“They are here!” cried Shah Zaman excitedly, pointing to the scene below - the Queen, King Shahryar’s, wife and her beautiful retinue of handmaidens.
“Shush,” shushed King Shahryar.
As the brothers spied down from their hidden perch, the Queen’s slave girls relieved themselves of their habiliments, covering the King’s grounds in silk and lace and random garments: skirts and petticoats, crinolines and afternoon dresses, chemises and shifts, corsets and bonnets, stockings and shoes, gloves and winter coats. The brothers stared, mouths agape and rapt.
“‘Tis truly a wonder. Verily,” whispered Shah Zaman.
“Aye,” said King Shahryar, like a pirate, although unlike a pirate, he was a King.
The girls proceeded to the jetting fountain amiddlemost the grounds where they splashed playfully and giggled girlishly, calling out private pet-names and sighed nothings, until presently they fell to tickling one another in that jetting fountain, the water cascading down their breasts and bellies and falling in streams between their long, shapely legs, and they tittered at the tickling until the tickling became touching and tittering turned to tiny gasps and heavy sighs and then in climax, the sighs did move to moaning as these beautiful girls rubbed their loins (i.e., their vaginas), one to the other, slowly in sensual rhythms, and they kissed each other heartily and in full sexitude or nipped at their budding breasts, their tongues calling forth erect nipples to play against smiling lips.
“The thing about girls fucking is it’s totally hot,” whispered Shah Zaman.
“Silence,” whispered the King. “Where is my wife, the Queen? Could she be wedged between those modeled legs over there? (For I can only see the brunette top of that maiden’s head. Do you see her? The one with her face lodged between those milky thighs. Or does the Queen find herself lost in those bosoms yonder - that gorgeous set over there - an explorer in a strange yet bountiful land?”
But the Queen, King Shahryar’s wife, was in neither location, as Shah Zaman soon pointed out. She stood to the side of the jetting fountain, surveying her handmaidens and touching herself from time to time, privately, until she grew bored with her lonely foreplay and called out plaintively for all to hear: “Saeed!” Her slave girls grew silent now and separated (if only temporarily) to scout the trees around. “Where art thou Saeed?” called the Queen. Loudly. Her voice echoing from the walls of the pleasure garden. And then she gasped and raised her hands to her mouth as some big dude, seemingly out of nowhere, dropped from a tree and bounded to her mightily to mount her from behind. “I am Sa’ad Din Saood!” he cried. And then he speared her. With his cock. (For there was not a single rooster in sight.)
“I can not watch!” cried King Shahryar, prostrating himself below the window. “But please, Zaman, keep me apprised of her goings and comings.”
Shah Zaman obliged. “This Saeed fellow is bussing your wife, the Queen, and he has wrapt his legs around her,” he said. Then he watched for a time. Then he said: “Okay. Now they’ve fallen to satisfying their lusts. Saeed is enjoying her. Right below us.”
“Sah-ah-ah-ah,” moaned King Shahryar’s wife, the Queen, from below the lattice, her husband’s hiding spot. “Make it stop,” whimpered the King, refusing to look. But his wife continued. “Sah-ah-ah-ah-ee-ee-ee-DUH!” she cried, moaning each syllable rhythmically and ecstatically, thrust for thrust. Soon her moans became unintelligable, animal, the shape of each syllable dissolving into high-pitched squeels and low guttural whinnies which seemed to be drawn forth from the depths of her being. Finally, these sounds culminated in a bestial cry that raised the birds from the surrounding trees.
“Pray tell me ‘tis over!” whispered King Shahryar.
His brother held up his hand. “Hold on,” Shah Zaman whispered. “He is now mounting your wife’s bosoms. And is about to spill his seed upon them.”
King Shahryar looked up at his brother, his body still lying prostrate on the floor. His eyes were tearful. And he cried out, “Only in utter solitude can man be safe from the doings of this vile world! By Allah, life is naught but one great wrong!” And presently he added, as an afterthought, “Do not thwart me, O my brother, in what I propose.”
Shah Zaman answered, “I will not.”
King Shahryar continued, “Let us up as we are and depart forthright hence, for we have no concern with Kingship, and let us overwander Allah’s earth, worshipping the Almighty till we find some one to whom the like calamity hath happened; and if we find none then will death be more welcome to us than life.”
And so the two brothers, King Shahryar and Shah Zaman, issued forth from a private doorway, away from what had once been King Shahryar’s pleasure gardens, and away from the Queen’s cavortings, to wander the earth as was now their wont.
TO BE CONTINUED