The Presters - A Genesis Ch. 01

Author's Note

After reading writerannabelle's Home for Horny Monsters series I wanted to try my hand at writing a nonhuman story.

I strongly recommend reading her series. They are very good.

*****

John Prester quietly cursed the heat, the unforgiving sun, and the dust that curled in the air. Cairo had become a popular tourist destination at the end of the Great War, but he could no longer see the appeal.

No longer under British rule, British soldiers and officers were still common, preserving the presence of that great empire. With another week before a vessel would take him back to America, John decided to head to a bazaar, one of the collections of ramshackle stalls designed to part tourists and their money. It was that or return to drinking, and he was not in the mood for that.

"Effendi!" The cries from the sellers attracting attention to their wares created a din that John could not help likening to the crash of artillery and the roar of gunfire that still echoed in his ears years after leaving Black Jack Pershing's Allied Expeditionary Force.

"Effendi!"

"Effendi!"

John cast an eye over the tables and stalls, over rough blankets spread on the sand. Trinkets, some perhaps torn from tombs ancient even in the time of Cleopatra, on display. Much as he despised the climate, it was indeed a country out of the history books, millennia older than his own home country.

Tourists, English, American, French, even some Germans, wandered to and fro. He caught the eye of a pretty blonde, laughing under her broad white sun hat and small parasol, and they exchanged smiles before an older woman, probably her mother, took her arm and led her away, directly a scowl in John's direction.

John allowed himself a chuckle. Parting daughters from the mothers determined to preserve their virtue, then parting said daughters from that same virtue, provided him with some entertainment, but not even such dalliances could dispel the ennui that beset him.

"Effendi!" John's eyes snapped back into focus. An elderly man, gray-bearded, his dark skin heavily lined under his yellowing turban, sat cross-legged behind a blanket. "Effendi?" He glanced at the departing women and his teeth flashed in a sudden smile. "Ah, a woman?" His English was heavily accented, but intelligible, just.

With a laugh the American squatted down. His Arabic was probably worse than the old man's English, but he practiced when he could, and the Egyptians he'd spoken with seemed to appreciate his efforts.

"I am Nasir." The man placed a hand on his chest.

"John." The American responded in the same way. Another broad smile. John looked down, using a finger to stir through the bric-a-brac that covered the blanket. He continued in his halting Arabic. "What have you today, Nasir?"

The man's eyes widened in delight, and he began to rattle off his answer in Arabic, too fast for John to follow. John raised a hand to stop him.

"Please. Slow. I am not good at this." Nasir laughed then, reaching up to clap the younger man's shoulder.

"You are doing well." This time in English. "These are treasures, taken from the tombs of the Pharaohs themselves." John kept a smile on his face at the old man's patter. They both knew that little here would have been found within miles of a Pharaoh's tomb. Instinctively he glanced up, to the Southwest, reminded of the Giza pyramids that dominated the Cairo skyline.

Returning his gaze to the mat, John was startled when his fingers brushed over a heavy lump of metal. Picking it up he turned it in his fingers. It was a ring of sorts, crudely formed, patinated with age, and it felt strangely chill to the touch.

He glanced up at Nasir, who was regarding the ring with a faintly puzzled expression. "Nasir, what would you want for this?" The old man's brown eyes snapped back to attention, his expression shrewd.

"It is truly an ancient and precious item, Effendi John." There was a hint of excitement in the man's voice. If something about the ring confused him, it was certainly not the possibility of selling it. "I could... perhaps... ten British pounds."

John clutched his chest as though his heart was breaking. "Honorable grandfather," he exclaimed. "Would you cheat such a young and foolish man as myself?" He motioned a hand around the bazaar. "Surely ten pounds would allow me to buy everything here." He made as if to place the ring back on the blanket.

"Effendi, I have a son in need of mahr, and a sick goat... two sick goats." The old man sounded sorrowful. "I could not part with this ring for less than... perhaps... eight British pounds."

John lifted the ring again as if to examine it once more. "You swindler. I'm sure that one of those goats is dead already. One pound. No more."

"No, Effendi John. The goat is very much alive, but sick. Yes. Very sick." Behind the mask of offense, John sensed the curl of the old man's lips. He was enjoying this as much as John himself. Four pounds. Four pounds for my son, and my goats."

John sighed, appearing to relent. "You'll leave me a beggar yet, you and your goats. Three pounds then." Nasir smiled again.

"Three pounds." John slipped a hand inside his shirt, counting three pound notes from his purse by touch, and handing them to Nasir. In truth it was probably more than the ring was worth, but he wasn't short of money.

"Effendi, salaam." Nasir touched his forehead, and John nodded in response. He rose, stepping back, sliding the ring into his pocket.

"Salaam."

John wandered around the bazaar for some time, but nothing else caught his eye. As the sun sank slowly in the West he returned to his hotel.

In the dining room he ordered a meal, attended dutifully by a bright young boy named Ahmed. His appetite sated, he tipped the boy and climbed the stairs to his room. Once inside he stripped to the waist, using the pitcher and basin to wash away most of the dust and sweat from his wanderings. With his ablutions completed, and his purse no longer hung from his neck but tucked under his pillow, he took out the ring that he'd purchased.

Looking closer he could see that its apparent crudeness might rather be attributed to the ravages of age. With water from the basin and a cloth he set to cleaning it as best he could.

With the dirt removed there lay in his hand a thick ring of brass, patinated, and the round head inlaid with a raised hexagram in a circle. The inlay was in a silvery metal that, although untouched by corrosion, John judged to be iron.

A ring containing a hexagram, made from brass and iron. The hair on the back of John's neck rose as he contemplated what he held.

"The Seal of Solomon." He said out loud, then laughed at himself. Of course he'd heard of the legendary artifact that gave the Jewish king mastery of the spirit realm, but the idea that it was real, and if real that he'd found it in a Cairo bazaar for the princely sum of three pounds, was ridiculous. No. It was old, certainly, but it could only be a medieval copy.

"Still." John took the ring and slid it onto the ring finger of his right hand. He released it, then gasped at a sudden stab of cold through his hand. He grabbed the ring to pull it off, but the ring that had formerly been a loose fit on that finger was now tight, and would not move.

What?" As he watched the ring began to change, the patina melting away to leave the sheen of polished brass, the inlaid hexagram glowing. Brighter and brighter still, until he tried to tear his eyes away, but he could not. Then, when he felt that he could bear no more, it dimmed again.

John stared at the ring encircling his finger. With the light faded its appearance had also changed. The wear of centuries washed away, leaving a gleaming brass band that looked new.

"I..." John poked the ring with the forefinger of his left hand. It felt normal, except there was still no movement on his finger. "What the hell?" He ran his thumb across the iron seal, rubbing it.

An orange-gold cloud suddenly expanded from the ring, filling the room, and then vanishing without a trace. John inhaled in surprise, and then froze.

A woman stood before him, her head bowed. She was small, a foot shorter than his own six feet, her skin a pleasant olive tone, the hair that fell forward, covering her face, was a ruddy golden shade. Filmy rose silks wrapped around her body, strangely suspended as though blown by a wind he could not feel. She was otherwise naked.

"Hello?" She raised her head at his voice, turning her face to him. John's breath caught in his throat. The woman was beautiful, shockingly, even inhumanly so. Strange golden eyes held his blue, with a cool appraising expression.

She opened her mouth, fine white teeth between her crimson lips, and began to speak. Her voice was musical, and John would gladly have listened to it forever, but her words were incomprehensible.

The woman stopped speaking, her expression quizzical.

"I'm sorry." John spread his hands. "I don't know what you're saying."

She frowned then, her foot tapping on the ground for a moment. Then she reached out, taking his right hand and tapping the ring he now wore. She spoke again.

"I'm sorry. I just don't." John looked down at the ring. "I wish you spoke English."

The woman started, and then a smile crossed her face. She bowed her head once more.

"I am the Slave of the Ring. What do you wish of me, my Master?"

*****

John sat down heavily on the bed, staring at her. She looked back at him through her falling hair, surprisingly demure for a girl wearing only a few scraps of transparent silk.

"What?"

"I am the Slave of the Ring. What do you wish of me, my Master?"

"I... yes. I heard that, but what does it mean?"

"It means I am your slave, Master of the Seal."

"This?" John showed her the ring on his finger.

"Yes. That is the Seal of Solomon."

"But... Who are you? What are you? Where did you come from?"

"My name?" John nodded. "My name is Azar. I am Djinn, an Efreet."

"A fire spirit?" The woman nodded in return.

"I am. As for where I came from, the great king bound me to his ring in order to be his constant attendant."

"The great king? King Solomon?"

"Yes. King Solomon the Wise, master of the unseen."

"He reigned in Israel almost three thousand years ago." The golden eyes widened in surprise.

"I have slept for a long time, then." A look of sorrow crossed her beautiful face. "My king is gone, and I remain."

"I guess... yes... that is the case." John patted the bed beside himself. "Sit down."

The woman settled down beside him, her golden eyes still upon him. "My king is dead. You are my master now."

"So you keep saying, but what does that mean for me?" The slightest flicker of frustration on her part.

"Whatever you wish, my Master. Speak your wish and if it is within my power I will do it."

"Magic? You're talking about magic?"

"Of course. Why?"

"This world... our modern world. Ours is a world of science and engineering, not magic. You're saying magic is real?" John glanced down at the ring on his finger, then the woman, this djinn; raising a hand as she opened her mouth to speak. "I think I've seen enough in the last few minutes to establish that magic is real. That was a foolish question."

"My king once said that there are no foolish questions, only foolish people." There was a slight sardonic twist to her full lips. John barked a short laugh.

"I can't say he was wrong." He took her small hand in his. Her skin was soft, smooth, and unnaturally warm. "So, when I wished you could speak English... you could?" Azar nodded her glorious head.

"I didn't understand the language of your wish, but I did understand the intent behind it. The desire for successful communication."

"I'd best be careful what I say then. It would be awful to say something like, 'I wish for all the tea in China' and find myself buried in tea." A laugh like tinkling chimes.

"Don't be concerned, my Master. I do understand the difference between an expression of intent, and an expression of frustration, or a figure of speech."

"So you'll double check if my wish sounds too stupid?" That laugh again.

"Of course, my Master." She squeezed his hand gently. For all the soft delicacy of her fingers there was a strength there. John inhaled slowly, her scent had just a hint of fine incense. The fingers of his free hand rose to stroke lightly down her cheek, and she leant her head into his touch. The man exhaled, drawing back slightly.

"My Master?" The woman sounded concerned. "What's wrong?"

"I... I just..." John motioned, indicating her dress, or lack thereof. "I'm just unsure where to draw the line. Normally I'd know what to do with a near naked woman on my bed, but with you..."

"Oh?" Her smile was knowing. "My king preferred me to dress like this, but as my Master you can choose if you want me to wear more..." A flash of pearly teeth. "Or less."

"Then I can..." John leaned forward slowly, his lips seeking hers. They met, and he heard Azar sigh as she pressed into him. Their kiss deepened, his tongue invading her mouth, and, without breaking their embrace, she swung herself astride his lap, wrapping her legs around him. His hands slid lightly up and down her back, from her slender graceful neck to the full swell of her buttocks. "Less. Definitely less."

A giggle and the filmy silks vanished, leaving the efreet naked in his arms. Her hands roamed over his muscular torso, fingers twisting in the dark curls. Her hips rotated, grinding herself against his rigidity.

John rose to his feet, lifting her easily, then laid her back on the bed. As she released him he rose far enough to admire her. Her skin was smooth, soft, and hairless, her breasts moderate in size, but perfectly formed, tipped with large pink nipples. Azar opened her legs slightly, giving him a perfect view of the coral pink inner lips that peaked from between the darker olive labia.

"Beautiful." John murmured, his hands releasing his belt, letting his pants slide to his feet. Azar's eyes followed them, but froze at his crotch as his shaft reared rampant and proud. A small tongue flickered across her lips, an enthralled expression on her face. She rolled onto her knees, her face close to his cock as she wrapped her hand around it, her eyes widening as she realized her fingers wouldn't meet around it. She placed one hand above the other, enough of his length exposed for at least another hand.

The woman looked up at him, a smile on her lips, before extending her tongue to caress the exposed tip. Holding his eyes with her own she began to work his swollen head into her mouth. John rested his hand on her red gold hair, resisting the impulse to force himself into her.

Slowly his shaft was eased deeper into Azar's mouth, her lips stretched wide around his girth. With stops and starts eventually her lips pressed against her hand, his full length encompassed.

John closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation as Azar began to draw back and forth, his breath coming more heavily. Her tongue pressed against the underside of his shaft, another point of stimulation.

Moments passed, John's arousal building under Azar's adept ministrations. He felt her eyes on him, his own opening to meet hers. "You're fantastic," he breathed. Azar released him, sitting back on her feet, her smile even wider.

"Thank you, Master." She leant forward again to kiss the tip of his cock, tongue teasing the urethra.

John laid himself down beside the woman, running his fingers through her silky hair, kissing her once again. "This day has certainly improved." Looking down at his right hand. "Do you... live in the ring?"

Azar pursed her lips, apparently taken off balance by his change of subject. "No. I'm bound to it. While it's worn I'm aware of the world around it, even if I'm not manifesting. When it's not, I sleep."

"That sounds quite awful to me." John's big hand stroked down the woman's back, eliciting a purr in her throat. "You've been asleep for three thousand years. That's a lot of time."

She shrugged. "Djinn are immortal. Such a passage of time is of little importance."

"Could I free you somehow?" John examined the ring more closely. "If I destroyed the ring perhaps?"

"The ring cannot be unmade." Azar placed her small hand on his. "Don't you know that djinn are considered evil spirits?"

"You don't seem especially evil to me." She favored him with another smile.

"Evil can be relative. We are not necessarily deliberately malicious, but we can be selfish, often thoughtless, and sometimes cruel."

"Even you?" John grinned. "Honestly you don't sound much different to human beings."

"Like humans djinn have free will, but unlike humans djinn also have considerable magical power. Our pettiness and cruelty has far greater scope for expression than humans are capable of."

"So Solomon's solution was to bind you?"

"Yes. I was the Slave of the Ring, but he had other slaves. My sister became his Slave of the Lamp."

"You make it sound like he simply bound djinn to whatever furniture he had lying around." He was rewarded with a soft snort of laughter.

"That is certainly one way to look at it." She glanced down at his hand again. "However I was his most favored slave, being bound to the very source of his power."

"His ring?"

"His ring." Azar nodded. "Wherever the great king went, I went with him."

"I see." John slipped his arms around her, drawing her in until she was resting on his chest. "Now, let's get back to what we were doing." The woman ran her fingers over his still rigid shaft.

"It's very big." John shrugged.

"A two-edged sword."

"How so?" A fingernail traced over his glans. "I like it."

"I've found some women do, and others don't." John smiled wryly. "More don't, when I tell them what I want."

"Oh? What's that?" Her tone was curious.

John's hand slid down her back, cupping her buttocks. A single finger eased into the depths between them, finding the rear entrance. Her breath hissed as she raised her hips, impaling herself.

"I see. So you like that?"

"I do. Yes." John pressed the finger deeper. He felt her hand around his cock once more.

"Ah. I can see why that might be... difficult."

"For you, too?" John felt her lips against his throat.

"No. I am your slave. My purpose is to fulfill any wish of yours. Whether it requires magic, or..." She pressed back against him once more. Then she hesitated, her eyes on his face. "You're concerned? Why?"

"We, the British and Americans, abolished slavery in our spheres of influence. I suppose I'm a bit uncomfortable with... you know..."

"With having a slave?" Amusement crinkled the skin around her eyes. "It is what I am." She continued. "It is the only way that Solomon would permit us to remain in the world." The djinn planted a kiss on his cheek. "You're sweet, but don't be concerned for me. Even as your slave you cannot harm me, and you cannot make me harm myself. There are limits to my bondage."

"Now," she whispered. "Put that big cock up my ass."

John rolled her onto her belly, rising to straddle her thighs. "I'll need lubricant." Azar glanced back over her shoulder.

"No. You won't." John looked down at her, the finely muscled shoulders and back, the slim waist, flaring to her full buttocks and thighs. He rose slightly, lining his cockhead with the tight ring nestled between them. He pressed against it, pressing harder, and was startled when she opened for him, swallowing half his length without effort. "I told you so."

"I... You were right."

"I usually am." The fire spirit sounded smug. "Now you can fuck me." John drew back until only his glans was within her, then thrust deep, sheathing his full length in her bowels. Azar growled, an almost bestial sound, and pushed back against him, matching him thrust for thrust. The buttery smoothness of her inner walls folded around him, her unnatural body heat even more noticeable within.