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    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

    The autumn stars always drive Yassamin mad from desire, mad: this year, her frenzy is of an altogether sodomitic nature. Jaffar, of course, is only glad to experiment with various treatments to help assuage her 'fever.'

    Yet, come Mehregan, the bloodied memory of Harun al-Rashid arises to torment both Jaffar and Fadl: they cannot keep the truth of the Barmakid tragedy from Zainab and the children any longer. How *did* they survive the massacre?

    Meanwhile, Fadl and Zainab's relationship deepens in unexpected ways...

    ***

    Jaffar shares with Yassamin the vision spreading out before his eyes: her arse gaping open, filled to the brim with golden, sloshing oil; his hands leaving great golden smears on the white mounds of her buttocks, her fat rippling between his fingers as he clutches at her flesh.

    But he wants more, more, wants to make this arse into a feast before he takes it: now, he slaps and *claws* the oil into her buttocks, leaving red welts in his wake. She shivers as the oil tingles in the welts, healing them immediately; he laughs as he realises he's now competing with the oil, creating patterns with his hands only to have them instantly swallowed up by a golden glow.

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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

    A little Torsten/Laura vignette set at Magnus Barring's cottage, before the start of the main Devilry trilogy.

    ***

    Laura Erika Barring has a crush: a crush on her own uncle.

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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

    When Yassamin is tormented by fantasies so dangerous she daren't even speak of them out loud, it falls to Jaffar to excavate them from her self. Once found, he vows to bring to life even the most perverse of her desires: he sets out to create for her multiple shadow-lovers with his magics, lovers human and animal, all ravishing her at once.

    ***

    "I am going to undo you," Jaffar tells her as he stalks around her with the gait of a great cat, tracing the soft nakedness of her belly with the tip of his cane. "So unravel you that none of this... wretch," he snaps and flicks her hair back with the cane, making her gasp and jerk back in her bonds, "shall remain."

    He lets her dance there upon her toes for a moment, hanging as she does by her wrists in the centre of the room, suspended by his magic bonds from the low, vaulted ceiling.

    Slowly, he drags the tip of his cane up to her throat, lifting her chin with it. "Just as an automaton that's rusted and damaged needs to be undone piece by piece to be cleansed, strengthened, mended, so am I to take you apart, piece by piece, until this mockery, this grotesque, this travesty of your true self is no more."

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    Summary

    To spare Ahmad's life, Yassamin offers to marry Jaffar, despite loathing him from the bottom of her heart. To her, Jaffar is a demon, yet she soon discovers Jaffar is a man tormented by demons of his own: those of his own past. His ardent love for her relates to those demons in some way, but how? Now that he is king, he could have any woman he wanted, yet he chose her and only her. Why is he so obsessed with her?

    ***

    "Why me?" she asks.

    He casts down his eyes, his lashes sharp and jagged upon his cheeks. "Because I am an old fool," he sighs. "When I first saw you in my crystal, I thought I had found something I'd lost." He lifts his gaze but says no more, swallowing thickly, as if the words were sticky in his throat.

    Found what? "Jaffar. Tell me."

    He shakes his head. "It was but an illusion. An illusion I projected upon the princess in my crystal, nothing to do with the woman who sits with me here today."

    "What did you see in your crystal?"

    For a long while, he hesitates, then moves his hand to her temple.

    "I wish I knew. Would you allow me to try and find out?"

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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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  10. Tags
    Summary

    Poetry. An alternate ending to the blue rose scene, playing once more with the idea of Jaffar originally having been the djinni Yassamin so loved. This time, the rose is not one of forgetfulness, but a fragrance that reveals to her her hidden, suppressed memories of all those times he had come to her in his ghostly form.

    ***

    Behold--
    The Blue Rose of Forgetfulness
    Is to Yassamin of Basra become
    The Blue Rose of Remembrance:

    For from its sweet fragrance
    That so undoes the mind's defenses
    Are like petals now unfurled
    Memories hidden and suppressed

    All these things she has until now
    Hidden tightly under lock and key
    Within the deepestmost chambers
    Of her heart.

    For the outer world would have thought
    Her a woman unchaste, a vile harlot
    For so having loved her seductor invisible,
    For so having enjoyed her debauchement:

    The whisper upon the breeze
    That had set her heart alight,
    The reflection she had been looking for
    In every looking-glass,
    Upon the surface of her pool in vain;
    That soft kiss of lips fleshless and ghostly
    Pressed to her neck in worship.

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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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  12. Tags
    Summary

    Jaffar takes on his female form during lovemaking once more, bathing in the spiritual insights of the experience. His new knowledge, however, is put to the test by the sudden appearance of Fadl, near-dead from battle and grief: it is with their magic and a night of opium-filled sensual revelries that Jaffar and Yassamin return him to himself once more.

    ***

    "Is it true what they say about opium, then? That you forget all your woes; see but the best in everyone and everything?"

    "All that and more. Remember the ecstasies we had as boys? It'll give you that, but without days of fasting. Philosophers say it connects man with his God-self, brings out the best in him, inclines him to do good, strengthening rather than dulling his moral faculties: the very opposite of alcohol." He sends to Fadl his memories from when he'd comforted Yassamin in her monthly pains: lying spooned together in bed with her in a haze of opium, soothing her pain with his embrace.

    Even if Fadl doesn't say it, Jaffar can feel a sting of jealousy in his heart, a yearning this vision has now lit inside of him; in that moment, he knows the perfect means through which to comfort him tonight.

    "Take opium with us, brother."

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    Summary

    He, her spirit, her sorcerer now whispered to her of everything that was denied to her and everything that she yearned for with all her heart: namely, worlds and experiences beyond the walls and the latticed screens of the harem.

    It was nothing more and nothing less than freedom itself that now hovered sweetly about her, as if the great wings of the Simurgh about to crown an emperor with the divine halo of kings, to invest in him power over the entire earthly sphere. And it was then that she realised, with a tightening in her chest that there, in the shadows, reflected in this ghostly man, her very own majesty stood, with a power that terrified her and raised the hair on her arms, made a shiver pass through her entire being. Knowledge itself was he who now looked down upon her with expectation and mirth and a surely-lewd smile she couldn't see, his spirit-form gliding past her.

    Life, Life itself rushing and bubbling and gushing forth a river of wine, sparkling and rippling with a passion deep and scarlet, his rich ripeness now stood there beside her, offered: himself a lush bowlful for her to nourish herself with, sate herself with, intoxicate herself with.

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  14. 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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    Summary

    Jaffar takes in a cheetah cub and sets out to teach him how to hunt. However, a spirit-bond with a wild beast has its dangers: Yassamin and Salsabil become drunk from the chase, swooning from blood. Even Yassamin's desires begin to turn more brutal, she behaving so very unlike herself; while Jaffar but relishes this at first, Yassamin soon realises she has to control this blood-intoxication for the sake of herself and her children.

    ***

    "His name is Ishtiaq," Jaffar says as he lifts the squeaking bundle out of his saddlebag, himself still dusty from his hunting trip.

    "Ishtiaq?" Yassamin asks. Has he found a child, exposed in the plains? She's not sure what to think about this, shocked as Jaffar cradles the little bundle in his arms, cooing at it tenderly.

    "Come," he says, his eyes twinkling with happiness, his face alight, like the day the twins were born. "Look. Isn't he beautiful?"

    He unfolds the blanket a little. There's another squeak, and it's then that she realises this is no human child: it's the cub of a cheetah. It looks at her with its yellow eyes and kneads the blanket with its paws, chirping mournfully like a bird.

    "Oh, my God, Jaffar! You gave me a fright."

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    Summary

    Jaffar's family comes to terms with the death of Yassamin's cat. Zumurrud's led a long, happy life but is finally crushed by age and illness; it falls to Jaffar to make her passing as painless and as merciful as possible. Yet none could ever have expected to see what they now do as a cat's soul is freed from its mortal bonds by their loving hands.

    Softly, Yassamin caresses the cat's head. "Can she hear us?"

    It startles Jaffar that she doesn't peek inside of Zumurrud's mind herself, even if she could've easily done so: he realises Yassamin's in too much pain and anguish to even attempt it. Her heart is breaking for Zumurrud, for the children, for Jaffar; yet, Jaffar knows that now, it is he who has to take control of this moment. It is he who now has to be the strong father and wise man who leads his family through this with his wisdom, his compassion, his care.

    Therefore, even if he is close to weeping himself, he steels himself--he has to be able to concentrate for the sake of easing Zumurrud's pain, that of everyone in the room.

    He brings his hand to Zumurrud's head and brushes it with his fingertips, so small and fragile underneath his huge hands.

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    Summary

    It is a day upon which he needs to be, has to be, must be a woman.

    From the very moment he awakens, the female humours in him cry out for a body to move in beyond this confinement of a crude, hard, angular body male; the moment he opens his eyes to Dawn, his female soul clamours for, riots for, demands for herself a space in which to live and breathe and be.

    Like a thief, he sneaks out of his own bedroom and leaves for the shabestan, the secret room at the back of it none but he know exists. Beyond magic runes and sigils has he hidden its shape, guiding the eyes and the bodies of others past it should they try and intrude, and these sigils he now draws in the air with impatience and great haste, a maiden hurrying to a tryst with a lover who is to her forbidden.

    For at the centre of this small room he now lights with his lanterns stands someone who is to him, indeed, forbidden: a mighty stele of Ishtar, Astarte, Venus, Aphrodite, Freyja, Hathor, Gauri, Sri--call her by whatever name you will, but this is forever she.

    Aye, the great She, Love Herself nude and bewinged; the great She that has always been and will forever be.

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  18. 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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  19. 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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  20. 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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