0 comments/ 20181 views/ 4 favorites Dunyazad: Tale the First By: Cordelia Speedicut A Victorian Adventure, involving a Templar Treasure and a Jinniyah, plus Sex, Violence and cheap Brandy. * I was close to coming. Lucy was riding me, long stokes, root to tip, in an energetic Saint George. She was nearly there, too. I could see it in her face, that unfocused look she'd get. The iron headboard started to bang against the wall. So close ... thump – thump – thump ... and she began to cry out to the rhythm, "Yes! ... Yes! ... Yes!" until I drove upward to meet her in a wrenching thrust and we erupted together. Exhausted, we subsided back onto the bed, and the hot magma of our mingled fluids oozed into the spaces between us. Whew. Only a week before, I had, at nineteen, never enjoyed more than a few furtive gropes with the fair sex. Now I lay on a lumpy bed in a broken down London knock-shop, with a naked girl sleeping on my chest, her pussy still twitching on my peggo as she dreamt. The year was 1871, and I still remember thinking that this was all Dick Burton's fault – which in a way it was. Not directly, of course. When I was a much younger lad at Oxford, he had come round and given us a singularly exciting talk. But it certainly wasn't about how he had, when he himself was a boy, slipped away with his brother to spend his pocket money in the brothels of Naples. No, he'd spoken of other adventures, such as his penetration of the forbidden city of Mecca. By the time he was done speaking, I was ready to go exploring myself. For a day or two, anyway. To be perfectly honest, the notion of entering a stronghold of enemies as Sir Richard did, wherein a misstep means death ... well, really. The very thought made my knees go weak. Still does. In the event, it was some years before I'd even made it east of Reading. However, thanks to him, I discovered an interest in far-away places. Interest turned to study, which, being that I was notably lazy, was a novelty for me. Eventually I graduated, but I soon found that a working knowledge of the people and languages of central Asia had not prepared me for the sort of stodgy employment my uncle offered in the pottery-ware industry. Which was why, on a meagre allowance and at loose ends, I soon found myself back at my college, visiting an old friend. Roland St Clair was an elderly don who was curator of the Arthur Arbuckle Oriental Museum. This was no more than a few rooms of antiquities to which the other alumni were fond of donating oddments and oddities - mostly weapons and remarkably rude statuettes. There was so much of the stuff that poor Rollo could never seem to keep track of it all. It was just like old times. I spent an enjoyable evening, drinking port and half-heartedly helping sort papers (well, mostly I was admiring the amazing variety of pornographic drawings and marginal graffiti). And then – and let this be a lesson to lazy lads everywhere - I, Thornton Cox, thereby secured long life and fortune. While rummaging through the hodgepodge, I noticed some loose parchments and an odd map written in Aramaic. As I slowly deciphered them I found they concerned the Order of the Knights of the Temple of Solomon - and their lost treasure. The story goes that, around 1300, the King of France quarrelled with the church over both power and money. The rich Templars were accused of "licentious behaviour" and heresies. The pope himself, their patron, was taken hostage and accused of a multitude of unlikely crimes, including heresy, sorcery, and - my favourite - of "keeping a small tame demon in his ring, which would appear at night and conduct unspeakable depravities with the pontiff in the papal bed". To make a long and nasty story short, the pope met a bad end and the Templars were broken, and the remnants of the order disappeared, along with the greater part of their gold. Rollo helped translate some key bits, and when we were done, we sat staring at one another. According to what we had just read, the documents had been handed from one secret Grand Master to the next, over many generations, until the chain had been broken in Paris during the Terror. They told how, when the knights first went to ground, they hid the bulk of their treasure deep under a church - in the heart of London. Rollo fairly goggled. "I know that place. Right behind is ... it's in a little square near where ..." He fell silent, and I waited, until he continued. "I met a girl there ... it was years ago," his face had reddened noticeably, "when I was a student. My friend and I found this, ah, house – it was built right up behind this very church." He flapped the pages for emphasis. "Anyway, I fell in love there. Lola." Another pause, then, "I went back all that summer, whenever I had the money." His blush deepened. "I offered to marry her, but she just laughed, and said she didn't think her mother would approve." I coughed, and brought him back to the matter at hand. According to the documents, a group of Templar servants (referred to as 'Black Mantles') were sworn to guard the treasure. Presumably, they might be doing so still, if any of this was true - and if the loot hadn't been plundered long ago. We agreed that I should go and find out, to which end Rollo staked me some guineas. I also sold my grandfather's gold watch to acquire a roughly used American Navy Colt, and added a Pathan knife from Rollo's collection for my boot top. A coward knows better than most men: better safe than sorry. Mid-morning, two days later, I was in the City, scouting out the church. It squatted in a quiet square, overlooked by time - and by the faithful, to judge by the old cleric's small flock. The crypt was open to view, for the price of a few pence into the poor box, and I was able to give the place a close inspection. With a thrill, I soon found the insignificant tomb that was described as hiding the entrance. It seemed much too easy. As far as I could tell the spot was undisturbed, but it could well have been robbed four hundred years past. Or, it could all be a complicated hoax, of course. I half expected to hear from behind me the helpless laughter of one or another of my fellow ne'er-do-well graduates. There was one way to find out, and I was actually considering opening the passage, then and there, when I heard heavy footsteps on the stone stairway. A large, rough looking individual came down into the gloom and stumped over to ask if I needed assistance. His manner suggested that I had best be looking for help with the way out. I took the hint and hastily left both crypt and church. Well - the good news was that, if that brute was a guard, then there ought to be something worth guarding. I circled around by way of several winding alleys until I found what I was after. The small brothel Rollo had remembered was still there, snuggled incongruously against the north wall of the church. Our plan was that, if I were to find the church protected, I might perhaps be able to tunnel from this establishment's basement through to the crypt. I had counted the steps when visiting that dank place, and so I knew I would have to dig downward about fifteen feet, as well as some thirty feet sideways. Quite simple, really. I actually hesitated at the doorway before stepping inside, having never before entered such a house. At that hour, it was as quiet inside the brothel as it had been in the church. I went up a stairway and, at the top, nearly collided with a large and amply endowed woman in her fifties, who proved to be the madam – one Lola, as it happened. As coached by Rollo I presented myself to her to as an aspiring young rake from the country. I would, I explained, require company and a modest room, away from her regular trade, during my visit to the city. Specifically, a room with private access to the cellars - so as to secure a few cases of wine, I said. God knows what she thought of my story, but I was shown a shabby room on the ground floor. It held a low dressing table backed by a cracked mirror, and a well-worn bed in a deep alcove beyond. The room's only merit was that, hidden behind a curtain, there was a stairway down to a windowless back storeroom. It was perfect. It took the better part of my resources to secure it, after which I immediately set out to gather digging tools. Returning that evening with a lamp and short handled shovel, I slipped into my room to find a young woman, clad only in a camisole shirt and bloomers, washing her hair in a basin. Somehow I had forgotten my stated purpose for lodging in this place. The girl glanced up and smiled, and then continued on with her task, while I stood blushing. While wringing her long tresses, she introduced herself as Lucy. She was about my own age, with a pretty round face and a petite hourglass figure that had no need of corset. I could see so much of her milky skin that my cock began to harden, to my further embarrassment. As Lucy dried her hair, her every move a tease, I fidgeted and shuffled. All the while she soberly studied my face; then at last she stated, "You're a virgin." Dear God, I thought, was it that obvious? I opened my mouth, intending to deny my innocence. Instead I said nothing. Lucy simply nodded to acknowledge my unsaid confession, and assured me she meant no offence. Stepping closer she added that she would feel privileged to relieve me of my burden. With this she tossed aside her towel and slowly unbuttoned her camisole. For my part I did nothing but continue to stare stupidly, while her fingers worked their way down to reveal in their wake more and more cleavage. When she was done, she looked coyly down at the four-inch gap between the linen shirt panels, and then back at me as if to ask whether I thought she should continue. I mutely nodded my assent, and she grasped the lapels of the garment and arched her back to shrug it off. I beheld at last her delightful breasts, full and capped with plump red nipples. We were still standing some feet apart, and now she beckoned me nearer, inviting me with her posture to reach out and feel them. Hesitantly I did so, ever so carefully, as though they might be damaged by my touch. She responded by thrusting herself forward so that in catching her I found myself roughly gripping two handfuls of firm flesh. She sighed, and wriggled a little. By that time I needed no further encouragement. I began to grope in earnest, if without skill. She pulled back. "Patience, luv!" Although she was plying her trade, she was also clearly enjoying the opportunity to tutor such a neophyte. She turned away and stepped to the bed, glancing over her shoulder to invite me along. I followed as if in a trance, and when she sat, I dropped beside her. Lifting one of her fine breasts with her hand and gazing down at it with evident approval, she suggested I now kiss it. Eagerly I bent forward and kissed that smooth flesh – and then she fell back, and I upon her, and my lust at last took command of my senses. I showered her face and chest with kisses aplenty, while she nimbly unclasped my breaches and removed her bloomers. Before I knew it, she was guiding my peggo between her legs, and I felt myself engulfed in her cunnie. I could not think of why I had not tried this sooner. Actually, I couldn't think at all. On top of her, now, I began to thrust wildly, and, with a gentle laugh, she eased me back to a sustainable pace. "Slow down, Thornton. We have all night!" And a good thing, too, for soon enough I felt the urgency of my spending swell up inside me, causing me to gasp and plunge heedlessly into the velvet depths of my new companion's body. Then the inevitable explosion; and I lay spent upon her breast for a little time, until she heaved me clear. I hear her mutter an oath, but she was smiling warmly all the same. I know I was wearing an idiot's grin, and when she proposed a celebratory (and restorative) toast, I struggled out of my boots and tangled breaches and found my flask of brandy to share with her. The two of us sat bare-bottomed in the middle of the bed, passing the spirits and chattering like children who have discovered a new mischief. "What d'you think, then?" she asked. "Was it worth your trouble?" "Was it...? My God, it was splendid! You were splendid! Glorious! Wonderful!" Words obviously failed me. She lifted her arms and cupped them behind her head so as to jut her chest proud for my approval. As she ran her fingers back through her hair, she said, "Care to try it again, then?" A glance in my lap told me that another try was not possible. "Not to worry. I reckon a young buck like yourself has another round left in him." With this she took firm hold of my ruined tackle. "You paid for lessons, and so here's lesson number one. It ain't polite to be shovin' it in, without so much as a by-your-leave. A girl has to be ready – warmed up, like." I began to apologise, and she shushed me. "It's alright, luv. You hadn't had the lesson yet, and anyway, Charlotte and me woz already ... well, never mind. That's for another time. But what I'm sayin' is that a girl likes a bit of snugglin' and all, before you set to grips. She wants a little warming up – like you do, right now." A tongue in my ear and a squeeze to my already partially revived peggo accompanied this remarkable speech. After a demonstration of 'snuggling', which included a good deal of kissing and tongue-play, she drew my hand to her moist cunnie and continued, "She needs to get the sap running – see?" As I lay beside her and groped, she said, "Now here's lesson two. It ain't polite to leave off before a girl's had her come." At this I stopped my fingering and looked up at her face. I honestly thought she was having fun of me. "Ho! Didn't think the ladies had 'em, did you? Nor even does many a girl – so just think how grateful they'll be when you show 'em how. Be like they was virgins all over again, and nothing to regret." She drew me on top of her, adding, "Let's get to it then. I can feel one close." With this, she took hold of my now wood-hard tool and guided me to her drooling pussy. She was right – her come was near. She gasped as I drove home, and then she bounced back away to start me to pumping. I obliged, and allowed her to set the rhythm, as she continued to buck under me. "That's it, luv. Yes! Harder, now! That's it! Harder! Yes! Yes! Oh, Gawd!" At this she went rigid, her hands gripping my shoulders and her cunnie clamped just as hard on my straining cock. A tremor shook right through her, and then I felt my own orgasm take hold. I had thought I had already been drained, but I was wrong. And for as long as I pumped, she wailed and writhed under me. This time, I was permitted to sleep. The next morning, I woke to find Lucy still nuzzled contentedly against me. Somehow I found the strength to mount her yet again. Making up for lost time, I suppose. When, afterwards, I told her how pleased I was that she was still there, she pointed out that she was included with the room. This was a shock, if a pleasant one. I had thought I had negotiated an occasional visit - only to disguise my true intentions, of course. Clearly I had paid for a good deal more. Naturally, every bed in such a house was put to constant use. What I had supposed to be a neglected storeroom was Lucy's place of business. She was a new arrival, and didn't have the seniority for better. And now she shared it with me, her client. She did not seem to resent this arrangement. I think she enjoyed my company, and I certainly enjoyed hers. Over the next few days you may be sure I gave no further thought to mere gold. Having had only a little experience with women by that point in my life, I received an education beyond the sexual one. Briefly, I thought I was in love. Lucy saw the signs, and convinced me (mostly) that what I was feeling was merely lust. She was quite prepared to be my friend, however. Before, after and often even during our labours, I was given my lessons – varied advice about lovemaking: technique and endurance, diet and hygiene. I was also treated to considerable chatter and gossip. It is a little disconcerting to be engaged in a strenuous fuck, and to have the object of your attention, while apparently enjoying herself, tell you about her day. I must say my patience as a listener was put to the test. Then again, since the kitchen was nearby, in the mornings one or another of the other girls would stop to chat with us. While not notably handsome, they were friendly and good-natured, and didn't seem overly jaded at their work. There being no resident male (for the madam was strong enough to serve as her own bouncer), they began to treat me as confidant and confessor. I learned a great deal about the community of women in general and of whores in particular. A week of carnal bliss passed by. Then, on the morning I lay recovering from the above-mentioned Saint George's Cross and thinking of Burton, fate returned me to my quest. Charlotte strode into our room and tucked a letter between my limp fingers. "For Lucy – when she comes round again," she said with a grin, and then she gave Lucy's backside a playful slap as she retreated out the door. "Hey!" My pretty tutor sat abruptly, my semi-soft peggo sliding out of her with a 'plop'. I gave her the letter with a shrug and a smile. The contents revealed that her sister had just had a baby. Her family, who apparently believed she was seamstress, were hoping she could make a brief visit to her village. This brought me back to my own business. I encouraged her to go, even to giving her a present of traveling money. After another delightful fuck, as thanks, the arrangements were made. By late afternoon (having, with some regret, declined Charlotte's kind offer of covering for her friend), I found my way downstairs to make a start on my tunnel. Here I was, an adventurer at last. Finally, I thought, Burton would be proud (I was still ignorant of his carnal adventures). I laid out my tools, and began to clear away some battered cupboards from the wall. Perfect. I swung my new pick - and nearly fell through the wall into the giant hole I had breached. You may imagine my shock to find, behind a layer of lathe and plaster, a ragged passage some three feet across - just where I had planned my own. Peering in to the cobwebbed depths with my lantern, I could see that it was definitely dropping in the direction of the crypt. I could just make out a large white stone, perhaps a dozen feet down. I sat and pondered this for a while. Someone had beaten me here, perhaps long ago. Bugger. On the other hand, the church was still being watched over by someone, so I still had to see what, if anything, was being guarded. Taking a deep swallow of brandy for courage, I took the lamp and slithered down headfirst, sweeping cobwebs out of my path. I was almost on top of the 'stone' before I realized that was a skull, decorated with the black shaft of an arrow sprouting from the top. Once the terror had eased off (with the help of another awkward pull on my brandy flask) I noticed that under the bundle of rags and bones - all that remained of the mystery corpse - lay a small wooden chest. I snatched the box up and scrambled backwards, retreating to my room. My heart was still pounding when I laid it onto the dressing table. I sat looking at my haul, and tried to consider my next move. After a time, I filled a mug with yet more brandy, then broke the rusted lock off my box and peered inside. I was looking down at a sheet of velum, folded and sealed. It looked like my unlucky predecessor had died for a box full of letters. But ... underneath! Underneath I beheld a sight that took my breath. The rest of the box was filled with a jumble of gold chains and exotically set gems. I lifted out handfuls of the stuff. They were ancient Persian, made with exquisite workmanship. Setting them back, I looked again at the velum. There was a heavy lump wrapped inside, and on the back, in a strong hand, was written 'Bonifacius Papa VIII' – the same pope whose death had preceded the Templars downfall. I broke the seal and opened the packet, to have a gold ring fall into my palm. The thick band had an elaborate design carved right the way around. I held it close to the candle and could make out the figure of a large cat or lion stretched long in a leap, wrapped around so that it held its tail in its mouth. It caught my fancy and I slipped it on – it was still warm from the heat of the candle. Dunyazad: Tale the First By this time, I was getting distinctly light-headed. I pulled off my jacket and lay down for a moment. Without meaning to, I was soon asleep, but what with the day's excitement (to say nothing of the brandy) I was troubled by strange and vivid dreams. At first, it seemed that I had woken to find all the candles relit. Then I saw Lucy, sitting naked at the mirror. Lately, I had been dreaming of her a lot. Her back to me, she was brushing out her long hair. Except that Lucy's hair wasn't nearly so long. But then who...? A stranger was inside my locked chambers, and she would hardly be alone! In my dream, I reached under my pillow for my knife. At that she turned and stood, and I saw that she was not naked after all. Not exactly. She was wearing the treasure from the box - gold chains about her waist, gold bangles about her wrists, and a glorious jewelled necklace, which lay in a cascade of glittering fire between her proud breasts. Younger than Lucy, her hair was dark and lustrous, and her skin a rich olive tone. And her face! As she glided nearer, the candlelight revealed her striking features. She had an eastern look to match her attire – high cheekbones, a wide sensuous mouth, and penetrating almond eyes. The combination was striking. She was at the foot of the cot when she said, in Latin, "Thou hast no need of that prickler whilst I am here, my prince. Your enemies are my enemies." As so often in a dream, I couldn't move; but somehow I found my tongue. Stupidly, I repeated, in my awkward schoolboy Latin, "Your prince?" "None but a prince has the power and strength to win me, and possess me. And Lo! You wear the leopard ring, so you have slain Benedetto, for no man would willingly part with me. Are you French?" As she spoke, she came closer, still with her appraising stare. She seemed older, at this range, more by manner than by appearance. As in most dreams, the words made no sense. Who had I killed? Benedetto? My last drowsing thoughts had been of the odd box I had opened. Benedetto, I knew from my studies, was the long departed Pope Boniface's birth name. So now in my lust I dreamt of a Rubenesque, Latin-speaking girl who wore the jewels from the hoard – they moulded to her form as though they were made for her alone. But these were all fleeting, muddled notions, and I remained immobile. Or nearly so - my cock was responding to the lust in her eyes and was straining to escape the bounds of my breeches. She looked precisely as one of the houris of paradise should, in the old tales. Indeed I wondered fleetingly if I had died, and was to be escorted from my rough surroundings by this beauty. I asked, again in my shaky Latin, "What is your name?" "I am Dunyazad, my brave lord." So saying, she set her hands upon the foot of my bed and stalked on hand and knee, catlike, up over me. Her fine body glowed in the candlelight, and in my dream I felt the heat of her, her face now close to mine. Solemn still, she looked long into my eyes. Hers were beautiful: dark and hypnotic. Abruptly she smiled, a radiant smile, and sat up. Astride me now, she stretched languorously, thrusting her fine breasts forward and causing her jewellery to dance and jingle. Then she bent down and began to open the buttons of my shirt. Exposing my chest, she leaned closer. She blew lightly, and her moist breath was exquisite. And then she put her tongue out and touched its tip to my flesh. It was surprisingly hot, and just a little rough, like a kitten's. She began to put it in motion, lightly laying a line of fire from my waist up my chest. She paused there to give attention to my nipples, and they stiffened as hard as were hers. Back down she went, laying a new track, her fingers releasing my trouser buttons in advance of her tongue's arrival. Her head now in my groin, she whispered, to my cock rather than to me, "With my lord's permission..." Her questing tongue brushed the base of my freed member and drew up toward its tip. It was the lightest of touches, but the heat from that line of flame spread throughout my body. When she reached the head, she scooped up the first gleaming pearl of my juices. My prick was like iron. It had never felt so hard; the veins were standing out, forming a ropy net around its shaft. She took hold of it – her small hand was cool and dry - and slowly traced a path with her nimble tongue all around the ridge below its straining purple knob. It felt as though that tongue was wrapped right the way around, before she broke off with a final polishing swirl. Then, slowly, slowly, she set her lips to it and began to draw it into her mouth. Deeper and deeper it sank, and again her tongue worked its magic. I must confess that Lucy had never serviced me in this way; and yet now I was imagining vivid glimpses of a busy mouth through a curtain of tousled locks. She continued until she had enveloped my entire prick, and then she began to bob up and down on it, sucking with fierce intensity. It felt as though my member was being pulled out of me – no pain, but a sensation of stretching, as thought it were somehow gaining length and breadth in the process. I felt ready to explode. I could feel myself gliding deep into her throat. When at last I brought forth my seed in a furious blast, she held her ground, drinking down the hot liquor. In the past I'd had nightmares where I struggled to wake, and occasionally others when I'd startled awake to find my hand on my member and warm fluids seeping through my bedding. Now, I desperately hoped I would remain asleep just a little longer. Dunyazad lifted her face with a lick of her full lips, gave me a lusty smile and again crawled smoothly up my body. She folded my lance flat under her and slid her moist scalding notch the length of it, until it suddenly popped back up to attention behind her, as hard as ever. By now it felt as though it must resemble the yard of a pony. Her hips were over my belly and her lovely globes over my face. At that point, I at last stirred, and reached out for one of those tempting boobies. Her smile widened and she offered it to my mouth. As I suckled and nibbled that delightful flesh, she sighed deeply. Then, giggling like an innocent girl, she asked me to give similar pleasure to its sister. I gladly transferred my attention to her other teat, whilst continuing to knead the first. Soon, though, she gently pulled free of my grasp. She rocked through the upright until she was leaning back slightly, bum on my belly and her feet resting on my shoulders. My stiff cock pushed against the small of her back so strongly as to support her. "Is my lord pleased?" she asked, though clearly she knew the answer, and she now spread her knees to give me a clear view of her cunnie. This most lovely orchid of flesh was the same deep crimson as her other, more public lips. They glistened with the dews of her lust, but also, I now saw, they glistened of gold. A fine chain of the stuff led from around her waist down past her lightly curled mound and disappeared inside her. Giggling again, she lifted her bottom slightly and pulled on the chain. Slowly there emerged what proved to be an egg sized ball of gold. And then another, and yet another. As each popped free, she gave a little tremor of satisfaction. I had seen the chain in the jewel chest and had taken it for a sort of alderman's chain – there must have been five or six orbs strung on the thing. When at last this belt had been drawn free, she let it hang glistening from her side. She flashed me a salacious grin, and rose up over me so as to align her slightly gaping cunny over my straining oversized prick. This she took in one dainty fist to aim, and used her other hand to spread her moist, shining wings open to me. Again I could sense heat radiating from her, as she lowered herself to the point of impaling herself. Not withstanding what I had just seen (or rather, imagined) her do with the golden balls, she now was so tight as to require some effort to just encompass my fellow's knob. She pushed down until all at once the head and an inch or two of shoulder, so to speak, was inside of her. There she stopped, her face suffused with lust, and I could absolutely feel her cunny twitch on me. Then she lifted slightly so that the flesh of her cunnie lips, now stretched thin, clung to the flange of my cockhead, refusing to release their intended meal. Another pause and again she delivered a heave downward. A little more disappeared this time, and again she rose until nearly clear of me. She continued in this fashion, exacting the maximum of pleasure as she settled down onto me, an inch at a time. It was all more vivid than I had ever experienced and, as I took hold of her velvet thighs and enjoyed every thrust, I again prayed I wouldn't waken. Once she had taken the whole of my shaft, she began to milk it with her nether lips. The sensation was amazing. I could feel the muscular ripples of her cunnie walls run the length of my cock. And another sensation - almost I could swear that she had a tongue in that rude mouth of hers, working to bring me to the boil. And yet I had no trouble holding back my passion, for all that the pressure continued to build. I lay quietly, gazing up at her lovely face, her full lips parted as she panted lightly. And then she turned her huge dark eyes full upon mine. They were deep, and ageless, and full of mystery. I felt nauseous for a moment, light-headed. The room began to spin and then abruptly I was looking at my own reflection, only it was her eyes that were set in my face. Simultaneously I was aware of an enormous hot mass, plunged deep in my body. I recoiled, not in pain but in shock, and felt the mass recede. As it did so, it felt as though it was drawing me inside out. And still I looked, uncomprehendingly, at my own face grinning back under me. Under? Damn, I thought. The dream had shifted for the worse. What the hell had been in that brandy? I could hear a high keening wail, and suddenly I knew I was making it. I shifted my stunned gaze lower, and had to lean far forward to see over gold-laden breasts, until I had a clear view of a thick segment of cock-shaft between us. I flinched away and felt as well as saw the thing withdraw from my belly, the flesh of my cunnie pulling along, clinging tightly to its contents! All the while an orgasm had been building, and now it tore through me, a rushing fire of ecstasy. Without thinking, I pushed back down onto my mirror image's iron cock. Wave after wave of rapture swept through me, and I could feel my new cunny clutching desperately at its intruder. I began to bounce madly, struggling to force the thing deeper into my hungry slit. It was more intense than I can begin to describe, and yet it all seemed perfectly natural. Up and down I rode, and in each direction I could feel every ripple and bump on that rigid fleshy pole, from flange to root, as it made its carnal journey. I felt my body grip it, knead it, suckle it within me. And still I was desperate to engulf more of that cock, somehow her cock now. My knees spread wide astride it and my fingers clawed her flanks. I humped up and down in a frenzy, thrilling to the feel of that hard length stretching me wide. I ground my buttocks hard against her thighs. And she answered in kind, gripping and moulding my breasts, and meeting my plunges with upward thrusts, until at last the body beneath me went rigid and I could feel her own orgasm begin. Her cock seemed to grow even more in its mad spasms, and then it shot its liquid fire deep within me. My own convulsion was so intense that I fainted dead away, amidst a swirl of sparks in my mind. When the dream resumed, I was myself again, looking up at Dunyazad's beautiful body astride my still hard member. She stretched her lithe arms high, and said, "Is my virile lord ready for another joust?" With this she pulled free of my glistening lance to hop nimbly up. She squirmed into a kneeling position on the foot of the bed, head down and backside high, and peeked over her shoulder at me, a cheeky young girl again. I advanced and was moved by a desire to pleasure her with my mouth as she had done for me. I set to, and to my surprise – for this too was a novelty to me, then – I enjoyed it immensely. I rolled on my back and slid under her to better access her, and she responded by driving herself onto my face, and reaching down to pull back the hood of her thumb-sized pleasure nubbin. For my part, I licked and tasted and nibbled, to her obvious satisfaction. At length I could feel her spend, and she began to plead, in Arabic now, a coarse equivalent of 'fuck me!' I hastened to oblige, struggling to my knees behind her. Gripping her fine ass tightly, I marked her plump cunnie and thrust my grossly swollen prick inside her. She seemed even tighter than before, but I entered her at a stroke, and began to drive, while she grappled with her clitoris. I caught myself wondering what that could feel like - and then, without the slightest transition, my face was pressed into the pillow and I was stifling gasps of pleasure while I frigged my clit to match the long strokes of the huge member that relentlessly pounded deep inside me. Almost immediately the orgasms began, and I shook with their intensity while a deep voice chuckled behind me. After what seemed an eternity she abruptly withdrew her pole. I gasped and pushed my buttocks up at empty space. Then I felt strong hands take hold of my hips and lift me bodily up. I was suspended upside down at arms length, but felt no concern. I simply hung limp, my legs wide, and thought, so that's what my stones look like from below. After a long moment she drew me to her so that my thighs rested on her shoulders, and began to kiss and toy with my cunnie. Her touch was far lighter than mine had been, and immensely pleasurable. Meanwhile, I was balanced so as to find my face nested in curls. On one side hung that chain of gold balls from my waist and on the other stood her cock, its base resting against my cheek. A new notion came to me and without any conscious thought I acted on it. By arching my back and bracing my hands against her thighs I could bring the tip of her engine to my lips. I heard snarl her pleasure -in my old voice - as I slowly enveloped the entirety of the thing. I found I could time my breathing to my strokes, as I worked back and forth. Slowly we spiralled higher into ecstasy, until she thrust hard and I felt the surging pulses of her spending run the length of her tool. I was forced to work hard to swallow before I drowned. This last stimulus brought me to the brink. I began to shudder, and suddenly I felt her tongue glide impossibly deeply inside me. It was as though a snake had slithered into my depths. I had to pull my lips off of her cock, and I began to scream again, as her tongue squirmed and writhed, exploring my very being. I wrestled with it inside, squeezing it and sucking it. My body shook, wracked with convulsions of pleasure, until again I saw sparks, followed by oblivion. And then I found myself, yet again, on my back and in the dream. My cock was mine again, and Dunyazad road it with obvious pleasure. Her movements were rhythmic, almost hypnotic, now, and she watched me with a look of solemn contemplation. I was as hard as ever, but the desperate intensity was replaced by a mellow pleasure. I had a sense almost of floating, even as her bum squirmed solidly against my lap. I couldn't tell you how long we coupled like this but, all of a sudden, she froze. I could hear a faint rustling sound at the far end of the room. And then she was spinning in the direction, pivoting on my still rampant cock. There in the shadows I saw a man. He was no more than a shadow, but the dagger was clear enough, even in the candlelight. Suddenly, the pressure on my cock was gone, and I was pelted by a cascade of jewellery, dropping through a fading mist above me. The assassin froze, shocked - although hardly more than I. The fog reappeared just as suddenly, between the killer and myself, and congealed into the form of a crouching leopard. At this the man justifiably shrieked and fled around the corner. I could hear latches rattle, and then the door crashed open as he leapt into the hallway beyond. With a swish of the tail, the cat stalked after and I heard another yell, muffled but far more hideous. At that I jumped to my feet. I thought I felt a surge of heat from the ring, and looked down to see that I was holding my own knife in my hand. There was only silence, now. I stood there for a long time, trembling and soaked with sweat while the faint glow of coming day trickled past the shudders. I was most definitely alone, and fully awake at last. Whether from tainted wine or the foul air from the tunnel, I had obviously been hallucinating all night, drifting like a common opium eater on my cot, my dreams following the mingled paths of treasure, that odd letter, and my romps with Lucy. A sudden thought, and I gazed down. Yes, that was perfectly normal in size. I let my mind slip tentatively back, sampling the mad memories, until at last the dawn cold roused me. Thank God, the nightmare was over now. I must get out for air. Dressing myself as rapidly as I could, I stepped out of the alcove – and saw the door ajar. As I knew it would be. I forced myself to look out into the hall. There was my would-be killer, his throat gone, lying in a pool of congealing gore. He was wearing a chain mail vest – small good it had done him - and he still held a wicked-looking old dagger. On his belt was an equally ancient sword and tangled under his body was a black cloak. Nearly overcome with nausea, I slammed my door shut and forced myself to think. The man had come to murder me. He was undoubtedly a Black Mantle – a guardian of the Templar gold. If the rest of the treasure was as remarkable as my one little boxful, it must be truly astonishing. The box. The ring! I thought of the cat-creature and of the claim that the old pope kept a demon in a ring. So - I had fucked the night away with a demon. Right. And now there was a huge brute dead on my doorstep. He'd soon be missed. His friends would then come looking - any time now. My God - they were probably already watching the outer door to this place. The only other way out was the passage to the crypt, not an appealing prospect. Into my satchel I swept the jewellery on the bed – her jewels! Then I thrust my blade and my pistol into my belt. I fancied I could already hear heavy boots on the cobbles outside when I re-bolted my door, which I blocked with furniture before I fled down the back stairway. Picking up the lamp as I went, I dove into the tunnel as though the hounds of hell were on my tail. Continued in Tale 2 ...