FIC: The Earth's Turning (NC-17, Jaffar/Princess, Fadl/Zainab), part 6/7
Title: The Earth's Turning (part 6/7, 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.
(Once again, she desires conquest, wants him to take charge of her?
Very well; then, he shall give it to her. "Spread your legs," Jaffar commands, his voice thick and creaking from his heat; he nips at Yassamin's lips lightly, relishing the way she quivers against him from her need.
And oh, the surrender, oh, the abandon with which she now yields to him, never taking her eyes from his: it is his turn to quiver from his own power as he returns her desirous glance, imprisoning her gaze with his. With his hand, with his eyes he thus captures her in the sweet bonds of his mastery over her body, chains wrought by the skill of his touch: lightly, he keeps on stroking her cunny with but the softestmost, the most maddening of touches; again, his prick leaps at the way her breathing snaps and her pupils dilate.
He kisses the honey from her breath--sweet nougat, she has been eating--but he craves a nectar thicker, sweeter still. Therefore, holding her gaze with his all the while, he brings his fingers, now thickly glazed from her cunny's sugar to his mouth: he sucks them clean slowly, savouring the taste, his eyes slitted from devilish delight.
"Jaffar--!" she all but convulses in his embrace; this is what she gets for so teasing him, she thinks. Oh, but her cunny is now aching, hurting from being left without his touch; saliva swirls into her mouth at the thought of her own taste.
"Hmm?" he asks, casually, bringing his hand to her cunny once more. Smacking his lips with relish, he lifts glittering strings of her sap from her cunny into the sunlight, she jerking each time he returns his fingertips to her thickly swollen folds. "What is it, my poor child?" he croons, with the most obnoxious of pitying coos. "Is it that you want a taste of your little cunny? Hmm?"
"Please," she murmurs, and lifts up into a kiss, but he pulls back with a chuckle deep, wicked. Instead of kissing her, he now scoops up great, sticky fingerfuls of her sap onto his lips, painting his mouth with them as a harlot paints her lips with syrup: only when the cruel, scarlet curve of his lips is glistening thickly from her honey does he lean closer to her, closer.
And like a harlot, he offers to her his mouth, yields its glossy sweetness for her tongue's taking: with a great and deep groan, she sucks her taste from his lips, whimpering as he slips his hand to her cunny once more, trapping her swollen clitoris between his fingertips. She howls into his mouth as he captures her tongue in turn, sucking upon it as he begins to squeeze, to press, to rub her clitoris; her hips lift off the bed and her legs shake as she arches into his caress, needing more, more, more. On and on he continues until she is sobbing, until her sap flows down so abundant that it makes her anus glisten, too; her cunny pulses inside and outside so violently, now, that he can feel it against his fingertips.
"Husband, please!" she whimpers, pulling her mouth off his with a smack, panting.
"Tell me," he growls, licking at her mouth, using his tongue to draw out of it a sticky string of saliva and sap; when she moans at the sight, he snaps it into his mouth with a flick of his tongue. "Tell me how you wanted me to take you," he snarls, now slipping his thigh between her legs, bracing his hand on it, taking her the way women take other women. "Tell me!")
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.
(Once again, she desires conquest, wants him to take charge of her?
Very well; then, he shall give it to her. "Spread your legs," Jaffar commands, his voice thick and creaking from his heat; he nips at Yassamin's lips lightly, relishing the way she quivers against him from her need.
And oh, the surrender, oh, the abandon with which she now yields to him, never taking her eyes from his: it is his turn to quiver from his own power as he returns her desirous glance, imprisoning her gaze with his. With his hand, with his eyes he thus captures her in the sweet bonds of his mastery over her body, chains wrought by the skill of his touch: lightly, he keeps on stroking her cunny with but the softestmost, the most maddening of touches; again, his prick leaps at the way her breathing snaps and her pupils dilate.
He kisses the honey from her breath--sweet nougat, she has been eating--but he craves a nectar thicker, sweeter still. Therefore, holding her gaze with his all the while, he brings his fingers, now thickly glazed from her cunny's sugar to his mouth: he sucks them clean slowly, savouring the taste, his eyes slitted from devilish delight.
"Jaffar--!" she all but convulses in his embrace; this is what she gets for so teasing him, she thinks. Oh, but her cunny is now aching, hurting from being left without his touch; saliva swirls into her mouth at the thought of her own taste.
"Hmm?" he asks, casually, bringing his hand to her cunny once more. Smacking his lips with relish, he lifts glittering strings of her sap from her cunny into the sunlight, she jerking each time he returns his fingertips to her thickly swollen folds. "What is it, my poor child?" he croons, with the most obnoxious of pitying coos. "Is it that you want a taste of your little cunny? Hmm?"
"Please," she murmurs, and lifts up into a kiss, but he pulls back with a chuckle deep, wicked. Instead of kissing her, he now scoops up great, sticky fingerfuls of her sap onto his lips, painting his mouth with them as a harlot paints her lips with syrup: only when the cruel, scarlet curve of his lips is glistening thickly from her honey does he lean closer to her, closer.
And like a harlot, he offers to her his mouth, yields its glossy sweetness for her tongue's taking: with a great and deep groan, she sucks her taste from his lips, whimpering as he slips his hand to her cunny once more, trapping her swollen clitoris between his fingertips. She howls into his mouth as he captures her tongue in turn, sucking upon it as he begins to squeeze, to press, to rub her clitoris; her hips lift off the bed and her legs shake as she arches into his caress, needing more, more, more. On and on he continues until she is sobbing, until her sap flows down so abundant that it makes her anus glisten, too; her cunny pulses inside and outside so violently, now, that he can feel it against his fingertips.
"Husband, please!" she whimpers, pulling her mouth off his with a smack, panting.
"Tell me," he growls, licking at her mouth, using his tongue to draw out of it a sticky string of saliva and sap; when she moans at the sight, he snaps it into his mouth with a flick of his tongue. "Tell me how you wanted me to take you," he snarls, now slipping his thigh between her legs, bracing his hand on it, taking her the way women take other women. "Tell me!")