Scheherazade and the King

"Are you always so poetic when you're plastered?" Scheherazade asked mockingly.

Shariyar loosed a swift backhand across Scheherazade's face, causing the girl to cry out sharply.

"Shut the fuck up you filthy, stinking whore!" Shariyar bellowed. "Shut your fucking mouth!"

The king's entire frame shook with rage and he raised his hand to hit the girl again if she dared utter another syllable. But Scheherazade was silent. For the moment, at least.

Shariyar rose to his feet and turned his back on the girl. Scheherazade crawled slowly towards the ivory charm but the king saw her and got there first. Just as the girl reached for the carved pendant Shariyar placed his foot on her hand and pressed down on her bloody fingers sharply.

Scheherazade cried out as he held her there. Shariyar smiled ruefully then knelt down to pick up the charm. Only when it was safely out of the girl's reach did he release her fingers.

"Keep your thieving hands off things that do not belong to you, gypsy," he said, his words dripping with disdain.

Scheherazade hugged her hand to her chest, cradling her fingers. Tears streamed down her cheeks and dropped onto her thighs, running streaks through the dried blood.

"Were you always so cruel?" She asked through gritted teeth. "No wonder she left you."

Shariyar's heart almost stopped beating. His amber eyes were fixed on the girl's but her eyes did not widen in fear, not even as he reached out and grabbed her by her hair. He could not hear whether she screamed or cried out as he dragged her across the room. The king did not even notice that her fingernails broke his skin as she clawed at his hand. All he could hear was the rush of blood through his veins, the throbbing of his temples, the pounding of his own feet against the floor.

He pushed open his chamber doors and wrenched the girl into the hallway, pulling her along the marble corridor until they reached a carefully concealed door in the wall. He opened the door and pushed the girl down the stairs.

Scheherazade cried out as she tumbled down the long, winding flight of steps. Every time she managed to catch herself, Shariyar was there to kick her down once again. Finally Scheherazade found herself sprawled on cold, earthen floor. The darkling room swayed before her eyes.

"Can you hear me? Huh? You fucking bitch, can you hear me?"

The king's words seemed to dance through her mind but Scheherazade nodded dazedly.

"Good," he muttered grimly.

The girl did not have the strength to resist as the king tied her wrists together and then looped the rope through a hook on the ceiling. He grunted as he wrenched the girl to her feet, pulling her up until her toes were barely touching the floor.

Scheherazade stared at the ground, trying with all her might to convince her brain that the world was not spinning.

"What are you going to do to me?" She asked, her words sounding as if they came from another person.

"I'm going to beat some sense into you, gypsy," Shariyar growled from somewhere in the darkness.

Suddenly he was before her, lifting her face to stare into her dilated eyes. She gazed helplessly back at him, unable to keep a hint of despair from trickling into her eyes. He held the whip in front of her face and then brushed it down her body, letting the leather tendrils graze her skin.

Then Shariyar took a step back and snapped the whip in the air a few times, taking sick pleasure in the way she flinched each time. Then, finally, he let it go against her skin.

Scheherazade screamed as it snapped across her chest, leaving a pattern of red welts across her breasts. Again and again and again Shariyar let the whip go, laughing as she bucked and screamed each time the whip tore at her skin.

"Dance, bitch, dance," he roared, snapping the whip against her legs.

Finally Scheherazade had no more screams. Her body was latticed with welts and hoarse moans replaced her sobbing cries.

Shariyar stepped back, sweat beading on his dark brow. He walked around the girl slowly, as if admiring his brutal handiwork, then returned to stand before her. The king put his fingers under her chin to raise her face and then held the handle of the whip before her mouth.

"Open your mouth, bitch," he purred.

Scheherazade did not respond so he simply pushed her lips open and shoved the whip handle inside, pushing it in and out of her mouth.

"You better get it good and wet, gypsy, because it's going inside you," he snarled in her ear. "Would you prefer it in your cunt or your ass?"

Tears streamed down Scheherazade's cheeks, stinging as they dripped onto the raw wounds that covered her body.

Shariyar pulled the whip from her mouth and ran it down her body. He slid it against the entrance to her pussy and then shoved it violently inside her. Scheherazade cried out and fresh tears sprang from her eyes as the king slowly fucked her with the handle of the whip.

She could feel every inch of the braided leather handle being buried inside her with each thrust.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" He asked mockingly. "You know what's going to feel better? When I shove my cock inside your ass."

Scheherazade whimpered and hung her head, letting her tears flow freely.

Shariyar let go of the whip, leaving it to dangle from her pussy, and undid his pants. His erect cock sprung from his trousers, full and thick. He began running his hand up and down his dick. He walked behind Scheherazade, kneeling down in front of her ass. He smacked her ass hard, his palm leaving a large red spot on her fair skin. Scheherazade moaned as he spread her cheeks wide and spat in her asshole.

"You have a beautiful ass," he murmured, kneading her soft flesh harshly.

Shariyar stood up and pulled her close to him.

"Are you ready for it?" He rasped in her ear.

Scheherazade cried out as he pushed his cock inside her. Shariyar clamped one hand over her mouth to muffle her screams as her ass stretched around his cock. Her hole was amazingly tight and he could not help but moan as it squeezed every inch of his thick cock. He began pushing in and out of her ass slowly, feeling the leather tendrils of the whip brushing against his thighs as he pummelled her.

"Oh fuck your ass feels good," he snarled. "You're so tight."

Shariyar's nails dug into her, holding her firmly in place as he fucked her ass. Scheherazade could feel the whip, buried to the hilt inside her, moving as Shariyar's cock did. She was being fucked so deeply in both holes that she was not certain she would even be able to walk to her own execution.

The king's pace quickened and he slammed into her ass harder and harder. For a while, the only sound was that of his skin slapping against hers as he fucked her.

"Fuck," Shariyar groaned, breaking the monotony. His balls were so heavy as they slapped against the girl. All he wanted was to empty them inside her.

Finally he let out a guttural moan and came inside her, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as her ass squeezed every last drop from his dick. Scheherazade clamped her eyes shut as Shariyar came, she could actually feel his hot seed filling her ass.

Shariyar pulled out and laughed as thick drops of cum dripped from Scheherazade's ass and ran down her legs. He wiped up a few drops on his fingers and walked around to face her. Her eyes were lowered and her face was covered in tears.

"Open your mouth," Shariyar said.

Scheherazade's eyes flashed up at him but she did not resist as he slid his fingers into her mouth, forcing her to taste his cum.

He pulled his fingers from her mouth and wiped them across her face before reaching down to slide the whip from between her legs. He held it before her face so that she could see her own juices dripping from it and then wiped the whip across her tits.

"Now I have painted you as a whore," Shariyar sneered breathlessly.

Scheherazade's body trembled but she did not speak.

"What?" The king asked incredulously. "Have I finally silenced the insolent bitch? No biting retorts, gypsy? Have you sheathed that sharp tongue at last?"

Shariyar grabbed her chin and lifted her face to meet his. Her azure eyes sparkled pitifully up at him.

"What do you see when you look into my eyes, gypsy?"

Scheherazade's quivering lips opened and closed a few times before her tongue could form words.

"I see a man with a broken heart," she whispered falteringly.

"And I see a girl with a broken body," Shariyar scoffed, squeezing his hand firmly around her throat.

Scheherazade's eyes flashed in the dim light as she muttered: "Not yet."

The king snarled and pressed his nose to hers.

"Your insolence will be the death of you yet," he growled. "Why are you so keen to throw away your life?"

"Perhaps I am too young to know the value of life," she said weakly, her breaths becoming haggard as the king's hold tightened.

"No, that is not it," he said, his grip loosening a little. "Your arrogance is not based in ignorance."

"Perhaps, then, it comes from a darker experience," she said hoarsely. "Perhaps I have seen death and know that your face is nothing like his."

"Death?" Shariyar said scornfully, his fingers tightening around her throat again. "Where would you have seen Death?"

"Last month I saw him in the streets of Baghdad," she gasped, "he gave a man I once knew a terrible look."

"What did he want with him?" the emperor asked.

"That was what I asked Death," Scheherazade said, her speech becoming slow and laboured.

"And what did he say?" Shariyar asked, grasping her throat even more tightly.

"He said -"

But Scheherazade could not finish her story. Her limbs went limp as she finally, mercifully, faded into unconsciousness.

"What did he say?" Shariyar roared. "Wake up, bitch! What did Death say?"

Shariyar let go of her neck and backhanded the unconscious girl across her face but she did not stir. He growled in frustration and took his knife from his boot. He slashed the blade through the air and cut the rope holding Scheherazade's battered body aloft. The girl crumpled to the ground, her long limbs sprawled out across the floor.

Shariyar growled and kicked her one last time before stalking up the stairs and back into the main palace.

++++++++

Jafar knew something was wrong. The vizier paced the throne room agitatedly, sweat glistening on his furrowed brow.

Normally by this time the king would be seated on his golden throne, ordering yet another young girl to be sent to the slaughter. But he was no where to be found.

"Where is he?" Jafar roared to the empty room. He scowled and stormed out of the throne room, walking as fast as he could to the king's chambers without breaking into a run.

The guards, however, were not poised by the king's doors. The armed escort were lined up outside the hidden door leading down into the dungeons. The ancient prison was no longer in use but Shariyar had kept it open just in case there should ever be a renewed purpose for it. Apparently he had found one.

The vizier's lip curled in a furious snarl as the concealed door to the dungeons opened and Shariyar stumbled out, still obviously intoxicated.

Shariyar shielded his amber eyes from the bright sunlight streaming in through the open windows.

"Where is the girl?" Jafar hissed, his hands clenched into fists. "What have you done with her?"

"Nothing the bitch didn't deserve," he mumbled.

The king reeled on his feet, clutching his throbbing head as his drink finally caught up with him.

"What did Death say?" He asked Jafar dazedly.

"You are drunk," Jafar growled disdainfully. The vizier gestured to the guards: "Take him to his chambers. Have the servants sober him up. He has two foreign counsels to meet with this morning."

As the guards led the inebriated emperor back to his chambers, Jafar ducked into the hidden doorway and ran down the stairs.

"Scheherazade?" He called into the darkness. A hint of desperation crept into his voice when she did not answer. But then he saw her...

The girl's ivory skin was bruised purple and red from the lashings Shariyar had given her, and the only parts of her face not covered with dirt were those over which her tears had flowed.

"Scheherazade!" Jafar cried, jumping down the last few feet of stairs and falling to his knees beside the girl.

He pulled her gently in his arms, softly undoing the ropes binding her wrists. He pulled off his own shirt and slipped it over her head, holding her gently as he pulled it down to conceal her nakedness before carrying her up the stairs.

Scheherazade's eyes fluttered open as he climbed up the long, winding staircase to the palace. She moaned slightly, the pain in her head too much to bear.

"Don't worry Scheherazade," Jafar murmured, clutching her tighter. "I am going to get you some help."

++++++++

The palace doctor shuddered when he saw what lay beneath Jafar's shirt. The young woman before him had endured a horrific attack.

"Jafar," he breathed, letting the shirt fall, "what has possessed him?"

Scheherazade's eyes were clamped tightly shut but there was no question that she was conscious. Tears spilled from beneath her eyelashes and her body trembled with each painful breath she took.

"This is all my fault," the vizier sighed angrily. "I could have stopped him. I let him send all those women to their deaths. Now he is going to kill this one personally."

Hazim flashed Jafar a pointed glare and then glanced back at the girl. The doctor was a firm believer in the power of positive thinking and was loathe to hear anyone admit a dire thought - especially in front of a patient.

Jafar bowed slightly in an expression of regret and was about to leave the room when a slim, shaking hand grabbed his.


Scheherazade smiled sympathetically up at Jafar, winding her fingers through his as she did.

"Please stay," she said, her raspy voice barely audible. "Not your fault."

"It is," he said. "I am so sorry Scheherazade."

"Not your fault," she said in as firm a whisper as she could manage.

Jafar pressed her fingers in his gently and nodded down at her, grateful for her words and yet powerfully ashamed that she should have had to offer them when she, herself, was in such a desperate state.

"Her injuries appear to be mostly superficial," Hazim murmured. "But she is clearly weakened from a lack of nutrition and hydration as well."

He looked at Jafar sternly: "She needs food, water, and rest. I can treat her but she needs time to recover."

"He will be back for her tonight," Jafar said grimly. "After his general appointments he has a meeting with the district representatives but that will only keep him occupied until sundown."

The doctor sighed and rubbed his eyes but he nodded and waved Jafar away: "See if you can get us any more time."

Jafar nodded and turned to leave but, before his fingers could slip from Scheherazade's, she gripped his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze: "He won't kill me."

The vizier squeezed her fingers back and brushed a stray lock of hair from her face before leaving the doctor to treat her. Shariyar may not have ordered her execution yet but the day was still far too young for such a desperate hope.

Hazim helped the girl to sit up so that she could sip at a cold, pungent herbal drink.

"I know it smells terrible," the doctor chuckled good-naturedly as he prepared a cooling paste for her welts, "and, believe me, it tastes worse, but it will do wonders for the pain."

Scheherazade nodded and gulped the remedy down, struggling to ignore its gritty, stomach-churning consistency. She finished it just as Hazim came to help her out of Jafar's shirt. The old man gently pulled the linen over her head, breathing in sharply when the full extent of the whip marks became apparent.

The girl hugged herself, tears glistening in her eyes as she tried to shield her body from the doctor.

"I am not going to hurt you, my dear," Hazim said gently. "I'm just going to treat your wounds."

"I know," she said, her voice faltering. "It's just so... I'm ashamed."

"This is not your fault, Scheherazade," the doctor said firmly. "You do not need to be ashamed. He has wronged you."

"I have endured worse," she said. "But I thought -"

The girl stopped and choked back a sob, silent tears beginning to drip down her cheeks.

"I'll going to start with your back, all right?" Hazim said. "We have precious little time to treat you."

Scheherazade nodded and closed her eyes as he dabbed the paste onto the stinging marks on her back. The mixture felt like a jolt of ice - numbing and cooling her damaged flesh at the same time.

Hazim helped her to lie on her back and then began dabbing the paste across the rest of her body. The girl sighed with relief as the pain slowly melted away.

"Is it helping?" The doctor asked.

"Yes, it is," Scheherazade said softly. "Thank you."

"Do not thank me, child," he smiled. "This is my duty."

"Is Jafar going to be all right?" She asked. "I do not want him to suffer for my sake."

"Do not worry for him," Hazim said brusquely.

"You blame him for letting this escalate, don't you?" Scheherazade asked.

The doctor looked up at her and was shocked by the strength of her gaze. The tears that had filled her eyes just moments before had vanished - the only trace that they had ever existed were the trails of moisture on her cheeks. Her blue eyes were sharp and focused.

"He saw this coming before it started," Hazim muttered finally. "He wanted too badly to believe in the goodness of his friend. But that man is gone."

Scheherazade nodded and closed her brilliant eyes, releasing the doctor from their piercing gaze.

"I've been meaning to ask you about your tattoos," Hazim said as he pulled a blanket gently over the girl's slim frame. "They are Daarkan symbols, are they not?"

Scheherazade's eyes opened and she nodded: "How did you know?"

"I have done dealings with those enigmatic nomads," he said. "Their medicine men and women are revered for their healing powers."

"Then you have heard of this ritual," she said. "They use the tattoos to heal physical wounds."

"Yes," Hazim chuckled. "It's a myth all doctors love to hear."

"It's no myth," she said.

Scheherazade's eyes suddenly grew very heavy and she glanced at the doctor sleepily: "Am I supposed to feel tired?"

"Yes, child," he said, offering her a kind smile. "That's the medicine taking its effect. You sleep now, you need to get your rest."

Scheherazade nodded and a few moments later was peacefully asleep.

Hazim tried to laugh off the girl's statements as he tidied up the infirmary but he could not. He had heard stories of a ritual that could cleanse the body of all manner of wounds, but he had never seen someone with the tattoos before. And yet those were Daarkan symbols. So she must have received them during a tribal ritual... He sighed and continued rearranging his herbs and poultices, lost in his own thoughts.

++++++++

Jafar returned to the infirmary just as the last rays of the dying sun were settling below the horizon. He found Hazim at his desk, surrounded by scrolls.

"How is she?" The vizier asked earnestly.

The doctor started as if he had not heard Jafar enter.

"She is doing as well as can be expected," Hazim said, hastily rolling up the scroll he had been reading as he rose from his desk. "I checked on her briefly but she was still sleeping. Come with me and we will look in on her again."

"He is going to be coming for her soon," Jafar said quietly as they walked through the infirmary to Scheherazade's bed. "God only knows what fresh hell he has in mind for her tonight."

"Jafar," Hazim said sharply, "how many times must I tell you?"