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    Summary

    “There’s one fairytale princess I quite like,” Torsten said and dragged his fingertips up the small of my back, my nipples hardening against his suit just as I could feel him hardening against my belly; our heat rose with our pulses, our pulses with the music's, the orchestra playing faster and faster. “That version of Snow White, where she's dead when the prince comes to her, makes love to her--or at least the prince thinks she’s dead. And that’s the point," he said, his eyes as sharp as shards of glass; as if to follow a cut made, he now pressed his lips to my jugular. "Do you follow me?”

    “I follow you,” I said, and to demonstrate, I let myself fall dead in his arms, completely listless, lifeless but for the fraction of a second, so that we both staggered; he had to catch me to stop us from falling over. And oh, but the helpless, high-pitched moan he let out now, at my acquiescence, my surrender, my promise of the liebestod to come: the way his eyes widened, the way his cock leapt against my dress!

    “We’re going home,” he rasped as the song reached its crescendo, his lips as wet against my ear as I was wet between the legs; he swept me off my feet and carried me to the taxi waiting outside.

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  2. Tags
    Summary

    His brother is as beautiful as a houri.

    And Fadl does not care if, in thinking this, he blasphemes: already the soft, sensuous veils of sin have wrapt themselves about his brain in the form of a heady, dark and rich date wine.

    For now, Jaffar, upon a drunken whim, has availed himself of all their sister's finery and made himself female.

    Knowing exactly how beautiful he is, beautifuller than any woman Fadl has ever seen, he now poses for his brother in the manner of the skilledmost of courtesans, singing-girls when they wish to drive their masters into erotic frenzies.

    And it is indeed a frenzy Jaffar now incites in Fadl's mind, heart and loins: never has he been to him as beautiful. Perfumed, night-black curls hang thick and heavy on either side of his face as if clusters of grapes; his skin shines soft, pale, luminous from rich creams and unguents made shimmering from powdered pearls. Anklets, bangles, necklaces, earrings, brow-chains, armlets, belts, rings upon his fingers and toes tinkle at his slightest movements, now chiming wildly the myriad tambourines of a heathen dance; a band of maenads he makes music there as he stretches, arches, sways in voluptuous delight.

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    Summary

    Yassamin blinks as she takes in the sight that greets her in the shabestan.

    "You are not serious."

    Jaffar but grins at her, his prick waving hello to her as he sits naked, cross-legged on the floor in his magic circle.

    But his isn't the only prick now greeting her: for this magic circle consists of twelve different phalli, all arranged in a perfect circle around him. Phalli of all shapes and sizes, crafted of stone, gum, leather, wood; most of them but pleasure-tools she is intimately familiar with, but she thinks she can spy a few ritual ones, too, as if this entire display wasn't horrendously pagan to begin with.

    She puts her fists to her hips. "Care to explain this, husband?"

    Jaffar encompasses the circle with a flourish of his hand. "Twelve pricks, one for each sign of the Zodiac, representing the signs' respective qualities," he says.

    And indeed, the pricks sit neatly in the carefully drawn wedges and squares that make up his magic circle, all of these wedges filled with sigils and symbols astrological and alchemical.

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    Summary

    Even if he's the one wearing the dress--a beautiful, white silk dress and silk stockings, with smooth-shaven legs underneath--Connie's the one who's ended up on top tonight. And very literally so: now, Connie is straddling Baz, kissing him, grinding into him, hard underneath his dress; determined, he is pressing Baz's wrists into the bed and won't let him move.

    All of this had happened naturally, somehow; inevitably. The moment Baz had shown up looking gloomy and tense--well. Connie had taken one look at him and had known that tonight, he needed to take charge, needed to undo that stupid anguish of his, those knots in his being.

    Even if it's but subconscious, both of them know that tonight's the night: tonight, Connie will finally take him. He wants Baz so much he isn't going to be satisfied with just taking the female role this time--well, depending on the female. For Connie is now also the woman who takes, the maneater, and Baz cannot help but think of the firm command with which Marlene had taken him to her bed.

    Therefore, after a little tumble upon the bed, it just so happens that Connie throws Baz face down upon the bed, yanks up his hips and buries his tongue in his arse.

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    Summary

    Now, Connie leans onto his right side a little, moving Baz's legs, guiding him into a sideways position, face to face. "How does that feel?" he asks.

    Baz is not sure if he can come like this, but he's not sure if that's even Connie's intent; however, when he decides to wrap his right leg around Connie's waist, something happens inside of his hips and his eyes roll back in his head. He freezes, shuddering; Connie decides to try for a slow thrust, and now all Baz can see is white, all the hair on his body standing on end.

    "That's very good," Connie drawls, and just keeps going, calm and easy and slow and sweet, even if Baz is going to utter pieces around him. Now, Connie can deliver only the shortest of thrusts; yet the tightness, the heaviness, the pressure against Baz's prostate is incredible. Baz can only hang on for dear life, his mouth gaping open wide; all of him is open wide, open, open for Connie to fill again and again and he loves this ridiculous gangly German bastard and he wants to weep.

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    Summary

    Jaffar and Yassamin celebrate their eleventh anniversary, revisiting the games they'd played as newlyweds: through Jaffar's hypnosis, Yassamin can live the part of an eager virgin and he her wicked, whip-wielding master once more.

    That, and Jaffar has also dusted off Sarosh...

    ***

    "I would play the slave girl to you, my love: surrender myself unto you as completely as the believer's soul surrenders unto God."

    Moaning, he captures her in a deep kiss. "I'd hoped you would say that," he laughs with the delight of a boy. But then, the boy is gone and his majesty, his lordship, his puissance ravishes her once more: he crushes her in his embrace, just like that first night.

    As he pulls back, his eyes are heavy from desire and he is erect against her belly; just as her cunny's now tightening, aflutter between her legs. Hissing, he tugs upon her lower lip with his thumb; his eyes flash so pale his irises become as glass. Now, his voice is dark and sticky and coarse, pouring into her ears a black honey.

    "Trust, wife, that I shall endeavour to master you until you lie at my feet weeping, hoarse from screaming, dripping with my seed from every orifice, begging me for mercy."

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    Summary

    In both his sleep and in his waking is Tybalt of the Capulets a man haunted: yet not by the spirits of all those he's slain, but a demon sent from Hell to tempt him with all his forbidden desires.

    It is the ghost of a Moorish sorcerer, out to devour his soul.

    Even now, within the long shadows of the courts of the Capulets, he can sense he is being followed.

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  8. Tags
    Summary

    Jaffar sets off on the flying horse to save his reluctant princess from the perils of the desert. However, his brave rescue doesn't go as smoothly as planned, and the bickering pair end up having to spend the night in a cave. A cave which turns out to have been an ancient temple to a goddess of love, still exuding very powerful vibrations indeed.

    Jaffar tuts a little, pretending to consider her. "The eyes are a little crooked." Shamelessly, he devours Yassamin's body with his eyes, gesturing for the slavers to turn her around. "Let me see her behind--ooh, what a pity," he croons and slinks his hips. "It is a little on the flat side. Well, I suppose I could let her keep the outfit; pretend she was a boy," he says and slaps her playfully on the rump.

    At that, Yassamin shrieks, turns around and spits in his face. But he had been expecting that: oh, the shock upon her face as he wipes off her spittle and inhales it through his mask!

    "Well, well, well," he laughs, rocks his hips to pleasure himself and takes her chin in his still-wet hand. "A girl after my own heart," he drawls and narrows his eyes; "the sort who needs a little breaking in."

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  9. Tags
    Summary

    By his witchcrafts he scents her heat, pursuing her into the moonlit garden; there, he ravishes her a man made of shadows, a demon, a ghost.

    No matter how many years pass, there are still nights upon which their love is tempestuous, violent; where Desire will not wait a coy maiden but will surge forth the ravisher. It is the love of clashing teeth that cut the lip, of clothes burning the skin as they're torn, of mouths panting wet from blood and secretions, exuding moans strange and terrible like heathen incense.

    Yassamin's heart races faster than her feet as she runs from Jaffar through the corridor; the shadows of pillars, lattices, bushes flickering about her as if hands, bodies reaching out to touch her: she is so heated she can feel each one a touch upon her skin, like a crowd of vulgar caresses.

    Yet there is one shadow that is warmer than the rest, one shadow with its sweet cruelties familiar to her flesh, one shadow more alive than its brothers with its hands reaching out to squeeze her breasts, sore and heavy from premenstrual heat. She has not seen him, heard him but she knows he is there: Jaffar, her sorcerer, Jaffar, her beast; Jaffar, her master, her king.

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  10. Tags
    Summary

    "The term is bisexual," Basil remembers Connie telling him that very first night they'd met, when they'd still been just friends. With frankness, Connie had told him this; with challenge, the way he'd looked into his eyes. As if he could see into his soul, see all his sins within, all the cocks sucked, all the frots that didn't end after public school. Before him lies a man who had lived his true nature openly in his Berlin days, loving both women and men, with a courage he could scarcely believe was real.

    Larry had warned Basil about Connie, if not in detail. But now that he knows the man himself, he can only imagine how formidable he must have been ten years ago, when he'd initiated Larry into all the sins of Berlin. Faggot or no, you wouldn't pick up a fight with a six foot three man with the bearing of an emperor, the eyes of a big cat, a man who could crush you with a glance.

    Those eyes are still staring into his in the twilight, the setting sun's rays refracting through them as if they were glass. As always, they demand honesty from him.

    "I know what I am," Connie had told him in no uncertain terms, that first night; "do you?" he'd asked Basil.

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  11. Tags
    Summary

    It is the eve of Mehregan: both Fadl and Zainab arrive to visit Jaffar and Yassamin for the feast. Erotic tension crackles between them like lightning; however, in his drunken lust, Fadl behaves most atrociously. Yassamin and Zainab set out to teach him a lesson in humility--and respect for women.

    ***

    It'll be a miracle if we survive tonight without it all degenerating into an orgy, Jaffar thinks at Yassamin.

    Yassamin giggles at him drunkenly. You know, I'm not so sure I would mind.

    He rolls his eyes. My God. It's contagious! "Behave yourself, woman," he mutters, even if she can see a spark in his eyes, the illicit excitement awakening in him at the prospect.

    "Ooh, I don't know," Fadl purrs, devouring Zainab with his eyes. "I like a woman who's not afraid to be a little... scandalous. I've spent so much time with the pagans, methinks; I must confess I find a certain charm in the ways of the barbarian female."

    Zainab bursts into rich laughter. "You were yourself pagans but a few generations ago, Barmakid. I heard tell it was the custom among you for brothers to share but the one wife," she says pointedly, twirling a golden lock of hair between her plump little fingers.

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  12. Tags
    Summary

    Jaffar and Yassamin build themselves a clockwork pleasure-doll, taking great delight in playing with their new silver lover long into the night. But eventually, even magical lovers must be laid to rest: for tonight, the time has come for Jaffar to finally take Yassamin's hand.

    ***

    For an entire week, Yassamin watches him burn. She denies him her caresses, turns him from her bed, feeding that part in him that so thrives on anticipation, denial. And his fire stokes hers in turn, rippling into her body through their psychic bond: even as he tends to his affairs, plays with his children, works on his devices, she can feel the pulse of heated blood in his cock, the tightness in his sack, the stray moans held back in his throat. The heat that the retained sperm brings to the body as it rises up his spine, the magical power it builds up in the flesh and the nerves, all of him vibrating and humming with it, his touch electric: oh, but he is beautiful.

    Yet this is no ordinary denial-game, no ordinary lovers' tease: for now, at Yassamin's behest, Jaffar has started to stretch himself, make way in himself to finally take her hand.

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  13. Tags
    Summary

    The melancholy humours of the womb overwhelm Yassamin once more; Jaffar exorcises them with a thorough, loving ravishment.

    "Lift up your skirt."

     She trembles as she does--how he can still genuinely frighten her, she does not know. Perhaps it is the demons--they plague her day and night with fears rational and irrational, of the worst things that could happen. Vile, poisonous fears of him starting to hate her, him having finally grown sick of her caprices; that, or him dying, leaving her alone in the world with no one to assuage her grief. The blood-demons have made her believe worse things, so why should she not, for this moment, also believe that he merely wants to hurt her, to but use her body to sate his sadistic needs? That Jaffar the butcher, the torturer they had told her horror stories of had finally returned to his senses after these mellow, love-filled years, and would now treat her like he had treated the rest of his subjects: but pieces of meat to serve his bidding?

     Somewhere deep inside of her, where the blood roils darkest, stickiest and her madness laughs at its most unhinged, she is aroused by this.

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  14. Tags
    Summary

    Kurt shaves Ursula's bits, ties her up, whips her and takes her over the piano. As you do when you are a sadistic Nazi baron and have a 17-year-old horny schoolgirl to debauch.

    "Not here," he says, slapping her on the pussy, sending her jerking. He gets up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Over the piano."

    "The piano?" She'd much rather do it on the bed, or the sofa, at least.

    "Yes, the piano," he says as he ushers her out of the bathroom, his hand a command upon the small of her back, brooking no argument.

    And there she lies, in broad daylight, splayed out on her belly over the piano. Kurt has spread her legs horizontally--he had watched the girls in secret during their daily exercises and had noticed Ursula had been the most flexible of them all, he'd said. And now he wants her to prove it, to elevate this flexibility to a real, worthy purpose: the enhancement of pleasure. Thus, he has arranged her into a near-full split, her pussy just on the edge of the piano, the lips of it spread out by his expert hands so that the entire weight of her pelvis is pressing her clitoris into the surface.

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    Summary

    A little missing scene of Fadl taking Yassamin, with Jaffar's gleeful assistance.

    "Hold her down," Fadl says to Jaffar without looking at him, smiling down at Yassamin instead. "Let's see how she moans when she feels truly helpless."

    And Jaffar adores this idea, marvels at this, as wicked as his brother: he sits cross-legged behind Yassamin's head and pins her wrists into the mattress with but a few swift spells. "There we are, my sweet," Jaffar grins down at her, and as Fadl begins to take her ever harder, Jaffar drinks her screams into his mouth with an upside-down kiss. He caresses her hair aside so that he might stroke her throat, his long fingers clasped on either side of it, studying her pulse, her heavy breathing. With the heat of his palms, with the depth of his kisses he swallows her very breath and her very heartbeat from her, his own body shivering with her ecstasy-shudders, his pleasure so deeply entwined with hers they are one.

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  16. Tags
    Summary

    Jaffar and Fadl spend one more night together, this time without Yassamin's intercedence. Fadl's bitterness rears its head once more; Jaffar does what he must to temper it, merciless in his love for his recalcitrant brother.

    "Don't think I'm done with you yet," Fadl moaned into my mouth as he turned me around and slammed me against the door, undoing the knot at my waist, reaching his hand between my legs so that he might push a finger inside of me.

     "Does this help?" I laughed in his face incredulously, tearing down his drawers in turn, clawing at his buttocks. "Yassamin told me she felt like the vessel of our reconciliation. Is it flesh that you require to sate your anger, to expel your rage into? Is that it? How many arses, Fadl, how many cunnies will it take until you are done?"

    "Just yours," he growled, spitting into his hand and working his prick with it. "Turn around."

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  17. Tags
    Summary

    As Jaffar's older brother arrives to settle old scores, Yassamin discovers dark truths about Jaffar's past. Both Jaffar and Fadl are men wounded, embittered; it is only through indulging in the greatest of sins--that of incest--that those wounds can be healed.

    "I can't believe what I'm hearing!" she says, rolling her eyes, but a perverse thrill now stirs within her womb. Perhaps it's exactly because this is dangerous; deliciously, suicidally dangerous. "Are you saying we should seduce him?"

    Jaffar closes his eyes, and she can feel him reaching inside of her, feeling for that perversity still swirling warm and bittersweet within her hips, pomegranate-dark at the back of her mind. He opens his eyes and quirks his eyebrow. "Somehow I do not think you would find it all that unpleasant, my Babylonian."

    She buries her face in his chest and groans. "Stop doing that, husband."

    "I will, once you stop trying to pretend you are indifferent to him," he laughs, a little bitterly. "At least we will burn in Hell side by side."

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  18. Tags
    Summary

    Jaffar buys Yassamin at the slave market.

    Without a word, he drags her onto her feet and begins to tear at her clothes. She screams and she screams as she is thus defiled, shamed, but he ignores her cries as he dances around her, ripping her precious garments to pieces. Perhaps she had deserved this all along, she thinks as one by one, her silks flutter at her feet, for she is a bad woman, he now exposing her guilty flesh as he had exposed her wanton nature, leaving her defenseless, bare.

    And thus she stands in the centre of the room, naked, he still in his torn shirt and drawers, laughing at her. "Much better." And when she tries to cover her breasts, cover her sex with her hands, he but purrs, nuzzling her face. "Exactly what I was hoping to see in the back room at the slave market," he croons, "until you so cruelly deprived me of the pleasure of inspecting you." He lifts her hair from her face and smiles. "But you will not pass out on me this time, will you, my sweet? Hmm?"

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  19. Tags
    Summary

    Jaffar lifts the automaton's chin and admires him as he used to admire his own mirror image as a youth, but this is so much better, so much more fulfilling than a mere reflection. It is because he is gazing upon an improved version of himself--yes, he has dared improve on God's creation, the piquant arousal only blasphemy can bring now curling up his spine, licking at his groin. He has taken the liberty of erasing a few wrinkles, of straightening the teeth a little, of making the doll's hair a little thicker, fuller: and what surprises Sarosh hides underneath his robes, oh--Yassamin shall find out soon enough.

    Pleased with himself, the image of himself, Jaffar chuckles, unable to resist the temptation of a kiss.

    Jaffar builds a silver replica of himself as a birthday present to Yassamin. But it would be foolish of him not to test the doll first, would it not? Only to make sure everything is in working order, of course.

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  20. Tags
    Summary

    That night in their tent, he takes her like a boy.

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