Of Pain and Delight (2 page)

Sahria laughed and turned away from him contemptuously. She tossed back her head, the long black tresses of her hair brushing lightly against her pert buttocks, their charms hidden from the prince’s gaze only by the sheerest of silk. ‘And what magic?’ she said with a sneer. ‘What wondrous power do you posses that gives you so much strength of will that you dare attempt to control one such as I?’

‘I know many tricks,’ he replied. ‘I am well versed in such matters. But most of all, I have this!’ Sarne threw back his cloak in one practised movement and stood proudly before her. She gasped. He was naked, his olive-skinned physique glowing with a subtle sheen in the soft light of the evening. There was barely a trace of hair on his body apart from the dark, luxuriant curls that framed his proud features, and a small bush of thick fuzz at his crotch. His penis stood hard and erect, pointing like a fearsome spear at her sudden frailness. Its size was immense, not unlike the images portrayed within the erotic icons in the temple that she had savoured in her solitary moments, sights that had filled her nights with dreams of future delights. Now such a vision appeared before her, and it was real and menacing in the extreme. Never had she dreamt that a mortal man could posses such a weapon!

The thing seemed to be regarding her through the single eye set in its angry purple head, as though scrutinising her with disdain. The heavily veined stem bore a length similar to that of her own forearm and its girth, if anything, was more than that of her slender wrist. She sensed her will deserting her the longer she gazed at the monster, her arms falling limply to her sides and her eyes widening with desire.

Princess Sahria knew at that moment that her ultimate desire was to absorb every part of that magnificent cock within her loins. She knew it might hurt, at least until her body became used to the sheer size of the prince’s wondrous rod, and that the massive head of the thing would beat mercilessly against the deepest regions of her soaking honeypot.

But she also knew that she must have him.

‘Well, my princess,’ he said, as he gripped his cock firmly at the root to force the devil to even more immensity, ‘who is to be lord and master tonight?’

Sahria said nothing. Instead, she fell to her knees at his feet and took the hard stalk in her hand with a gentleness that was all too uncommon in her. She stared in wonder at the gnarled pole, astounded that her fingers could barely encircle its girth. She leant forward and kissed the bulbous head, before running her tongue around the thick knob and then finally taking him within the silky sheath of her young mouth.

Suddenly he pulled from her heavenly grasp, his penis waving like a triumphant flagpole at the scene of a battle and, grasping his cloak around his body he swiftly unbarred the door and threw it open. ‘Princess,’ he announced firmly, ‘there can be no greater cruelty than denial, and I have denied you the feel of my weapon within your loins tonight. One day I will return. You will not know when, but on that day I will conquer you and abuse you into spasms of total ecstasy that you will never have dreamt possible. For now, you may have the last sight of that which will impale you, to fill your visions until my return.’

So saying, the Prince of Persia once more drew back his cloak and allowed his penis to thrust into the open. Sahria tried to fight her desire to stare at it, not wishing to appear weak, but the temptation was too great and she couldn’t resist quickly glancing at the proffered prize. She swallowed hard, his intimate taste still on her lips.

Sarne covered himself again with a flourish and left the room, pushing past the handmaidens who returned to stare in astonishment at the sight of their vicious mistress, kneeling, her eyes glazed and her trembling body racked with lust.

Princess Sahria sighed to herself as she remembered the event, then threw her head to one side in anger. A year had passed since that time, during which she had vented her fury and frustrations in ever more salacious pursuits, but she never either forgot or forgave Prince Sarne of Persia. Her exasperation filled the palace so that even Al-Fahoud himself lived in fear of her rage, and kept well out of her way. Tales of her lascivious acts spread throughout the country. The men – and indeed the women – lived lives of paradox; extreme fear mingled with an intense desire to sample the delights and mysteries of the court of the princess of pleasure. Many, very many, were to be successful.

What little light chose to creep into her dank prison through the tiny barred window was fading fast. Although time was beginning to have little meaning for her, Sahria felt it was too soon for night to embrace the cold walls of the palace with its silent shroud. A storm must be imminent, she thought, the heavens preparing to unleash their fury upon the mortals below with an anger that could, nevertheless, scarcely match her own. She liked the storms, the ferocious blasts of power engulfing all unfortunate enough to be without shelter. In happier times she would have rushed out into the rain, naked, offering herself to the sheer power and seeking to sate herself within the energy to soak up its strength.

Not this time.

As the first flash of lightning seared its white light across her vision she struggled against her bonds. The tightness of the leather around her wrists and ankles gripped her unforgivingly and the pain in her nipples and labia became intense as the thin slivers of chain tugged her tender flesh mercilessly. She cursed loudly. Oh, how the pathetic animals would suffer!

The thunder crashed as if to echo her anger and then roared into the distance like a wounded beast.

The lightning flashed again, this time much brighter than before. Sahria closed her eyes and gritted her teeth in frustration. She strained against her bonds and experienced a brief feeling of incongruous delight at her vulnerable state. She moved again and felt a sharp pain between her splayed legs. A sense of total defencelessness sent a wave of pleasure coursing through her body. She thrust her hips upward purposely, and the pain stabbed the soaking lips of her pussy as her movements caused the chains to wrench them further apart. The agony thrilled her but quickly became too much to bear, and she relaxed her body once more.

She allowed her mind to wander again and, for some reason she began to recall memories of the time when she had witnessed the subjugation of Calema, her lovely young friend. She remembered just how much she had enjoyed the spectacle; little knowing that one day she would find herself in a similar defenceless position.

She smiled to herself as she recalled how Calema, then barely seventeen and still a virgin, had stood trembling while three handmaidens stripped and oiled her delicate body to prepare her for what was to come. Calema had looked pleadingly at Sahria, but her response was merely to laugh as one of the servants slipped three fingers between the girl’s shaven sex lips and took her maidenhead with a swift, practised movement.

Calema made no sound, although she was trembling visibly. The dampness between her legs had become very apparent; her open pussy lips glinting like the dew-covered petals of a tiny pink rose. She would have known there was no stopping the ceremony now, and it was clear that she didn’t want to, despite her unmistakable terror.

Sahria clapped her hands and the girl was blindfolded and then led to a small raised platform in the centre of the room. At each corner was bolted a length of thick chain fixed with manacles, their purpose clear. A wooden frame in the shape of an inverted U stood in the middle of the dais, the apex covered with padded cloth that served to protect Calema’s stomach as she was made to bend over the construction, her wrists and ankles then shackled firmly to the unyielding chains.

So restrained, she waited, the long tresses of her golden-blonde hair cascading from her bowed head to touch the floor, and her legs held straight and parted so that the sight of her tiny bottom was presented for the assembled company to enjoy. For what must have seemed like an eternity to the hapless virgin the people stood, watching her as she trembled in fearful anticipation, the only sound being that of her quiet, gentle sobbing.

Sahria knew her friend’s tears were not from fear, but caused by arousal. Delightful interludes with her in the recent past, when their curious fingers had pleasured and probed each other was proof enough of that. The sobs were very similar to the sounds Calema made following orgasm.

Sahria clapped her hands again and Calema raised her head as best as she could, startled. The Grand Vizier stepped forward, for it was to be he who would have the honour of taking the young girl’s virginity. He ran his hands over the small, firm buttocks, caressing them lovingly. Leaning forward, he planted a wet kiss between them and then ran his tongue down to her forbidden orifice. He lingered there, licking hungrily at the puckered little hole for longer than Sahria felt was necessary, but Calema didn’t seem to mind if her soft moans of pleasure were to be believed. Eventually, however, he moved to press his tongue firmly against the softness of her unsullied sex, the lips of which were already soaked with her juices and the oils administered by the handmaidens.

She groaned as he licked her there, her buttocks stiffening and her breathing becoming laboured. Expertly, the Vizier’s tongue lapped and suckled at the offered prize, the tip flicking incessantly over the hard bud of her clitoris as he pushed three, then four fingers inside her warmth. She shuddered as he moved his hand up and down, and then sighed with notable disappointment when he moved it away from her.

‘I sense that your friend is ready, mistress,’ the Vizier said as he removed his cloak. Sahria stepped forward and bent to closely examine the girl’s sex. She stroked the lips with her fingertips.

‘She’s very wet,’ she agreed. ‘It will take quite a man to fill her!’

The Grand Vizier moved forward, now fully naked and with his erection held long and proud before him. Sahria reached out and caught hold of it, then put it to her mouth and engulfed the head with her pouting lips. She felt him throb and tasted the salty evidence of his arousal. Anxious that he should perform the required task, she took him from her mouth and put the end of his cock to the wet sex lips so blatantly displayed for all to see.

Calema tensed and began to cry. ‘Please, princess,’ she sobbed. ‘Please beg him to be gentle. I am frightened.’

Sahria kissed her young friend’s bottom lightly and, gripping the thick cock firmly by the root, moved it slowly so that the swollen head slid sensuously over the outer lips of Calema’s pussy. ‘Relax, sweet child,’ she soothed. ‘You are more than capable of accommodating this fine weapon and, when it fills you your cries will be ones of joy and ecstasy!’

She directed the lust-engorged end of the Vizier’s stalk to the waiting opening and licked her lips as it slid cautiously inside – three, four, and then five inches before stopping for a moment.

‘Please, princess,’ Calema begged. ‘Please, it hurts… it is too big!’

‘Relax, my precious. Relax and it will be much easier for you.’

Calema must have heeded her advice because four or five more inches slid quickly inside her tight sheath, until the Vizier’s belly became pressed hard against the soft globes of her bottom. Sahria moved around the prone figure of her friend and took off the blindfold. She kissed her lightly on the lips. ‘How does it feel now?’

‘It is strangely wonderful,’ the girl mewed. ‘The pain is gone, and I feel so full inside my loins.’

Sahria stood up, grinning cruelly. ‘Now, Grand Vizier,’ she barked, ‘fuck her! Fuck her hard until you lose your seed within her! When that happens your fine cock will be replaced by another, and then another, until Calema knows the true meaning of pleasurable agony!’

The Vizier obeyed immediately, hammering his long cock in and out of the frail young body set so delicately at his mercy. Calema raised her head and looked round with fear in her eyes. There were many men, some of them already displaying fine erections, anxiously waiting to take their turn to impale her. She looked again at Sahria with tears in her eyes, but the princess at once detected the flush of total arousal in her facial expression and knew that her job was done.

The ceremony lasted well into the night. Calema, once a precious flower of virginity happily accepted most, if not all of the host of young men who vied with each other to be the next to sate themselves within her welcoming vulnerability.

Calema changed little since that day; her reputation exceeded only by that of the princess herself. She was keen to learn and Sahria was always only too pleased to instruct her in the many pleasures and diversions to which she herself had become adept. Her young charge had also developed her own preferences, of course, and would often regale Sahria with lurid accounts of her many sexual escapades.

Unlike Sahria, however, Calema seemed to prefer to be dominated by her lovers, albeit by her own design. She also often demanded anonymity of those who would take her, insisting that their heads be masked and their voices be silent. Sahria didn’t consider such ideas to be repulsive, of course, and often enjoyed the erotic spectacle of seeing her young friend tied up on a bed or lashed to a fucking-frame while numerous hooded but otherwise naked men queued to use and abuse her.

It seemed odd to her that she now found herself in a similar situation to that so frequently enjoyed by her friend. The ache between her legs was now entirely caused by rampant desire, and mental images of Calema lying prostrate and chained whilst her lithe body was plundered by some nameless hulk didn’t help to ease her pain in the slightest.