by Scipio42
Greetings o worthy ones.
Welcome back to the world of my humble stories.
In a moment slaves will move among you with sweet-meats and tid-bits, sherbets
and fruit juices for your refreshment. Once
again, we return to the world of old Bagdad, to a world long gone, a world that
no longer is, or perhaps it never was, Inshallah, it is a worthy place to visit
and while away some time, and perhaps we shall learn more of the story of the
woman that today we call Scheherazade
Are you all sitting comfortably? Then we shall begin.
Once upon a time there was a seller of girl-meat, and his story told of how he
out-witted the evil vizier and served Abdullah the sultan of Bagdad a
magnificent meal. It was a meal that won him fame and honour. But none of this
changed the man, and he dealt with all with respect and was renowned for his
honest wisdom. He married, a girl who had been apprenticed as a seamstress in
the palace, and with her had a daughter. The girl c-word was called Shaharizad,
and Selim taught the girl many things, partly because he had no son to follow
him, and partly because he doted on her and took great delight in her as a
person.
Now such was Selim’s renown that – after a string of abysmal failures - the
Sultan eventually asked him to be his vizier. And Selim put his former life as
Bagdad’s finest seller of roasted girl-meat behind him and with his family
moved into the palace.
Sadly, Sultan Abdullah died – blessed be his memory – and his son – long may he
reign in magnificence - after removing his competitive siblings in the
traditional manner, became sultan in his staid. Shahryar set forth in the
manner of his father, dealing with men justly and being open-handed, until one
day he found his wife entwined in the arms of his guard commander. The
treacherous soldier died in the market square, beheaded in front of the
citizens of Bagdad. The unfortunate wife was invited to a banquet of the
sultan’s nobles, and it is written that she was most delicious!
Shahryar became a terrible man in his grief. Each night he would marry a
virgin, ravish her, and the next day have her served at the wedding banquet of
his next bride. It was a grim time in the annals of Bagdad, and the rapacious
sultan ate his way through the upper echelons of Bagdadian society. Every
high-born family bar one had lost a beloved daughter, and this day the vizier
Selim was summoned to bring his daughter Shaharizad before the sultan.
The news that his daughter was to be the sultan’s next bride, and of course
everyone knew what her fate would be, which obviously upset the young woman,
but when she accepted her father’s summons she arrived in his office, to find
him calm.
“You must come with me to the sultan.”
“I do not want to die father.” Shaharizad told him.
“I do not want you to die, my daughter” her father told her, “But he is my
sultan and I must do as he commands me…”
“But first,” he told her, “As you are due to be married, I thought a wedding
gift would be in order.”
And Selim the vizier took up a small bundle wrapped in black cloth. “I have
only ever served the sultan as vizier and never in the way that I served his
father. I have taught you many things my daughter, obedience, respect for the
law, the correct way to cut a flat bread, perhaps, if you use this knowledge
combined with the sharp wit that I know you possess, you may see a way through
what lies before you.”
Shaharizad took the bundle and unrolled it. Lying in the black cloth were her
father’s knives.
“Father! You are not suggesting…?”
“No, my beloved daughter, I am not. But these knives were the tools with which
I made my living and my wealth. They are the foundation on which our lives are
built.
“You have seen me use them and learned to use them yourself. I have taught you
so much of what I know – if they worked for me, they can work for you.”
On hearing her father say this Shaharizad thought for a moment, “I will need
some things making ready father.” And the quick-witted girl gave her father a
short list.
He thought for a minute, “This I can do, it shall be ready as you ask.” So
saying, Selim took his daughter to the Sultan.
Some hours later Shaharizad waited on her husband. The sultan arrived not at
his bridal chamber but at a Bedouin tent which had been erected in the palace
gardens.
To say that Shariyah was not best pleased would have been a mild
understatement. In fact, he was most angry. Firstly, he had not been able to
enjoy the slaughter of his previous wife, secondly there had been no banquet and
thirdly he had not yet ravished the girl Shaharizad (an act to which he had
been looking forwards to).
However, in the opening of the tent Shaharizad waited for him, dressed as a
nomad woman. On the carpet beside her was the bound form of yesterday’s wife,
Aisha (a girl who everyone - except herself - felt had had an over-high opinion
of herself) and the makings of a sumptuous feast lay spread out on the carpets
in front of him. Just the magnificent smells rising from the outspread plates
caused the sultan to pause in his ire, and simply breath in.
Bowing low, Shaharizad greeted the sultan. “Good evening my husband, your wife
awaits you. This worthless woman offers you a respite from all of the
banqueting and a return to a simpler life for the evening.” She stood back and
swept her hand towards the girl bound on the floor.
“It is all prepared. If my husband wishes, he can slaughter the meat and I can
prepare his meal for him, after which I look forwards to being ravished, and
having my useless virginity cast aside like dust from a man’s foot.”
Shocked by the tableau in front of him, surprised by the unusual and quite
willing greeting. (If truth be known, the stark terror that the girl’s took
nightly, made the daily ravishment more of a chore than it should have been.
While he did look forwards to some of them eagerly, they were few and far
between. In fact, the girl on the floor had been particularly troublesome).
“What do you have planned Shaharizad?”
“Oh Lion of the Desert, this woman has several sauces prepared for you. It is
suggested that rather than eat the whole of the carcase, we cut strips and
grill them upon this brazier, they can be dipped thus.” She picked up a small
bowl of a dark aromatic sauce and showed it to him.
“May I, my lord?” Shaharizad knelt next to the brazier to tend it, as she did
so, she carefully removed the outer layers of her clothing revealing beautiful
pale arms, both of them nicely fleshed and decorated with bangles and
bracelets, As the cloth fell to the floor Shahryar was also treated to the
fleshy calves and well-turned ankles of the woman. As a red-blooded man his
interest was piqued.
He began to move towards Shaharizad, the uppermost thought being the word
ravishment. But the girl deftly turned his advance aside and sat him down upon
a large cushion.
“Before my inevitable and long-awaited deflowering, oh Master of my Destiny,
will you not take some sustenance? Surely you have had a busy day and it would
be a shame to waste thighs like these on the dogs that infest the palace
middens.”
She had a point, the sultan conceded. At last, he thought, a woman that thought
about him and not about her impeding fate. Shahryar was even more impressed
when Shaharizad whipped out a carving knife and sliced a long strip of flesh of
the tied girl’s thigh, causing her to scream loudly into the silk gag that
crowded her mouth. Blood flowed freely onto ground, as the vizier’s daughter
carved more flesh away – the muffled screams dying away as the victim went into
shock through the loss of her blood.
As she worked, red-handed, Shaharizad sliced the flesh into pieces and placed
it into thin skewers wood that she had soaked in water. Once this was done the
collops were placed in the fire to cook.
Shahryar was enthralled, this was entirely not the way he had envisaged this
meeting progressing, but watching Shaharizad work was fascinating, especially
when she turned back to the other girl, now dying in front of her and sliced
out her womanhood, placing it onto a platter and offering it to the sultan.
“O Destroyer of my virtue, would you have this cooked or as it lies before
you?” She asked, Shahryar took it off the plate and chewed it vigorously.
Washing her hands in a bowl and drying them Shaharizad now knelt beside her
husband and taking the seared collops of girl meat she offered them to the man
reclining on the cushion. The sauces were delicious and drawn from all sorts of
nations that traded with the great city of Bagdad. There were sauces from Far
Cathay made with fermented wheat light in colour and dark in colour both, there
were the red spicy pastes from the many Spice islands, and the fiery curri
powders from the Indies. Sometimes Shaharizad would dip the slivers of flesh
into the sauce before cooking, the flesh taking new colours as it cooked.
Sometimes she would dip them after, the grilled white flesh coming out of the
bowl dripping with enticing flavours. Each was offered to the Sultan with the
proper subservience.
Shahryar pointed to the one he wanted the meat dipping into, before it was
presented to him. With dates, rice and other morsels the sultan devoured nearly
all of the thigh meat. (it had been a long day and he was very hungry)
In fact, so much did Shahryar eat, his passion for ravishment was stilled by
his full belly, and when Shaharizad moved so that he could rest his head upon
her, now naked thigh, he did so.
In this position, full to the point of repletion, He contentedly closed his
eyes, this, he told himself, this what was what paradise would be like.
With Shaharizad’s naked breasts brushing his head, the sultan belched.
“Would my lord like to hear a story?” She asked.
“I think I would.” He told her, as she offered him a little more of the
exquisitely flavoured and beautifully cooked girl-meat.
“In days long past,” Shaharizad began, “In the port of Deriabar, was a sailor,
who went by the name of Sinbad…”
By the time her tale of how this Sinbad sailed to the magical island of Jamdad,
where he slew the evil djinn and slaughtered his way through armies of vicious
man-eating amazons – eating not a few along the way – was done, the sultan
Shahryar – the Great, as he was called in the palace, or Shahryar the Angry as
it was often whispered; despoiler of virgins and devourer of discarded wives,
was fast asleep, resting on his head on Shaharizad’s thigh, and snoring away
under a blanket woven of red wool, embroidered with gold thread. Slaves
belonging to her father, carefully, and quietly cleared away the remains of
yesterday’s wife, and left them in peace as the Sultan’s guard formed a ring
around the tent.
And the night passed without further incident.
The next morning when Shahryar awoke from a delightful, and rather delicious
dream, he was surprised to find that the dream or part of it anyway, was true.
His head rested on the lap of a beautiful naked woman, a woman who had fed him,
and cosseted him, feeding him the most wonderful dishes of girl flesh and
telling him wonderful stories.
“My sultan,” The naked vision of beauty said, as he opened his eyes. “May I
pour your serene highness a drink for while you break your fast before I go?”
“Go? Go where?”
“Why? To the executioners, my husband, as is proper.”
“Hold! Just wait a moment.” Shahryah, told her.
“Last night, when I came here, you butchered my wife of the previous day?”
“Aisha, my husband.”
“Yes, that was the girl. And we ate the meat from her thigh, grilled on a
brazier and dipped in sauces?”
“And her lady parts, sultan of my heart, which you devoured ferociously.”
“And you started telling me a story about a sailor_”
“Sinbad.”
“That was the chap. And his voyage?”
“Yes, my husband, I did."
“And during all of this, this marvellous feast of the senses, did we er…?”
“’Er’ Lord of the dawn?”
“Did I we consummate our marriage?”
Shaharizad blushed shyly at this, “No my sultan you dozed off during my story -
though you looked quite magnificent as you slept - I find myself still a
virgin, as I face my imminent death this morning.” And Shaharizad’s sigh was
filled with the sorrow of the women of Akkad when the Babylonians slew their
menfolk, and took them into abject slavery.
Now, gentles, you must understand that Shahryah was not a complete idiot, he
had an idea that he was being played like an oud, but the previous
evening’s meal had been truly excellent (probably one of the best he has ever
eaten), and the girl Shaharizad – sitting there nude, with delicately rouged
nipples, fine bangles on her well-shaped, white arms and legs – was very
attractive, and he had heard the story up to the point where Sinbad had fought
the Amazons but missed the end fight with the djinn_
‘Fuckit!’ He thought to himself, ‘I can ravish her tonight and eat her
tomorrow.’
“Attend me tonight after the fourth call to prayers and you may finish your
tale of Sinbad the sailor before I ravish you.”
It was when Shaharizad lowered her head to the floor and thanked him, that
Shahryar noticed that she had quite a nice bottom as well.