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    Summary

    There are but Connie's hands in his hair as Basil leans in to nuzzle that which the morning had stolen from him: the fragrances of must and of sweat and of sperm and of piss and of musk and of moss. He sobs as he fills his mouth with the heat, the salt, the blood-iron taste of Connie's flesh; but then, even his sobs are stopped as this blessed flesh swells in his mouth and fills him, fills him so that there is no room left in him for regret or pain or sorrow.

    The wet, rainy earth swells up to meet him, swallowing him into its womb; the room darkens and again he is in a nightly forest: this thanks to Connie having blessed him with a makeshift blindfold, the silken sash of his dressing gown pulled over his eyes. And another blessing, the velvet ropes of the bedcurtains, tying his hands to the bedposts: a silken handkerchief in his mouth a third, a holy trinity of absolution, dissolution of all his guilt. Connie made me, Connie overwhelmed me, you know how persistent he can be.

    Thus, he is by his own desire taken, claimed: the forest that had represented all that he'd denied in himself now taking him in the form of a man.

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  2. Tags
    Summary

    Basil has a vivid, fantastical dream of his forbidden desires and the one mythological figure around whom those desires converge. Connie, the very embodiment of all the sins of Berlin, of all that Basil's denied unto himself: Connie, his friend, Connie, his temptation, Connie--oh, it's simply too dreadful to think about.

    Yet he thinks of him still, thinks of him, dreams; dreams of a twilight forest.
    ***
    As he runs, the trees creak about him; in the setting sun's light, it's as if Pan himself were laughing at him: Pan cackling at his feeble, Christian excuses, so wan, pale, bloodless in the face of vibrant life and roaring lust; life and lust and the must of hairy thighs. Hairy thighs and between them (don't look, Basil, don't look) testicles full and lush and furred, a monstrous prick, a horse's (don't look at Blaze like that, Basil dear), and he remembers the scent, the scent of men's dressing rooms, the scent of when he'd pressed his face into the bush of--

    And it's upon that scent that he falls, its tripwire; he stumbles into the meadow of his dreaming, the field of his yearning, stumbles upon Desire's skein spun of pubic hair and of sperm and of piss and of musk and like unto Enna he falls, falls.

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    Summary

    Within the mirrored hallways, upon the chequered floors and amidst the Rococo furniture of his pleasure-palace, Baron Kurt von Kolb teaches his 17-year-old fiancée, Lady Ursula, everything she must know about the perversions of a true aristocrat.

    She'd thought she'd feel a princess the day he finally took her to his castle, but instead of the sumptuous dinner she'd been expecting, he had but led her to a marble bathroom and presented her with razor and enema syringe instead. So that her sex would be bare for his pleasure, he'd said; so that he would be able to see and touch and taste everything, he'd said; so that she would be clean for him tonight when he'd take her more deeply, more completely, more thoroughly than she'd ever been taken before, he'd said.

    ***

    He runs the spur of his jackboot up her breastbone, dipping it into the hollow of her throat.

    "Good girl," he purrs, smirking through his monocle. "You did not flinch once."

    "Thank you, sir," she says, squeezing her shivering hands into fists, proud of her self-control.

    For now, she rests in a state of complete nakedness at his feet, he towering over her in his uniform as she lies there upon his drawing room floor.

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  4. Tags
    Summary

    Jaffar, son of Yahya of the Barmakids has arrived in Basra, come to ask for the Princess's hand.

    At first, Sultan Mahmoud is overjoyed, but soon puzzled, perplexed. For the new Caliph requests a most intimate audience with his prospective bride, one with a most curious requirement: that he be allowed to gaze upon her--the woman no man has seen!--unveiled, and that he might inspect her head in particular for himself.

    "But what for?" The Sultan sputters. "She is not some slave girl, to be examined by all who would purchase her! Is not seeing her face enough?"

    "I believe," Jaffar states in all seriousness, "that you have done well to keep her from all eyes. For my astrologer tells me a very special child was born this hour seventeen years ago. 'A child in whom meet the moon and the sun...?'"

    The Sultan's eyes fly wide; he shakes his head, blubbering. "Nobody knows that. Nobody! Why, I had her swaddled, the astrologer beheaded, and the midwife--"

    Jaffar but tilts his head. "I have astrologers of my own, and means of seeing past walls. Seventeen years have I waited, until such a conjunction was upon us again. Today, I was told, was the most auspicious time for me to seek her as bride."

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  5. Tags
    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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  6. 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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  7. Tags
    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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  8. Tags
    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.

    Series
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  9. Tags
    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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  10. Tags
    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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  11. Tags
    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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  12. Tags
    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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  13. 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: the nightmares of his past. His 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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  14. Tags
    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."

    Series
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  15. 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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  16. Tags
    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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  17. 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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  18. 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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  19. 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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  20. 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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    9
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    7
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