FIC: The Earth's Turning (NC-17, Jaffar/Princess, Fadl/Zainab), part 5/7
Title: The Earth's Turning (part 5/7, completed fic)
Author: Snowgrouse
Fandom: The Thief of Bagdad (1940)
Pairing: Jaffar/Princess, OMC/OFC (Fadl/Zainab)
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Erotica, Historical Romance, Fantasy
Warnings: Extensive anal play, light bondage, mentions of past violence/horror imagery
Length: ~48 000 words
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.'
However, come Mehregan, the bloodstained memory of Harun al-Rashid arises to torment both Jaffar and Fadl: they are unable to hide the truth of the Barmakid tragedy from Zainab and the children any longer. How many Barmakids did die that day? How did Jaffar and Fadl survive the massacre? And how did they enact their revenge?
Meanwhile, Fadl and Zainab's relationship deepens in unexpected ways, their pleasures given altogether new dimensions by sexual spells gifted to them by Jaffar.
("How do they prepare you, the girls?" Fadl asks.
"Depends on what you mean," Zainab says flirtatiously, rocking her hips.
"You know what I mean. For sodomy."
Zainab laughs, her laughter rich and tinkling and husky; now, the courtesan in her strolls to the fore, as she does whenever she can boast of matters such as these. "I can give you a little... demonstration, as it were. Seeing as I take it that that's what you were after."
"Yes," Fadl says, and he hates how boyish, how high his voice comes out, but he is as excited as a schoolboy.
In fact, the day Jaffar had acquired his first magic crystal--he had been thirteen, Fadl fourteen--the first thing the brothers had used it to spy upon had been the Great Harem's baths. Therefore, ever since, the secrets of women's beautification, the rituals they undertook to enchant themselves and their men have carried for Fadl a delightful aura of magic; so much so that the art of beauty had, to him, become to possess an aphrodisiac quality in and of itself. Perfumes, coloured powders, the scent of fresh henna, rich ointments--that glorious day Jaffar had adorned himself with all of these, dressing himself with Dunya's silks and jewels, he had driven Fadl absolutely mad with desire. Jaffar had posed for him, danced for him like he'd seen slave girls do; as a result, Fadl had ended up taking him all night in the wildest positions imaginable, right there in their sister's guest bedroom. They'd had to cover each other's mouths with their hands so as not to awaken Dunya, puffing and panting and snarling in each other's faces as they'd rutted there a pair of frenzied beasts.
And now, he wishes to find out Zainab's feminine secrets; before, she had been reluctant to let him see her without her face-paint, her hair undressed. But earlier this week, he had insisted upon watching her toilette, fascinated by all the accoutrements of her beauty. The wondrous plays of colour, light and shadow she and her girls could create with powdered minerals and greasy kohl upon her eyelids; the high coiffures they could construct of her locks with heated irons, pins and waxes; the new softnesses, firmnesses and hues given unto her skin via various pastes of turmeric, sandalwood, rose petals, lead and clay.
But this is the one area of preparation he has not yet been witness to: therefore, he is desperately curious, Zainab laughing at the way he now stares at her in expectation.
"But a moment," Zainab says and gives him a lingering kiss.
She returns to the bed with a little leathern plug and bottle of oil. "I shan't repeat the enema, if you don't mind. But I can show to you how we stretch each other."
"I have no objections," Fadl says, smiling and shaking his head; his right hand now rests against his prick, the backs of his fingers set against it lightly, in no hurry to stroke it just yet. With his left hand's index finger, he now beckons to her playfully. "Closer."
As if to show him what 'closer' truly means, Zainab now straddles his entire body so that she is on all fours over him, her mighty arse and plump cunny but inches from his face. "Close enough for you, my lord and master?"
Fadl closes his eyes and inhales the wonderful sweetness of her cunny in abandon. "Marvellous," he sighs in delight, adoring its not at all diminished flush.)
Author: Snowgrouse
Fandom: The Thief of Bagdad (1940)
Pairing: Jaffar/Princess, OMC/OFC (Fadl/Zainab)
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Erotica, Historical Romance, Fantasy
Warnings: Extensive anal play, light bondage, mentions of past violence/horror imagery
Length: ~48 000 words
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.'
However, come Mehregan, the bloodstained memory of Harun al-Rashid arises to torment both Jaffar and Fadl: they are unable to hide the truth of the Barmakid tragedy from Zainab and the children any longer. How many Barmakids did die that day? How did Jaffar and Fadl survive the massacre? And how did they enact their revenge?
Meanwhile, Fadl and Zainab's relationship deepens in unexpected ways, their pleasures given altogether new dimensions by sexual spells gifted to them by Jaffar.
("How do they prepare you, the girls?" Fadl asks.
"Depends on what you mean," Zainab says flirtatiously, rocking her hips.
"You know what I mean. For sodomy."
Zainab laughs, her laughter rich and tinkling and husky; now, the courtesan in her strolls to the fore, as she does whenever she can boast of matters such as these. "I can give you a little... demonstration, as it were. Seeing as I take it that that's what you were after."
"Yes," Fadl says, and he hates how boyish, how high his voice comes out, but he is as excited as a schoolboy.
In fact, the day Jaffar had acquired his first magic crystal--he had been thirteen, Fadl fourteen--the first thing the brothers had used it to spy upon had been the Great Harem's baths. Therefore, ever since, the secrets of women's beautification, the rituals they undertook to enchant themselves and their men have carried for Fadl a delightful aura of magic; so much so that the art of beauty had, to him, become to possess an aphrodisiac quality in and of itself. Perfumes, coloured powders, the scent of fresh henna, rich ointments--that glorious day Jaffar had adorned himself with all of these, dressing himself with Dunya's silks and jewels, he had driven Fadl absolutely mad with desire. Jaffar had posed for him, danced for him like he'd seen slave girls do; as a result, Fadl had ended up taking him all night in the wildest positions imaginable, right there in their sister's guest bedroom. They'd had to cover each other's mouths with their hands so as not to awaken Dunya, puffing and panting and snarling in each other's faces as they'd rutted there a pair of frenzied beasts.
And now, he wishes to find out Zainab's feminine secrets; before, she had been reluctant to let him see her without her face-paint, her hair undressed. But earlier this week, he had insisted upon watching her toilette, fascinated by all the accoutrements of her beauty. The wondrous plays of colour, light and shadow she and her girls could create with powdered minerals and greasy kohl upon her eyelids; the high coiffures they could construct of her locks with heated irons, pins and waxes; the new softnesses, firmnesses and hues given unto her skin via various pastes of turmeric, sandalwood, rose petals, lead and clay.
But this is the one area of preparation he has not yet been witness to: therefore, he is desperately curious, Zainab laughing at the way he now stares at her in expectation.
"But a moment," Zainab says and gives him a lingering kiss.
She returns to the bed with a little leathern plug and bottle of oil. "I shan't repeat the enema, if you don't mind. But I can show to you how we stretch each other."
"I have no objections," Fadl says, smiling and shaking his head; his right hand now rests against his prick, the backs of his fingers set against it lightly, in no hurry to stroke it just yet. With his left hand's index finger, he now beckons to her playfully. "Closer."
As if to show him what 'closer' truly means, Zainab now straddles his entire body so that she is on all fours over him, her mighty arse and plump cunny but inches from his face. "Close enough for you, my lord and master?"
Fadl closes his eyes and inhales the wonderful sweetness of her cunny in abandon. "Marvellous," he sighs in delight, adoring its not at all diminished flush.)