous member, her experience with men was nil save for the gentle caresses of her betrothed now lost to her forever. Tears rolled down her cheeks...

Jafar reached up, gripped her arms cruelly and looked her in the eyes, his own as cold and dark as chips of obsidian.
"You will yield to me now...you will do all that I command of you!"
His words flew in her face like viperous snakes...

"No...no, never..."
her broken voice was but a whisper.
He laughed and bent his head to her high sweet virgin breasts
and engulfed them in his sensuous lips. His teeth were sharp and he bit her cruelly...

"Oh by Mohammed's Beard...WATCH OUT!"

Jafar whirled round at the desperate cry, just in time to see an incredibly frightened woman riding a carpet, crash through the window!
He tried to duck, but the fast sailing rug caught him at forehead level and he crashed into the wall along with the airborne intruder, right at Roxanne's feet!
 
Eymara spotted something from her perch atop the tower roof; there was sudden movement in a room directly across from her position. Crouching just below the edge of a parapet, she watched as light fanned out from an open door and revealed a richly dressed nobleman. He entered the chamber and stood with hands on hips, his dark, haughty directed to the opposite wall where a fair young woman was chained. Eymara felt her cheeks begin to burn as she watched the dark man swagger toward his captive and bare what might have been a scimitar… were it not made of flesh. The girl flinched and recoiled as he caught her arms in a mercilous grip and his heartless laughter rang through the courtyard. The bile rose in Eymara’s throat as she helplessly watched the scene unfold.

“You craven dog! You… you… son of an adder!” she cursed. “You are no man at all!”

The girl’s plight offended her code of honor for despite her chosen profession, Eymara had always followed the Golden Rule. That an innocent should suffer such treatment infuriated her and she impetuously hissed, “Fly, carpet, fly! Make haste to that apartment and let us see the blackguard who is so small he must inflict pain on helpless women.”

At once, the carpet took flight, launching from the rooftop at such a precarious angle and speed that Eymara’s eyes began to water profusely. She saw only a blur of gray as the carpet swooped across the courtyard. Vainly she wiped at the tears streaming into her hair with the back of one hand while the other kept a death grip on the binding. She did not see their headlong dive down the wall toward the open window. Suddenly she felt a lurch as the carpet banked steeply. There was a crash and a heavy blow struck the forward binding; too late she realized her peril as the carpet tumbled end over end and landed in a heap against the wall.

Dazedly, Eymara pushed the tumble of black curls away from her face and saw that she was not alone in her discomfiture. Emerging from beneath the carpet’s brilliant fringe, was the scowling face of the nobleman. A quick glance at the pale blonde beauty confirmed her fears; blue eyes wide with terror and a quivering bosom spoke of deadly consequences for her rash behaviour. She bit her lower lip, hesitating for only a moment. There was no time to waste. The man was already clambering onto the carpet, a snarl marring his otherwise handsome features and making straight for her with a murderous glint in his eye.

“Carpet! O swiftest of rugs, make all haste and fly us to the summit of Jabal al-Shaykh!”

The carpet was airborne in a flash and soared out the window making for the sacred mountain with a very surprised, angry and unwilling passenger on board.
 
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