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  • Scheherazade and the King Ch. 03

Scheherazade and the King Ch. 03

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Disclaimer: Again, sorry about the length of this chapter. I've been trying to make them as long as the first one but I haven't had as much time to write recently as I would like. Thank you again to all those who have voted, commented, and offered constructive criticism. I write for myself but I publish in the hope that others will enjoy reading the story and getting to know the characters. Thank you and I hope you continue to read.


Shariyar was in a foul temper. The girl had given him an order and, even worse, he had obeyed.

"I walked out of that room like a chastised pet dog," he muttered to himself. "My tail between my fucking legs."

He paced the room agitatedly, too caught up in his own anger to even think about food or drink.

"Tomorrow," he snarled. "'Come back tomorrow', she said."

He stopped before the open window and stared out at the starry sky, massaging his forehead with one hand. Tomorrow seemed a very long way away.

Shariyar had not had a restful night since Nasrin woke him with a knife at his throat. The darkness seemed to crowd him, sending his wickedest instincts into a frenzy. He could feel those dark desires struggling against their chains like wild animals, pawing at the ground and howling at the moon, thirsting for freedom.

He scowled and turned his back to the night sky. He needed liquor and a woman. Possibly more than one... he felt a fire growing in the pit of his stomach as he thought about how he had taken Scheherazade the first time. His cock began to harden, straining against his trousers as he remembered how her whole body had quivered when he came inside her.

Shariyar wanted the gypsy's head impaled on his dick right then and there. He wanted the slut to gag on the length of his member and choke on his cum.

But, as much as he wanted the girl, he needed a willing whore tonight. He needed a seasoned slut to ride his cock and drink his cum. Shariyar fastened his cloak around his neck and pulled the hood over his head, obscuring his face in shadow. There was only one place to find the kind of woman he needed - an underground brothel on the outskirts of the city. It was kept secret to all but the most discreet of clientele. And, tonight, for the first time in many months, he would be one of them.

It was easy for Shariyar to sneak out of the palace: He was still as strong and agile as he had been as a younger man, and he knew the buildings and their grounds like the back of his hand. He climbed down the thick, creeping vines that grew outside the queen's bedroom window and disappeared into the unguarded gardens. The tree he and Jafar climbed as children was still the only one tall enough to stretch over the palace walls and he pulled himself up into its branches with a muffled grunt before following them over the rampart. He dropped to his feet outside the wall and then, after a hasty glance to be sure he was alone, took off into the night.

Shariyar slipped through the narrow alleyways of Persepolis like a shadow. The brothel was hidden beneath a decrepit house on the outskirts of the city. Perhaps some wild spirit took pleasure in the sinful den because, no matter how many times the desert threatened to consume it, the sand always seemed to keep at bay. If Shariyar were to be recognised out here, so close to the savage wilderness he had sent so many women to die in, the kingdom would probably never find all the pieces of his body. But the threat of death made the king's visits all the more exciting. Each time something moved in the shadows, Shariyar's stomach leapt and the rush of adrenaline set his heart pounding. The only thing he liked better than the dangerous journey was the reward that awaited him at its end.

By the time Shariyar reached the brothel his cock was struggling against the confines of his trousers once more. He walked into the abandoned house and knelt down a few steps inside, rapping sharply on the floor. A hidden trap door slid open - just wide enough for him to slip a bag of coins through - and then slammed shut again. A few moments passed while the guard counted the money and then the trapdoor slid open, this time wide enough for Shariyar to enter.

The guard nodded at the king as he descended the first few steps of the crooked wooden staircase before shutting the trapdoor and bolting it behind them. Shariyar waited in the darkness as the guard lit a lantern. Suddenly the wick caught and the passageway was illuminated. The guard edged past Shariyar and led him down the steep stairs. Finally the silent pair arrived at a thick wooden door. It opened slowly at a single knock from the guard. A pair of eunuchs nodded respectfully to Shariyar and then led him inside the luxuriant underground brothel.

Shariyar inhaled deeply as he was led through the carpeted corridor, taking in the scents of perfume, opium and incense that wafted through the air. From behind gauzy curtains, naked women sent coy smiles his way, flitting from their beds to gaze lustfully after him. The eunuchs stopped before a room guarded only by a heavy curtain. They held it open for Shariyar and then took their places outside the doorway.

The room was hazy with the musky smoke of burning incense and soft pillows were strewn across the carpeted floor. Shariyar pulled off his clothes, leaving them on the ground where they fell. He no longer had his hood to conceal his identity, but a mask had been laid out on the bed for him to cover his face. The mask was in the shape of a snarling wolf, it's red tongue lolling out from between fanged teeth.

"Fitting," he muttered to himself before slipping the mask over his face.

The eye-holes offered him a more narrow view of the room. He walked away from the bed and settled down in the padded embrace of a large, low chair. Then he waited, his cock standing at half-mast, for the show to begin.

He did not have to wait long. Two girls suddenly peeked in from the doorway. They giggled at each other and entered slowly, giving Shariyar the chance to appraise them.

They were both very beautiful women and Shariyar's dick grew stiffer as his eyes raked over their bodies. One was darker than the other, her raven hair hung straight and long, and her voluptuous breasts were ornamented with mahogany nipples that begged to be bitten. The other's hair rippled down to her shoulders in brown waves, her breasts were smaller than the her friend's and her nipples were small, pink rosebuds. The girls walked to stand in front of Shariyar and then began to touch each other, simpering at him as they rubbed their breasts together.

The king groaned slightly as his cock came to rest against his stomach, precum leaking from its crown and dripping onto his lower abdomen. The girl with the smaller breasts leaned down and took one of her friend's nipples into her mouth - pulling it between her teeth until the second prostitute moaned in delight. Shariyar licked his lips as the girl moved her mouth to the other nipple, suckling and biting at it mercilessly.

The girl with the straight hair then pulled the other girl's face towards hers, engulfing that torturous mouth in a passionate kiss. As their tongues danced, the prostitutes' hands resumed their explorations, running lightly over each other's breasts and asses.

Finally the girls broke their kiss, they glanced at Shariyar's dripping member and then back to each other. They each giggled as they got down on their hands and knees and began crawling towards the king. Shariyar moaned as he felt their lips brushing against his feet and steeled himself from taking his cock in his hands. He gripped the arms of the chair harshly as the girls licked and nibbled and kissed their way up his calves.

He spread his legs wider as the girls reached his thighs, shifting himself lower so that his groin was off the chair. The prostitutes licked his inner thighs, making their way slowly towards his heavy balls and waiting member. One of the girls turned around, positioning her face under his balls. He hissed as she ran her tongue around his ballsack, licking at each of his testicles gently before taking them both into her mouth.

"Yeah, bitch," he whispered darkly, "lick my balls."

The girl responded enthusiastically, even running her tongue behind his balls, teasing his perineum with her mouth.

The other prostitute straddled her friend, rubbing her pussy against the other girl's stomach as she positioned herself to suck the king's dick. Shariyar closed his eyes and moaned as she began to lick his cock from base to crown, swirling her tongue around its leaking head and lapping up his precum. Then she took the whole thing in her mouth, swallowing every inch of his cock in eager gulps. Her nose brushed against his pelvis as she held his cock in her mouth, her muscles clenching around his dick as it hit the back of her throat.

The king felt pressure mounting in the pit of his stomach but he refused to cum so quickly. He reached out and pulled the girl sucking his cock to her feet by a fistful of her hair.

"Ride my cock, whore," he muttered breathlessly.

The girl smiled at him lustily and straightened her knees. As the other girl continued to lick and suck on Shariyar's balls, she lowered herself onto his dick. She cried out loudly as the king's thick cock filled her and began rocking her hips back and forth. The king moaned as his length moved inside her. He knew her cries of ecstasy were not real, but they did not detract from the feeling of her pussy as his cock slipped inside her.

He grabbed her hips and began to fuck her, moving his hips in time with hers so that each stroke seemed to go deeper and deeper inside her slim frame. The girl licking at his balls dropped her greedy mouth even lower, making Shariyar shudder in pleasure as her tongue darted around his asshole.

"Oh yes, that's it," he groaned, "lick my shithole, you filthy slut."

Sweat glistened on Shariyar's brow, dripping down behind the mask as he rammed into the girl on top of his dick even harder.

"Yes! Yes!" She cried. "Fuck me like the dirty whore I am! Ugh, yes!"

The king growled, loving the prostitute's self-deprecating words at the same time that he knew she was just saying what he wanted to hear.

He stopped suddenly: "Get off," he said.

The girl lifted herself off his member, moaning as it slid out from inside her.

"Get on your knees," he said.

Shariyar stood up and pulled the other girl to her knees so that the two prostitutes were facing each other.

"Kiss each other," he said, stroking his cock as they began to make out. "Can you taste my ass on her mouth, huh?"

The girls tongued each other fiercely, moaning as they licked each other's lips.

Shariyar pressed his dick against their mouths and then slipped it between them so that each one was kissing the side of his cock. He held their heads together as his cock thrust between their mouths. The girls fondled each other's breasts as he used their mouths and Shariyar came closer and closer to coming each time one of them plucked at the other's hardened nipples.

"I'm going to cum," he moaned suddenly. He pulled the girls apart and they opened their mouths for him. He grabbed his cock and began stroking it furiously, moving it from one girl's mouth to the other until he finally released his load across both of their faces. Jets of thick, white cum streaked the girl's smiling faces. He groaned and wiped the tip of his cock across one of the girl's upper lips and then sank down into the chair again, breathing heavily.

The girl with the straight hair flashed a coy smile at him and then began to lick the cum off the other prostitute's face, moaning each time she swallowed. When her friend's face was clean, the other girl returned the favour, lapping up the streaks of cum that latticed her cheeks. But, instead of swallowing, the girl kissed the other prostitute with her mouth full cum, letting the other girl share the rich liquid. Shariyar's breathing slowly returned to normal as the two whores swapped his cum between their mouths. When they had finally swallowed it all, he dismissed them with a wave of his hand. The girls laughed coyly and turned around, crawling away and out the door on their hands and knees, offering Shariyar a last look at their perfect asses.

The king sighed as the curtain swung closed behind the prostitutes. He took off the mask and breathed in deeply. He was spent but, somehow, not satisfied. He got dressed slowly, trying to figure out what was missing. He thought back to the prostitutes' performance but, as he recalled the girl moaning as she bounced on his cock, the face that came to mind was not hers but Scheherazade's.

Shariyar snarled angrily: Why is that bitch's face invading my every waking moment? He thought to himself.

Why is it her face I see when I make another woman cry out in pleasure?

The king stormed out of the room in a foul temper. The eunuchs trailed behind him silently, making sure he was escorted out of the brothel's main keep. The door shut behind him and Shariyar stalked through the darkness until he came to the stairwell, almost tripping over the first step. He breathed in sharply to keep from cursing at the pain in his shin and cautiously felt his way up the stairs. The guard opened the trapdoor for him as he approached and moonlight flooded the dark passage, giving Shariyar the light he needed to ascend the rest of the way safely. Shariyar climbed out of the trapdoor into the decrepit house, sighing almost sadly as he heard the door slide shut again behind him.

This was the part of the journey he liked least: The long, lonely walk home.

++++++++

Scheherazade seemed to be sleeping peacefully for the first time since she fell into Shariyar's hands. Her slim frame was held softly in the moon's pale embrace and her chest rose and fell gently as she breathed. But the girl's serene countenance was as much of a mask as the one Shariyar was placing on his face at the exact same moment, for it revealed nothing of the restless dreams haunting her.

It is dark where she is. Dark and dank.

Fetid water pools around her, sloshing gently with the rhythmic pitch and yaw of the vessel. Is it dark because there is no light down here in the belly of the beast? Surely some mischievous ray of light could steal its way through the rotting oakum and soaking planks to light up even an inch of the pitchy brig... She cannot see her own hands, even as she holds them inches from her face.

Thunder cracks. The ship dances. She can hear its old wooden bones creaking, feel the timbers shivering. But where is the lightning?

A thousand years pass in the darkness. Or maybe just a day. Rough hands haul her up, up through the cavernous bowels of the creature. Charybdis. That is her name. A snarling siren is lashed to the bow, her open mouth spitting sea-spray each time the vessel heaves to. Red pennants at the mastheads warn that defiance will end in blood. No prisoners taken, no prisoners conceded.

She is above deck. The salty, sultry breeze kisses her cheeks and sends the sails a-shaking. But where is the sun?

His face looms above her and she can see nothing else.

The roiling sea seems to hiss his name. Is it friends with this wicked ship, or enemies? Perhaps the ocean is afraid of what the Devil might do if she swallows him. Even mighty Death seems to tremble to take this man.

He is just a man, is he not? A man whose skin has been turned to leather under the merciless glare of the sun. A man whose body has been ripped to pieces again and again in battle and restitched each time by his own hand. A man whose eyes are as dark and pitiless as those of a shark, void of emotion, save for when they glow lustily in the thick of the fray. He feels neither cold nor heat, neither sadness nor happiness, neither pleasure nor pain. He takes no real joy in the notoriety his savagery has earned him. He finds no comfort in the riches with which he has furnished his cabin. He is consumed by bloodlust and wanderlust and he spends every waking hour trying to quench his thirst for death and adventure.

He addresses her. Not by name. If he knows it, he has never called her by it.

Those calloused hands wrench her to her feet, dragging her towards his cabin.

More darkness. But only one pair of hands.

His mouth is against her throat. His teeth graze against her neck with each heady breath he takes. All she can smell is him. He stinks of rum and salt and cannon smoke. She clamps her eyes shut as he shudders.

The water is almost black. She stares out at the endless expanse of sea and sky, wondering where in the grey they meet.

There is laughter at her back. That pair of bloodstained hands suddenly shoots out and pushes her over the edge. She tries to scream but no sound comes out of her mouth. The frigid water rises to meet her, swallowing her whole.

The sea stings her eyes and her nose as it drags her mercilessly down into its cold embrace.

And then her eyes open and the sun is blinding. The salt-crusted planks of the deck burn beneath her outstretched limbs.

There is a victory celebration on the main deck tonight. The musicians are strumming their ouds and pounding on their drums. The crew dances in the moonlight, their shadows leaping like fiends across the ship. They have not even bothered to sweep away the sand that kept their feet from slipping on the deck when it was slick with blood. Someone grabs her from the shadows, forcing her into the middle of the drunken frenzy with the gleaming blade of his cutlass. A hand wraps around her waist as someone pulls her into a dance. The ship whirls around her and the faces of the men blur together. And then, in a sudden moment of clarity, she sees his face. His eyes are narrowed, his upper lip curling in a contemptuous snarl.

He slams the door to his cabin open and she shivers in the corner. His boots leave a trail of bloody footprints across the floor. He sweeps his arms across his desk, sending its contents crashing to the floor. Nautical charts flutter slowly to the ground as he turns around. He leans against the empty desk, panting. He sees her. The anger in his eyes flames brighter.

"The fuck are you looking at?" He growls.

She looks down. He walks towards her slowly, the heels of his boots dragging against the floor.

"I haven't got my money's worth out of you yet, whore," he says. She does not need to look up to know that he is smirking. She can hear it in his voice.

His fingers graze her chin, lifting her face to meet his. The gleam in his dark eyes sets her stomach churning.

"You cost me my greatest victory," he hisses. "I had Mikolas on his knees. And then you went and fucked it all up."

None of what he says makes sense to her. Why can't she remember who she was or what she had done?

"What did you tell him in that letter?" He snarls, his ragged fingernails digging into her face.

She shakes her head as best she can. She cannot remember.

"You're such a stupid cunt," he growls. "Your head so full with grand ideas of virtue and honour and patriotic self-sacrifice..."

He leers down at her. She suddenly realises that she is naked. Bruises cover her arms, her legs are sticky with sweat and semen. His other hand whispers across her breasts and her nipples harden instinctively.

"Where is your honour now? Huh? Where's your virtue, you cock-hungry whore?" He taunts. "Do you think Mikolas would want you back now? Now that you've had every whole stuffed full with sailor's cum?"

Bitter tears sting her eyes.

"I can just imagine it," he smiles, painting her a vivid picture with his words. "The way he'll recoil from you in disgust when he sees the cum-stained slut you've become."

He holds her down with a heavy hand on her shoulder as he thrusts a finger inside her sex, laughing as she struggles to escape his vicious grip.

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