1 - 20 of 37 Works in Princess (The Thief of Bagdad (1940))

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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

    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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  4. Tags
    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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  6. 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

    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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  8. Tags
    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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  9. 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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  10. Tags
    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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  12. 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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  13. 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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  14. Tags
    Summary

    Jaffar's hopes and dreams during the blue rose scene; the despair and the memories that led him to this point.

    ***

    Within this flower lies my love.
    Within its perfume the last breath
    Of that which in me is good
    Reaching out for the last time–
    If not now, then never
    Shall I turn back from the road to Hell.

    Oh, I am in Hell–
    Within this flower lies my love,
    Its dew my prayerful tears
    That Love should turn her face to me
    And make into a good man this wretch.

    I once was a husband, father, lover,
    To man, woman a friend
    Until a tyrant’s rage turned it all to dust,
    A desert of bitterness.

    Yet–
    Long after I became tyrant in that tyrant’s stead
    Yet–
    Long after the laughter of women died from my chambers
    Yet–
    Long after the little hands that once brought me apples were put into the ground–

    In this sand and wind and heat
    This rose still stands
    A rose blue, and therefore, a mirage
    Waiting patiently for its dream-companion:
    The mirage of the nightingale
    That would sing even for me.

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  15. 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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  16. 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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  17. Tags
    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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  18. Tags
    Summary

    After years of peaceful family life in Samarkand, Yassamin's desire for women bursts into flame once more. Enter Zainab, a young widow as lustful as she is beautiful; she sets out to seduce both Yassamin and Jaffar, to prove herself the greatest libertine in the land. However, Jaffar's pride cannot abide this; he is determined to prove Zainab wrong.

    For weeks, now, Yassamin has dreamt of women, this old lust in her that she had thought had died now stirring, alive once more. She awakens from dreams of soft breasts, bellies, buttocks; her mouth dry after visitations of plump mounds, wet folds, the pink flowers of gleaming cunnies from which she had been drinking nectar. She lies in bed and masturbates, imagining the scent of her cunny another's, tasting her fingers and imagining she has just brought another woman to completion.

    Yet she wants more, and she cannot keep on lying to herself about this, cannot keep it from her husband. Tearfully, she tells him everything, pours all of her desires over his heart, asking him if she is a bad woman, an unfaithful wife, unnatural.

    "But, my child!" he hugs her close and kisses her tears. "Then we shall find you a woman."

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  19. Tags
    Summary

    On an amorous whim, Jaffar experiments with sex-changing magic; however, this ends up changing both him and Yassamin in unexpected ways. There is no true transformation or growth without pain, yet both are willing to walk through fire for the sake of their love: an entire new life and a profoundly deepened understanding of each other await them on the other side.

    He laughs, a little wryly. "You know how they say that losing one's prick is every man's greatest fear, but now that I have felt what your womb feels, it seems to me that the Greeks were right. It is as Tiresias said: a woman's pleasure is greater than that of a man's. A womb is a terrible thing to waste," he says, smiling. "You know, I have the distinct feeling that once it's my turn, you will have to fight me to turn me back into a man."

    She swallows her tears and sits back on the bed, gazing at him, caressing his sides with her feet. "You were always the more two-sexed one of us, beloved wife," she sighs. "But come, enough. As we agreed. Give me of your magic, my love; give me the prick you would have me take you with."

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  20. Tags
    Summary

    I had another, I told him:
    Another who had made me believe in magic,
    Another who had proved to me
    That there was such a thing as love at first sight;
    Another who would rescue me from my confinement,
    From this marriage my father had arranged for me,
    A man who would defy death itself to set me free:
    My another was,
    I told him in no uncertain terms,
    The key to my cage.

    "Oh, no, no, no,"
    My dread and dire suitor crooned
    As he stepped before me in all white,
    In the silken suit of the bridegroom.

    "Your another is a man--no, a boy I know well,"
    He purred as he strolled over to me a pard,
    Slinking his hips,
    His each step soft and precise;
    Had he had a tail,
    He would have curled it,
    I'm sure.

    "He would have chained your soul
    By binding it to custom,
    My sweetheart, my sweet love,
    My one who so for freedom yearns!"
    He laughed,
    His cruelty as sharply honed as his gait.

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