This story was originally published here with a rather unsatisfactory beginning owing to its having been extracted from a much longer story. But I have now given it a new beginning and added some new characters and new details. As always in my historical fantasies, any similarity to actual persons or events is coincidental and no disrespect toward people of any ethnicity or religion is intended. The author does not condone any form of non-consensual sexual activity. The author retains the exclusive rights to this story, pursuant to the Berne Convention. Enjoy! Boccaccio
Sha'ana, the Sheik, and Saladin
The restless crowd buzzed with anticipation. It was the twentieth
anniversary of Ahmed the Magnificent's accession to power, and, as on the
previous nineteen such occasions, hundreds of the residents of his capital had
assembled for the annual celebration. But this year rumors had swept the city
that the spectacle provided by their ruthless ruler would be far more
spine-tingling than the customary fare of acrobats and bear-baiting, cock-fights
and camel races.
Brightly-colored banners of green and black, the emblematic colors of
Ahmed's sheikdom, rippled in the brisk spring wind as hawkers and whores
strolled among the mostly male crowd offering their wares. The rising morning
sun blazed brightly in a cerulean sky dappled with fluffy clouds as the crowd
jostled restlessly in the spacious, palm-lined square of the city, each man
hoping that he had found himself a good vantage point from which to watch the
festivities which were about to begin.
And what an exhilarating entertainment it promised to be! Rumors
emanating from the sheik's summer palace had spread like wildfire from one dusty
quarter of the city to another, as concubines whispered to handmaidens,
handmaidens confided in guards, guards passed along the story to bootmakers and
blacksmiths and innkeepers and so on. A hundred versions of the story, each
more lurid than the next, had swept the city - all in the space of a dozen
hours.
But essentially all of the stories came down to this: one Mustafa Ben Ali,
a prosperous trader known from Isfahan to Samarkand, had been trapped by an
early winter in the high plateau beyond the snow-capped peaks to the north.
Only when the onset of spring had begun to melt the mountain snows into a
hundred life-giving streams, had Mustafa and his caravan begun to their his way
downward through the treacherous pass that led to the dry, wind-swept plain
whose mighty river flowed toward Ahmed's capital. But this spring the trader had
brought with him more than silks, spices and carpets...
It was said that he had brought with him a young woman of stunning spirit
and beauty, for whom he had paid a substantial bounty to a band of mountain
brigands, with the idea of selling her at a profit to the wealthy and lecherous
Sheik Ahmed.
Mustafa the merchant had driven a hard bargain, it was rumored, eventually
extracting a king's ransom from the sheik. He had cleverly swathed Sha'ana, for
that was the name of his dark-eyed captive, in a cocoon of silken veils more
colorful than a tropical rainbow. Then, while the sheik lounged on his majestic
throne, and a flautist played a haunting, sensuous melody, Mustafa had taken
Sha'ana by the hand and let her twirl around for the monarch's pleasure. With
each slow, seductive rotation, the shrewd merchant had peeled away one of her
voluminous veils while he studied the reactions of the aroused and enraptured
libertine, trying to gauge how deeply he should try to dip into the sheik's
treasury in return for his voluptuous prize.
It was only when Sha'ana's silken web had been reduced to a single
diaphanous veil of splendidly eye-catching crimson, and her every tempting curve
was visible through the translucent gauze, that Mustafa, cleverly judging the
depth of Ahmed's notorious lust, demanded an unheard-of price for the dark-eyed
beauty.
His renowned carnal desires inflamed beyond measure, Ahmed had made a
fruitless attempt to negotiate the extravagant price downward. But, Mustafa, a
man of mercenary cleverness, had read his patron's dark-eyed demeanor well, and
held his ground. Finally, Ahmed had angrily consented to pay the wily trader
his price -- ninety-nine pieces of freshly-minted gold -- before sending sent
him on his way. Then the lecherous prince had ordered his two favorite
concubines to prepare Sha'ana properly for her initial visit to his luxurious
bed-chamber - a room which had known a thousand ruthless conquests and a hundred
vile perversions.
********
Sura, a tall, slender Persian odalisque, and Aminah, a shorter, darker, and
even more voluptuous Arab woman, had spent hours preparing Sha'ana for her
nocturnal encounter with their domineering master, bathing her in a pool
scented with the petals of a three dozen rose bushes. They had anointed the
most intimate parts of her body with the rarest of oils, and Aminah had brushed
her hair to a lustrous shine while Sura applied kohl to her eyelids, henna to
her skin, and painted her tempting nipples gold in the manner of the ancient
Egyptians. Sha-ana, having no choice, submitted to their sensual ministrations,
but stared at Sura darkly when the Persian beauty, who spoke a little of her
language, warned her to deny Ahmed nothing.
When the freshly bathed and perfumed slave-girl was escorted to her new
master by a pair of swarthy swordsmen later that evening, she had found him on a
broad, silk-pillowed divan in the arms of the two favorites who had bathed her
with such soft and knowing hands. Sura, the elegant Persian, was bedecked in
golden chains around her neck, golden bangles around her wrists and ankles,
pantaloons of the striking shade of green favored by the sheik, and nothing
else. Lush-bodied Aminah wore a skimpy black halter knotted beneath the lush
globes of bronze flesh which overflowed the flimsy fabric, and black harem pants
cut indecently low on her shapely hips. The sheik's hands were nowhere to be
seen, but Sha'ana had little doubt but that his hands had slid inside the
waistbands of his luscious concubines, so that he could fondle two of the
loveliest bottoms between Baghdad and Bombay.
Sha'ana herself had been a vision in diaphanous white, supremely conscious
of how the oil lamps in Ahmed's bedchamber highlighted every curve and hollow of
her exquisite body beneath the gossamer fabric.
Ahmed studied the beautiful vision in the doorway for a long moment and
then removed a probing hand from Sura's squirming buttocks and gave an imperious
gesture indicating that Sha'ana was to approach the bed.
Having been escorted to the Sheik's pavilion by the Master of the Harem and
two of his saber-bearing minions, who were surely waiting outside, Sha'ana knew
she had little choice. She had slowly disrobed before the mighty sheik, while
the exotic Persian concubine pressed her firm, dark-nippled breasts against his
hairy chest and nibbled at his ear, and Aminah reached inside his silken
bed-pantaloons to caress his lust-swollen testicles.
When Sha'ana at last stood nude and trembling before the tyrant, he drank
in the magnificent splendor of her body for a long moment, admiring the long,
shapely legs made strong by walks in her mountainous native land. Sha'ana had
shyly let one hand fall between her legs, and draped the other across her
surging breasts, but her girlish attempts at modesty only served to further
inflame the sheik's rampant lust. He swung around so that he sat on the edge
of the divan and ordered his voluptuous new houri to kneel between his legs and
take the swollen pillar of flesh between his legs, which Aminah had stroked to a
towering erection after liberating it from his night-clothes, between her soft
lips.
Sha'ana's dark eyes danced with an inner fire, as the audacious young
beauty dropped to her knees, a picture of erotic submission. She allowed Sura
and Aminah to reach out and caress her as she leaned forward toward the
dark-veined organ of the lecherous sheik --- and then she lifted her eyes and
spat in his face! Unbeknownst to Mustafa she had been a priestess in her own
land, before being abducted by the brigands. And she would sooner die than
submit to the obscene desires of this barbaric brute of a sheik!
Ahmed, had risen from the bed in a towering rage and summoned the Master
of the Harem and his guards from their post outside the room. When they burst
inside a moment later, he directed them to lock the raven-haired slave-girl up
for the night while he contemplated a fitting punishment for the defiant young
woman.
And it was the prospect of the public debasement and punishment of an
uncommonly beautiful young slave girl, that had drawn the raucously anticipatory
crowd to the great public square of the city...
********
An expectant hush fell over the agitated crowd as they watched the
procession of the royal party make its way from the sheik's stately pleasure
dome. To the accompaniment of martial drums, the sheik, his Master of the
Harem, and four of the bearded cut-throats who comprised his palace guard,
marched the tall, dark-haired beauty, clad only in the gauzy white two-piece
harem costume she had worn the night before, down the roadway that emptied into
the central square of the city. Behind them, marching in time to the beat of
the drummers who led them, were four columns of palace guards, who in turn were
followed by a train of servants, several of whom labored under Ahmed's heavy
throne. Following them came the concubines, among them Sura and Aminah, all
heavily veiled, so as not to reveal to his people the nature of Ahmed's
licentiousness. The sheik had determined that it would not be amiss for his
pleasure-women to be reminded of the fate which awaited any who refused to
submit to his will. Last of all came the royal horse trainer, who led a
solitary stallion, magnificent in build, black as night, and groomed with a care
usually lavished only on the wives and daughters of emperors.
As the grand procession drew nearer, the more unruly members of the
throng pushed forward, elbowing and jostling each other roughly, as every male
between twelve and two-and-seventy fought for a better vantage point from which
to view the promised spectacle.
The mutinous young woman walked proudly, her head held high, her
beautiful brown eyes flashing in the morning sunlight, her lustrous hair a
glorious ebony mane on her shoulders, ignoring the rapacious faces in the
barbaric throng. Had her wrists not been tied behind her back no one would have
known that she was a slave and not a princess, for such was her beauty and
poise.
As each man in the multitude pressed closer, hundreds of pairs of
lust-filled eyes roved hungrily over the magnificent body of the sheik's
captive. Sha'ana felt the heat of their gaze sweep over her body like a sultry
desert wind, lingering longest on the revealing neckline of the shamelessly
low-cut harem blouse which displayed an abundance of curved flesh and the
enticingly dark valley between her opulent treasures. The front of one long,
luscious thigh was bare, peeking boldly through a long, mysterious gash in the
wind-ruffled white silk which should have covered it. The ripe contours of her
generous breasts, the suppleness of her long and shapely legs, and the rounded
splendor of her lovely derriere would have tempted the chastest monk in Asia.
But there were no chaste monks in the land of Sheik Ahmed. His was a
land of rough men given to rough pleasures, hard men made heartless by the
oppressive regime of their ruler, men whose lives had known few comforts and
fewer joys. But this fateful morning, promised to be one that each would long
remember....
The relentless tattoo of the drums continued, raising the excitement of
the crowd to a fever pitch, as the procession slowly made its way to the center
of the square. Upon arriving there, a pair of cruel-eyed guards each grabbed
one of Sha'ana's bare arms and marched the scantily-clad beauty up the three
steps of a low platform that had been hastily erected for the occasion.
Meanwhile the squadron of palace guards arranged themselves around the platform
to restrain the press of the crowd.
Then, at a signal from the stern-looking sheik, and in time with a
rising crescendo of the pounding drums, a beefy, bearded guard roughly grabbed
at the knot that held Sha'ana's halter together, and wrenched it back and forth
violently before tearing it loose, and holding it aloft to the cheers of the
boisterous crowd. Sha'ana, now clad only in the filmy, partially ripped, white
pantaloons, cast her eyes downward in shame as the rowdy throng thrilled to the
sight of her succulent, proud-nippled breasts.
This crowd-pleasing prologue to the drama that was to be played out on
the scaffold was greeted with raunchy enthusiasm. The semi-nude beauty glanced
at the horde of onlookers nervously as she sensed that the carnival atmosphere
was beginning to give way to carnal frenzy. It was not at all uncommon in the
land of Ahmed for miscreants to be dealt with in the city square, but never
before had such a beauty been brought before them for public humiliation and
punishment. And not only a beauty -- a bare-breasted beauty at that; hundreds
of eager onlookers raped Sha'ana's glorious body with their eyes. For, aside
from the sheik himself, no more than a handful had seen, or would ever see
again, such a perfectly-sculpted model of feminine perfection.
Sha'ana, her golden skin blushing with shame, had only learned a few
words of their language, and could only guess at the meaning of the shouted
cries, jibes and insults which came from every corner of the multitude. But
there was little doubt in her mind as she looked from one lust-crazed face in
the audience to another, that most were salacious comments about her desirable
body, and what the men and boys in the crowd would like to do with it.
Suddenly the sheik raised his arm, silencing the exciting rhythm of the
drums, while the four guards lifted his bejeweled throne from the upraised arms
of the servants who had carried it from the palace and deposited it at one end
of the scaffold. Only when it was properly in place, did the sinister sheik
mount the steps of the scaffold. He nodded in silent approval as another
servant placed a long, narrow, beautifully embossed case upon the edge of the
platform. Sheik Ahmed was a tall, slender man in his late forties whose
aquiline nose, well-built body and autocratic manner bespoke both immense
virility and despotic power. Even as his swarthy eyebrows, bright black eyes,
and pointed beard bespoke the menace of which he was capable.
For today's festivities the richly-accoutered sheik was clad in flowing
white robes, trimmed in green and black, which billowed in the breeze that swept
through the ancient city. His face intent with malevolent purpose, Ahmed
raised his ruby-ringed right hand, a gesture which instantly stilled the excited
multitude.
"This insolent slave," he began in a regal voice, as he gestured toward
his trembling prisoner, "for whom I paid a very high price, is guilty of the
crime of disobedience to her master. Watch, my subjects, that you might learn
the fate of any who dare to defy Ahmed the Magnificent!"
"Oshtar!" Sheik Ahmed's powerful voice rang out across the square.
"Bind her breasts!"
The lusty crowd buzzed with excitement; few of the frenzied multitude
had ever seen such a sight. But fewer still were there, whose dreams had never
featured the imposition of such an erotic bondage upon a beautiful and unwilling
victim.
As Sheik Ahmed re-took his seat on his throne, Oshtar, his bare-chested
Master of the Harem, waddled awkwardly up the steps of the scaffold as they
creaked under his massive weight. He was a huge man both in height and in
circumference, albeit as hairless as a child. A eunuch, he was entrusted with
the punishment of the young women of the harem who had earned the Sheik's
displeasure. Having been deprived of enjoying the normal pleasures of female
beauty, he drew perverse gratification from inflicting suffering on the tender
flesh of the young beauties that he could never possess.
Oshtar needed little encouragement or justification for his cruelty,
but Sha'ana had unwittingly provided him one on the prior evening. When Ahmed
had ordered Oshtar and the guards to drag her off to her cell, she had rashly
told the eunuch, in her own language, that no man with testicles would take
orders from such a hateful and tyrannical master.
Unfortunately for Sha'ana, women of her mountain people had been
enslaved in Ahmed's seraglio before, and Oshtar had learned a few words of their
tongue. The huge eunuch had lifted a powerful fist, preparing to crush her face
with one sledge-hammer blow, but Ahmed had restrained him with a quick command,
"Not now, Oshtar. But tomorrow you shall have your revenge, or I am not Sheik
Ahmed the Magnificent!"
And now, indeed, thought Oshtar, the hour of retaliation for the slut's
insult was at hand. "Insolent whore!" the bare-chested eunuch whispered in her
own language, as he selected two long strips of dried camel-hide from a basket
one of the servants had placed on the edge of the scaffold. As he turned to face
Sha'ana his cruel eyes were drawn to her surging breasts, which were still
tipped with the golden tint that Sura had applied to her nipples on the prior
evening. His glance was admiring as he lightly cupped her quivering globes in
his meaty paws. "These are very tasty, very sweet," he said grudgingly. "Which
will make my revenge all the sweeter!" Sha'ana shuddered at the thought of
being defenseless in the hands of this remorseless brute.
Despite his corpulence, there was no gainsaying the power of Oshtar's
immense upper body. Grinning the merciless grin of an obese demon, the eunuch
proceeded to encircle each of his stunning young captive's opulent breasts with
the thin strands of leather. Once, twice, three times around the bases of each
of Sha'ana's luscious gold-tipped melons he wound the long strips, pausing now
and then to yank the ends taut.
"Tighter, Oshtar! Tie them tighter!" the eager voice of a wood-cutter
called out from the rear of the teeming throng. "You're a lucky bastard,
Oshtar!" came the cry from an envious shoemaker. The muscular eunuch, his broad
hairless chest and back already sweaty from his exertions, winked at the crowd
and jerked the cruel strips again. "Pull harder, Oshtar!" yet another voice
rang out. And Oshtar, his jowls contorted into a sadistic grin, obliged,
tightening yet again the grip of the camel-hide on the bases of Sha'ana's firm
young breasts.
From the edge of the crowd, Sura, half a head taller than her shapely
but diminutive friend, was able to see the events taking place on the platform
and related them to Aminah with steadily unfolding horror. Their master, she
said, seemed to be plumbing new depths of depravity. Sura failed to notice a
strange glint in Aminah's seductive brown eyes.
When the sweating eunuch was done, Sha'ana's breasts, blushing from
their new constriction, jutted out deliciously from their cruel bondage. She
had so far managed to endure the pain in silence, not wishing to further excite
the bloodthirsty crowd, but knew that tears of suffering were streaming down her
cheeks. About a foot of leather dangled downward from the breast ropes; for a
moment Sha'ana wondered why Oshtar had failed to give her treasures one last
revolution with the dangling cord.
"And now," Sheik Ahmed's voice silenced the surging crowd, "To honor my
twenty years of generous rule," he declared, as his eyes swept the crowd looking
for any who dared to challenge the veracity of his words," we shall give our
lovely young guest a tour of the old quarter." At an imperious wave of the
Sheik's hand, the royal horse-trainer led the beautiful black stallion who had
brought up the rear of the procession to the center of the great square. "You
should be honored, slave, that I have entrusted my most prized possession,
Saladin," Ahmed intoned as he gestured toward the noble charger, "with the task
of leading you through the streets of my city."
Ahmed gestured once again and Oshtar grabbed the bare-breasted prisoner
by the nape of her pretty neck and pushed her roughly down the steps of the
scaffold as the excited crowd surged forward while the guards fought manfully to
hold them back. The onlookers watched with ever-rising excitement as the
profusely-sweating harem-master proceeded to attach the loose strips that
dangled from Sha'ana's breast-ropes to long traces that trailed from the ornate
saddle of Saladin, the sheik's priceless Arabian stallion.
Slowly it dawned on the dark-haired prisoner, as her raven hair was
wildly tossed by the hot west wind that swept through the ancient square, that
the great horse was to drag her through the streets of the city by her breasts!
She looked down at her breast bondage in fear and disbelief - she had not
imagined that even the infamous Ahmed was capable of such cruelty.
When he had securely affixed Sha'ana's breast-ropes to Saladin's saddle,
Oshtar the Fat, as the harem girls called him, studied Sha'ana's splendidly
bound pleasure-melons for a long moment, while he scratched at one of his chins.
Then an inspiration seemed to strike him, and he clambered back up the steps
toward Sheik Ahmed and whispered in his ear.
The sheik listened intently, his brow furrowing. And then his lips
curled upward in a cruel smile. "By all means, Oshtar. By all means."
Oshtar bowed servilely, descended the steps once again while an evil
grin stole across his fleshy face, and lifted his carefully manicured nails to
Sha'ana's gold-tipped nipples.
"Look at her! She's got the shameless tits of a whore!" an angry voice
from the crowd called out.
Oshtar used his sharp thumbnails to scrape away at the metallic paint
while Sha'ana winced in pain, until the tips of her breasts were deprived of
even that thin patina of protection. Soon, nearly all of the gold had been
flecked away and Sha'ana's perky brown crests began to blossom under Oshtar's
skillfull ministrations. Sha'ana flushed in shame at her body's reaction to the
eunuch's depraved caresses, but soon the stiffening tips of her tightly-bound
breasts began to rise upward and outward from the crinkly aureoles on which they
were so beautifully perched.
"Aye! A whore's breasts! Or a witch's!" It was a woman's voice, "See
how her sluttish nipples welcome her punishment? It is a sign of her guilt!"
A voice as bloodthirsty as it was obsequious bellowed, "Show the
witch-whore no mercy, Oshtar. Teach her the price of insulting our sheik!"
Oshtar performed his pleasurable task with all due diligence; within a
minute or two Sha'ana's nipples were a pair of proud brown bullets straining
outward toward the lust-crazed crowd. A crowd that wanted nothing more than to
see that arrogance humbled and crushed.
His nipple-teasing successfully accomplished, Oshtar then slipped
miniature nooses of tough Damask thread around each of Sha'ana's crowd-pleasing
love buds. After pulling the tiny loops mercilessly tight around the bases of
her turgid nipples, the sadistic eunuch attached threads leading from the
nipple-nooses to a thin silver chain. Then he placed the chain, which was just
long enough to reach Sha'ana's pretty mouth, between her pearly white teeth,
thus cruelly pulling upward on the tautened tips of her breasts.
Sheik Ahmed eyes were bright as he savored the suffering of his impudent
houri. "You will hold the nipple-chain between your teeth, slave, until your
tour of the city has been completed. Should the silver chain fall from your
mouth, you will receive five strokes of the cane across your bound breasts. Do
you understand?"
Sha'ana did not understand most of the words, but it was clear from the
sheik's voice and expression that a calamity would befall her if she were to let
go of the chain, so she resolved to hold it fast between her teeth, come what
may.
Moments later, after another lordly wave of Sheik Ahmed's hand, the
trainer led the proud black stallion across the square at a measured pace,
dragging the mutinous beauty by her glorious pleasure-globes while the excited
multitude cheered the depraved discipline being visited upon the gorgeous
slave-girl.
The crowd parted just enough to let the majestic horse and his entourage
through, as wild-eyed men in the rear craned their necks to get a better glimpse
of Sha'ana's swollen breasts. When Saladin reached the far side of the square,
his trainer directed the great horse down one of the narrow streets of the
bazaar for the amusement and edification of the citizenry, who quickly lined the
streets to enjoy the carnal cavalcade. Every pain-wracked step sent fresh waves
of intense agony coursing through Sha'ana's leather-bound love-globes as she
tried to keep pace with the stallion who sped up and slowed his pace at his
trainer's command.
Encouraged by the guards, about a dozen boys of the city chased after
her, enjoying the prurient procession, their crotches swollen with the
excitement of adolescent lust. Most of the older men who witnessed the exciting
scene were satisfied with taunting the half-naked beauty. A few remarked on the
graceful curve of the splendid thigh that protruded from what were now, in
effect, one-legged harem pants. Some crudely but admiringly commented on how
deeply the leather bit into her breasts, or how the gleaming chain in her mouth
held her taut nipples in cruel suspension. Still others boasted of how, if
given the chance, they would enjoy defiling her loins or her rounded buttocks,
whose every cleft and curve was visible through the filmy fabric which veiled
them.
But some of the bolder boys, encouraged by a wink from Oshtar, who had
followed alongside the shapely slave-girl, armed themselves with slender
switches from nearby trees, and danced around her, flogging her bare back, her
thinly-covered buttocks and her one bare thigh as she staggered onward trying
desperately to keep her footing. Suffering with every stroke, Sha'ana prayed
silently to keep from crying out, and thus releasing the nipple-chain that she
held fast between her teeth.
At one point, reacting to a gruff command from Oshtar, the trainer had
Saladin accelerate too quickly for her, and Sha'ana lost her balance and fell
painfully to her knees. At first the trainer restrained the mighty charger, but
when Oshtar bellowed at him to keep moving, the trainer led the stallion forward
once again, at a slow walk, dragging Sha'ana's lust-provoking body face down
through the dust of the winding street.
Sha'ana felt as if her breasts would be ripped from her body, as Saladin
plodded slowly ahead, pulling her by the dreadful breast-ropes while the street
boys of the bazaar cheered the erotic sight. Oshtar himself took the
opportunity to aim a well-placed kick at her unprotected ribs as she was dragged
through the dirt, hoping, no doubt, to force her to release her oral grip on the
nipple chains.
Fortunately for Sha'ana, Saladin had only dragged her a short distance
when Sha'ana was spared by a sad-eyed old man with a pushcart who crossed in
front of the horse, forcing the great black beast to pause momentarily. Even
so, it was all the beauty from the distant land could do to pull herself to her
knees.
When she did struggle awkwardly back to her feet, and looked down, she
could not be certain whether dust or blood covered more of her upper body. But
there was little time to think because Saladin quickly jerked her forward again,
and once more she was surrounded by the irregular circle of boys that danced
around her, laughing as they lashed at the sweat-drenched white pantaloons that
clung to her rounded buttocks and firm young thighs like a second skin.
Several pain-wracked minutes later, Sha'ana's pilgrimage of pain seemed
to be nearing its end, her brief tour of the central portion of the city almost
complete. She could once again hear the crowd re-forming in the marketplace -
and her arrival there would almost surely bring an end to her torment -- around
the next bend in the winding street, no more than fifty yards away.
Sha'ana offered a prayer of thanksgiving, grateful that the worst of her
ordeal was almost over. She was only a few steps from turning the corner and
re-entering the great square, when, after surreptitiously accepting a coin from
Oshtar, a brutish-looking lad of fifteen grabbed a gnarled walking stick from
an old man's hands. Out of the corner of her eye, Sha'ana watched as the boy
ran to catch up with her, and then, without slowing down, he took a wild running
swing that landed flush across both of Sha'ana's throbbing, blood-streaked
breasts, before disappearing into the crowd.
The surprise and agony of the atrocious blow caused the beautiful
slave-maiden to cry out in pain, which in turn caused the nipple chains to fall
from her mouth just as she turned the corner to the marketplace.
Her joy at having her aching nipple-crests freed from their terrible
suspension was quickly overridden by stark terror as Oshtar and the barbarous
crowd quickly called her violation of the Sheik's cruel edict to the enthroned
autocrat's attention. Despite Sha'ana's furious protestations against Oshtar's
treachery, a few moments later the tortured captive was being manhandled back in
the direction of the scaffold in the center of the great square, where she was
to receive the punishment for her willful disobedience -- five painful
cane-strokes cane across her superb breasts.
From her vantage point Sura could see that Sha'ana's sole remaining
garment was in ruins. The rear of her low-slung harem trousers was intact but
so sweat-drenched that it was virtually transparent, clinging damply to the long
curves of her thighs and the sweetly rounded contours of her buttocks. But
after having been dragged through the dust, the front of Sha'ana's sheer white
pantaloons was no more substantial than a spider's web. The waistband was still
in place, but most of both tawny thighs were all but naked now, and the slender
scraps of fabric which still clung to her loins and hips were continually tossed
by swirling gusts of wind, giving the enthralled spectators momentary glimpses
of her dark-fringed feminine treasure.
As she passed by the concubines Sha'ana noticed that Aminah's dark eyes
sparkled with a strange intensity. Tears of compassion, Sha'ana wondered, or
something else? But she had no time to concern herself with such thoughts as
the horse led her back toward the scaffold. She was
humiliated by the realization that the sex-crazed faces in the crowd were
pointing at her crotch, where she was sure that the dark V of her pubic air
peeked through the ragged, tissue-thin pantaloons. Other lust-filled men cried
out and pointed delightedly at the red streaks that covered much of her upper
body, and speckled the filmy pantaloons front and back.
By the time they neared the scaffold, Sha'ana was near exhaustion and
her luscious breasts, still trapped in the fiendish grip of the leather
bindings, were swollen hemispheres of suffering. But there was no mercy to be
found in the citadel of Sheik Ahmed; five strokes with the cane had been
ordained, and five strokes would be administered.
Sheik Ahmed's avarice was in no wise inferior to his lust or his
cruelty -- while a pair of dark-bearded guards unhooked Sha'ana's breast ropes
from Saladin, he auctioned off the five strokes of the cane, knowing well that
there were many men of his city who would pay handsomely for a
once-in-a-lifetime chance to enact their sadistic fantasies on such a stunningly
beautiful creature. He would not come close to recouping the ninety-nine pieces
of gold he had paid for her, but over time he would see to it that he got his
money's worth from her luscious young body, Ahmed nodded to himself with an
sinister smile. Yes, this rebellious girl of the mountains would pay. And pay.
And pay....
After a spirited auction, which Sha'ana could not bear to watch, the
five highest bidders were chosen. The first was no more than a schoolboy of
fifteen, the son of a prosperous merchant. He had begged his father to keep
bidding, that he might have the honor, and the pleasure, of delivering the first
blow to the proud breasts of the tawny, dark-eyed beauty.
Sha'ana searched the faces in the first few rows of onlookers; every
pair of frenzied eyes was hot on her nearly-nude body, every mouth was cruel,
every hand was clenched in a vicarious fist. Every man in the crowd, it seemed,
yearned to be in the schoolboy's place.
Oshtar bent down and retrieved the case which the servant had placed on
the scaffold earlier, opened it, and withdrew a well-polished three-foot length
of cane and offered it to the schoolboy. The slender instrument of torment
gleamed in the morning sunlight as the excited youngster playfully sawed its
length across the upper curves of Sha'ana's quivering breasts. The silver chain
she had once held between her pearly teeth now dangled downward, still attached
to her ripe nipple nuggets by the Damask threads. The boy toyed with her breast
chain, using the cane as a lever to pull it towards himself, amused by the
reaction of Sha'ana's distended nipples to his repeated tugs on the chain.
When Oshtar had handed the boy the rod, a solitary drummer had begun a
rhythmic tattoo on the taut animal skin that covered his instrument. The drum
was at first no more than a distant murmur, but with each passing second the
steady pounding seemed to grow faster and louder.
From the back of the ground, Sura gave Aminah a fearful glance,
noticing that Aminah's face was flushed with excitement and that her generous
breasts were rising and falling furiously beneath her silken veils. Both women
had good reason to remember that cane. Ahmed had sliced their shapely thighs
and rounded bottoms with its stinging length many times, occasionally to the
point of drawing blood. But not their breasts. Never on their breasts. It
was unthinkable - or would have been unthinkable in any other city on earth.
"Smite her well, Yussef," a voice called out, as the drumming
grew louder. "Make your father proud!"
"Hurry up, boy," yelled another, jealous of the lad's good fortune. "Or
step aside and let a man do a man's work!"
At this the youngster's grin turned to a scowl. Determined to prove
himself worthy of discharging this signal honor, he snarled "Infidel
temptress!" and lifted the cane high in the air and the drumbeat came to a
furious climax just as he brought it whistling down across the tops of both of
Sha'ana's shamelessly bulging breasts.
"AAAAAGGGHHH!!" Sha'ana cried out as she fell to her knees in agony.
The drummer had fallen silent but the crowd had erupted in excited cheers.
"Well done, Yussef!" applauded his papa as the boy raised his arms
exultantly to the crowd like a victorious athlete. "I could not have done
better myself."
The rights to the second blow had been purchased by one of the Sheik's
guardsmen; he had had good fortune at an illicit dice game the night before and
had traded his winnings for a chance to carve his name into Sha'ana's
stiff-nippled breasts.
"Back on your feet, woman!" ordered the soldier, as the sound of the
drum returned. He had abused many women in the service of his depraved master,
but never one so young and beautiful as the black-haired seductress at his
knees. When the tear-stained slave-girl hesitated, the guard grabbed her by her
ebony hair and pulled her roughly to her feet once again.
"No ... please ..." Sha'ana pleaded in her own language, as the tempo of
the drum picked up speed once again.
But the soldier, one Tariq, knew nothing of her language; nor was he a
man likely to be moved by an appeal to pity, for the ruthless sheik had little
use for a man with such a weakness. Tariq, a well-built man, was far stronger
than the boy, and his blow, an upsweeping stroke that detonated on the
underslopes of Sha'ana's straining breasts to the accompaniment of a furious
drumroll, was even more punishing than the first blow.
"Unnnnnnnggghhhhh," Sha'ana groaned, but because of the angle of the
blow she was able to keep her footing.
The third stroke had been sold to a morose and ugly blacksmith named Ali
whose well-muscled arms and face were scarred from burns he had suffered years
ago during his apprenticeship at his fiery forge. The disfiguring scars had
kept him from taking a wife and had left him a lonely and embittered man. He
had paid more than a day's earnings for the manly pleasure of applying the cane
to Sha'ana's dusty, blood-streaked breasts. By doing so, he hoped to revenge
himself on all of the women who had turned from him in repulsion over the years.
Sha'ana, her bound breasts already in the throes of an agony worse than
she had ever known, looked at the powerful figure in terror; the cane looked no
bigger than an artist's brush in his huge hand. But a cane -- a cruel, hard,
biting cane -- it remained.
His pulse racing in time with the rising rhythm of the pounding drum,
Ali, like Yussef, decided to attack the taut upper curves of Sha'ana's bulging
lust-globes. But Ali was much taller and his arm far stronger than that of the
schoolboy. The blacksmith stroked a livid scar that ran down the right side of
his face as he admired the exotic beauty's provocative turrets of breast-flesh,
before slowly lifting the polished rod toward the azure Asian sky. The steady
murmur of the crowd came to a hush even as the drum thundered away until Ali
roared a thunderous "YEAAHH!!" and a with a great whoosh of sound send the cane
whizzing in a vicious downward arc....
"AAAAAUUGGGGGGHHH!!!!" Sha'ana screamed. But her scream of agony was drowned by
the tumultuous roar of the crowd as the hard-edged cane split the
tightly-stretched skin of her bound breasts.
Ali's coarse face was creased with a delighted grin as he acknowledged
the boisterous cheers of the crowd. The throng's blood lust surged to a
feverish intensity because Ali's had been the blow of a champion. He had opened
up fresh lacerations on each of Sha'ana's man-pleasing lust-melons, and had
driven her to her knees once again. Thin trails of blood began to ooze from the
twin gashes on her sumptuous breasts.
The fourth stroke had been bought by a man who appeared to Sha'ana to
be some form of cleric. But there was no mistaking the unclerical manner in
which the black-robed elderly man ogled her pain-wracked breasts as the lonely
drummer recommenced his insistent pounding. She could expect no mercy, she was
sure, from any cleric in the service of Ahmed the Magnificent.
"On your feet, insolent infidel! Harlot of Hell! It is only fitting
that divine justice is being visited on your sinful body. And only proper that
God's minister be the arm of his righteous wrath." The aging cleric lifted her
bound breasts gently with the cane, admiring the way the camel-hide strips
strangled her sand-smeared, scarlet-streaked breasts and the manner in which the
fiendishly tight threads choked her ardent nipples. "These," he tapped her
breasts menacingly, "are the proofs of your whoredom. And they shall be the
target of the fury of a righteous God."
"N..n..no..." the pagan beauty stammered, as the incessant pounding of
the torture drum grew louder once again. "How can you ... do ... this... in
god's name....your gods are merciful surely..."
"Silence, whore!" the black-garbed cleric thundered, and then looked
heavenward, as if to summon extra strength from on high. And then he lifted the
wicked cane high in the sky as if invoking a divine blessing, and then slashed
it downwards into Sha'ana's tortured tit-globes.
"Aaaeeeeeiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!" the dark-eyed beauty cried out in anguish, as the
lust-crazed savages in the crowd exploded into a cacophony of lustful
exclamations.
"Not bad for an old man!" yelled a man young enough to be his grandson.
The old man's blow had cracked into her breasts no more than an inch
above her taut brown nipples. And, while it was hardly so powerful as the
blacksmith's, the stroke was vicious enough to suggest that they hypocritical
old sinner had indeed drawn strength from on high. Or more likely, from down
some infernal region.
Only one more, Sha'ana thought, as she shuddered in pain, one more
diabolical stroke of the cane, and her suffering would be over. There seemed to
be a bit of a delay; guards and servants were milling around and hammering away
as Oshtar seemed to be overseeing some activity behind her. She half-wished
she'd paid attention during the auction, so that she would have known who had
won the bidding for the final blow. But it didn't really matter; she'd find out
soon enough.
Oshtar the eunuch approached her and pushed the beleaguered beauty
backward against a shoulder-high railing that the sheik's men had hastily
erected on the rear of the scaffold. "Let's prepare you a little differently
this time." As the drummer started up again, the sadistic eunuch lifted her
wrists, which had been tied behind her at her waist, and forced them up and over
the sturdy railing behind her, so that the railing was pressed tight against her
armpits. Sha'ana was forced to stand high on her toes to ease the terrible
pressure on her shoulders. She was conscious of the fact that that posture
forced her throbbing, scarlet-streaked breasts into even greater prominence.
She could hear voices in the crowd mutter their approval.
"Look at the whore sweat!"
Sha'ana flushed with humiliation as the unseen drummer slowly picked up
speed, adding to her mounting terror. Indeed her face and upper body was
glistening with perspiration, now that the sun was well along on its diurnal
course across the heavens. And she could feel the sweat-drenched harem pants
clinging to her buttocks like a damp second skin.
"I think we're about done with this, don't you?" Oshtar said, as he
undid the knot that linked the silver chain to her nipple-threads.
"Very well, who has the last one?" Oshtar asked the crowd. When no one
came forward, Sha'ana exhaled a sigh of relief; was it possible that the fifth
winner had been called away?
"Oh! How foolish of me!" Oshtar smirked. "I'd almost forgotten," he
continued. "It was I myself who won the fifth bid." By pointing to himself he
made certain that Sha'ana understood his meaning, if not his words.
"And now, whore," Oshtar whispered in her own language, "you will learn
not to insult Oshtar, Master of the Harem of Ahmed the Magnificent!"
The huge man half walked, half waddled over to where the cleric had
dropped the rattan. He twirled it in his big hand for a moment and then
addressed his master.
"Your excellency, I wonder if I might not use my own cane on this wench;
you will recall that she insulted me last night."
Sheik Ahmed, only half listening, his predatory eyes devouring the
tantalizing body of his nearly naked prisoner, while his pulse raced in time
with the rhythm of the drum, gave an indifferent nod of his head.
"Thank you sire. I have prepared something just for her." Oshtar
retreated to the case from which he had extracted the other cane.
Sha'ana gulped in horror at what he withdrew. It was a cane, but it was
somewhat thicker than the rattan that the others had used. But that was not the
worst part.
"Do you see this, wench?" Oshtar was speaking in her own language,
again. "I was up most of the night making this. It isn't easy to imbed bits of
broken glass, or sharp stones into hardwood. And they won't stay lodged in the
cane for long." Oshtar spun the weapon in his hand, before sneering down at her.
"But it should suffice for one blow, don't you think?"
"No...no....please...."
The cruel-eyed eunuch merely sneered at her and then held the cane high
in the air, twirling it so that the bits of glass and mineral crystals glimmered
in the sunlight. Seeing the nature of his weapon, the bloodthirsty crowd
cheered in unison.
"Heaven help her," Sura whispered softly to her fellow concubine. "
"That thing will rip her to pieces."
"Yes," Aminah murmured breathlessly, "it will, won't it?"
A voice from the crowd cried out in a frenzy of blood lust, "Her
nipples, Oshtar! Is no one going to punish the whore's shameless nipples?"
"Yes, those fools neglected the tips of her breasts, your Heaviness!"
a young mason cried out, as his companions chuckled. But then his voice grew
more serious. "Show them how it's done, Oshtar!"
"Aye, split them open, harem-master!" a third voice rang out.
Even though Sha'ana understood few of their words, the malice, the
implacable cruelty in their voices was unmistakable. Sha'ana shivered the
lonely chill of fear, even though her body was bathed in the warmth and light of
the morning sun. The drum was maddening in its pounding, now, its beat ever
faster, ever louder.
Oshtar's scowl darkened; the second voice from the crowd had mocked him.
But he could not identify its source; he would have to be satisified with taking
out his anger on the beauty that stood before him. Her breasts were quivering
with terror. As well they might, he thought grimly.
"Thrust your pretty breasts out, whore!" Oshtar bellowed in his own
language, as his barbaric countrymen shouted their encouragement.
Sha'ana, not understanding, stood there on her toes, her swollen breasts
heaving as the ghastly pounding of the drums intensified.
"Please ... no more ... mercy ..."
"Stick those tits out, whore!" he roared again angrily, still in his own
language. The crowd roared again in approbation.
"Please ...."
Then Oshtar repeated his command, this time in Sha'ana's own language.
"Stick your big tits out for me, slave!" He held the studded cane up for her to
see. "Or I'll give you one between your legs as well!"
Choking back a sob, Sha'ana, still standing tall on her toes, closed her
eyes and thrust her superbly-sculpted lust-globes forward as best she could.
Oshtar tightened his grip on his diabolical weapon, and drew a bead on
the quivering brown nipples, still threaded into bold erection, that sprung so
eagerly from the tender roseates of Sha'ana's scarlet-streaked pleasure-mounds.
The crowd leaned forward in anticipation and the other three drummers joined
their comrade, beating their instruments of percussion with an obsessive and
deafening fury, as the mighty harem-master drew back the sharp-studded cane and
whipped it across the proud peaks of Sha'ana's mouth-watering breasts with
shattering force.
The hellish drums fell silent just as Sha'ana's animalistic cry of agony
was lost in the thunderous roar of exultation from the barbaric throng. The
blow would surely have driven her backward, but with her wrists thrust painfully
over the railing behind her, there had been no way to give ground to the
dreadful force of the blow, and her tender breasts had absorbed its full fury.
She looked down to see that Oshtar's weapon had left a myriad of fresh cuts
across her breasts, none life-threatening, but each painful.
"Well done, Oshtar, well done." It was the voice of Sheik Ahmed. With a
quick movement of his wrist, the sheik indicated that the eunuch was to remove
Sha'ana's breast bindings. It was one thing to punish a beautiful girl for
pleasure, quite another to destroy her beauty and value. Though it had seemed
an eternity to Sha'ana, the breast bondage had lasted only about twenty minutes.
Removing the bonds would slow the bleeding from the many lacerations that her
tormentors had inflicted on her pleasure-globes.
As Oshtar roughly removed the threads, the nerve endings in Sha'ana's
sensitive nipples screamed in silent agony, as did the rest of her breasts when
Oshtar slowly unwound the diabolical leather strips. Deep circles were etched
into the base of her breasts, but the rings would pass in time, she thought. At
last her torment was over!
But when Oshtar was done, Sheik Ahmed continued, "There remains but one
thing more, slave; you stand before us today because last night you refused to
worship the manhood of your master."
"Rebellious whore!" a voice called out from the midst of the tumultuous
crowd. "Defiant slut!" cried another.
"So today," Ahmed went on, "Here in the public square, before my people,
you will pay homage to the organ of ..." the crowd waited in hushed
anticipation, as Ahmed the Magnificent paused and looked around at Oshtar, at
the eager, black-eyed guards who had watched Sha'ana's sensuous martyrdom with
such ill-disguised pleasure, at the other winners of the auction, at various
faces in the crowd. Who would be the lucky one?
After a few more seconds of expectant silence, Sheik Ahmed breathed a
single word.... "Saladin!"
"Step back!" roared the guards to the crowd, clearing a space before the
scaffold. Half-dazed with exhaustion and half-crazed with pain, Sha'ana did
not at first understand the import of the sheik's words. But as the trainer led
the ebony charger forward, a cold chill of terror passed through her.
A sneer on his thin lips, Sheik Ahmed gestured again and Oshtar threw
his beleaguered captive down the steps so that she lay sprawled face-down in the
sand of the marketplace. The harem-master pulled the nearly-naked slave-girl to
her knees by the hair and motioned to the trainer to bring the horse closer. It
dawned on Sha'ana that she was being directed to perform on Saladin, the very
act that she had refused to perform on Sheik Ahmed himself.
"Don't worry," Sheik Ahmed said, as he descended the steps of the
scaffold, "Saladin is well-trained. You will not be the first disobedient
concubine to pleasure him; he will not kick you if you make no sudden movements.
But be sure to please him well, whore, or I'll strap your pretty breasts to him
again, and this time I'll have him drag you all the way to Samarkand!"
The sheik met Sha'ana's dark and desperate eyes with a glare of
frightful malignance, before casting his gaze slowly downward over her sumptuous
curves. A thousand abrasive grains of gritty, saline sand clung to the blood and
sweat on her breasts and thighs, and the tears on her lovely face. Perhaps when
next I call you to my bed-chamber, you will be more compliant!"
Ahmed gestured for Saladin to be led forward. As the crowd mocked her,
Sha'ana, her voice barely audible, asked that her hands might be set free, so
that she could direct Saladin's gigantic organ toward her lips. When Oshtar
translated her request, Sheik Ahmed frowned, and considered for a moment before
consenting to her entreaty.
And then, with all eyes upon her, and her hands newly freed, Sha'ana
rose and stroked the horse's face softly, calming him, whispering to him gently,
perhaps forgiving him for the part that he had played in her abasement.
When the restless horse at last seemed calm, Sha'ana knelt beneath the
tall charger, and gently stroked the horse's penis with her soft hands until she
had brought him to a huge erection.
"Kiss it, whore!" Ahmed's voice was cold, compassionless, bereft of
pity.
Sha'ana nodded, and then stared at the sand for a long moment, as the
crowd snickered in expectation. Then her sand-splattered breasts heaved slowly
as she took a deep breath, giving the impression that she had made up her mind
about something.
Sha'ana calmly reached into the waistband of her pantaloons, and
removed a small bundle of white cloth. Then, with a lightning-swift series of
motions, she unrolled the cloth, revealing a razor-sharp shard of glass which
she had found in her cell on the preceding night, and which she had wrapped in
the strip of silk she had torn from her harem pants, before secreting it in her
waistband.
Holding the primitive weapon tightly in her hand, Sha'ana slashed at
the priceless stallion's erect penis again and again with the jagged piece of
glass. The wild-eyed young woman watched transfixed as the horse's prodigious
organ spouted torrents of blood over her nude upper body.
Sha'ana, still kneeling as Saladin's life blood poured out, turned to
face the scaffold against which Ahmed stood, his face as ghastly white as her
own blood-spattered body was red. "This, pig, was Sha'ana's kiss!" she hissed
at the horrified sheik, before lifting the bloody piece of glass to her own
throat and severing her carotid artery with a quick movement of her wrist.
But the Sheik gave no thought to the slave-girl as she fell face down in
the sand . He looked on with dumbstruck disbelief as the magnificent
four-legged creature, the only being in the world that he truly loved, issued
forth endless geysers of blood.
Saladin, frothing at the mouth and maddened with pain, reared upwards
onto two legs, and then, hooves flailing wildly, came down on top of his
horrified master, as if somehow he knew that the sheik himself was responsible
for his agony. A moment later the coal-black stallion, weakened by loss of
blood, collapsed in the dust of the marketplace.
The once-tumultuous crowd looked on in petrified silence at the bloody
tableau which had brought the anniversary pageant of Sheik Ahmed to its sudden
and unexpected conclusion. Three figures, all magnificent in their way, lay
almost motionless on the ground before them.
On one side of the peerless stallion lay a heroic priestess who gently
stroked his beautiful mane with her soft hand and asked his forgiveness with her
last breath; and on the other lay Ahmed the Magnificent, now no more than a
drooling, babbling tyrant whose malicious brain had been irreversibly damaged by
the descending hooves of his beloved charger. The once-mighty sheik stroked the
sleek black flank of the noble horse, and wept like a child as he watched the
ever-widening pools of Saladin's life-blood incarnadine the wind-blown sand of
the square.
Boccaccio
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