the other stroking my thick shaft. Both of them vie for the right to suck my glans, and most stimulating it is to watch them fight for the honour; their lips wrestling over the crown of my manhood, their tongues lashing and sliding over the veined pillar of my magnificence. Teasing fingers stroke my balls and the skin behind. I let out a groan of appreciation. These two are not ignorant of the bodies of men, clearly.
And it is so long since I have known carnal pleasure. Years now, trapped in that Lamp. My sap rises swiftly. I look up from the two bobbing heads at my crotch, just to distance myself and prolong the delight, but the broader view does not provide distraction. Every woman in that room is watching me, looking at my body and my cock and their two sisters sucking and slurping at it. Their eyes are wide, drinking in the sight. Their full, moist lips are parted. Their soft breasts heave with each breath they take. Some look entranced; some wary; some hungry. Even the queen herself wears a faint smile, though the maid she is suckling at her breasts is kissing with such vigour that Bilqis’ expression appears somewhat unfocused.
My bow is at full stretch, straining for release. I can feel my balls tighten, their hot wet burden ready to be spilled. My thighs are so taut they tremble. I look down once more and see my two handmaidens are taking it in turn to run their tongues up the length of my cock, each swallowing the head, sucking it lovingly, and then letting it go just in time for the other girl to engulf it.
‘Yes, oh yes,’ I growl, fire swimming in my veins. ‘That is right, you Whores of the Earth! This is your place, all of you!’
‘Stop,’ says Bilqis sharply.
In an instant the two girls draw away, leaving my cock standing bereft and waving wetly. My vision swims. I can feel the flame burning in my blood turn to pain. I can feel my balls clenching. I turn to the queen with a snarl.
‘I give, and I take away,’ Bilqis says, brushing the girl from her as she stands. The queen has a wrathful glitter in her eye. ‘Get back into your Lamp, djinni.’
I have no choice but to obey.
* * *
Inside my prison it is not cramped. Or at least, it’s not a constriction of the body, there being no body in this place. But it is dark, and it is lonely. I may light it with suns and build within it worlds of my imagining, but the mind grows weary in time. I walk the star-strewn halls of artifice and replay the wild events of memory, but I speak to no one but myself.
I understand that the Children of Earth dream, and in their dreaming minds meet with those who are not themselves – gods and tricksters, lost friends and the forgotten dead. It is not like that for the Djinn. We do not dream.
It is possible for me to look out from my cell, and see all that the wavering flame at the tip illuminates. But Bilqis has me kept in an empty room, and I rarely bother. I create in my prison a woman of gold who moves and walks and does as I command her, and I fashion her in the form of my captor. Upon that golden body I heap every indignity I can conceive of – but without the sensations of the flesh, and without her having will or thought or speech of her own, there is no satisfaction in it and no release for me. I burn, and I will burn for ever. My Lamp will never go out.
* * *
The next time Bilqis calls me from my prison, the hand of night lies upon the Earth. I stand in a chamber I have never seen before, which contains a great bed. There are only three women in the room this time. Two are entirely naked, and they may not have noticed my entrance at all, because the first is lying back upon the coverlet and the other has her face buried in the girl’s sex and is lapping away – to some effect, judging from the hitch and twitch of those hips and the way the reclining maid is panting as she plays with her own breasts.
‘Djinni,’ says the third, the queen herself, ‘I have something to show you. Stand and watch. Do not move until I tell you.’
It is not an entirely disagreeable command, for once. Bilqis is clad only in a collar of bright feathers and a belt of lapis lazuli beads. They glow against the dark shimmer of her skin, drawing attention to its velvet softness, to the curve of her waist and the swell of her heavy breasts. But there is no vulnerability in her near-nakedness; she holds herself regally, as if in coronation robes.
She rises and places the Lamp safely aside upon a shelf, and then from under a cushion on the bed – she reaches around the two labouring handmaids, stroking both idly with her fingertips – she fetches an apparatus that I do not, at first, comprehend. It consists of two phalluses, shaped from stitched and stiffened leather, joined at a peculiar angle. There are many soft straps too, and Bilqis fastens these about her hips and thighs, sliding the more curved of the two false members deep inside her. When she tightens the harness and straightens, the second cock stands out from her pubic mound – for all the world like a true erection, if a woman could sport such a thing. It looks obscene. She strokes it lovingly, dipping her fingers into a bowl of perfumed oil to lavish her slippery caress upon the thick shaft. She pumps it with her fist as if it might ejaculate.
I do not know whether to be amused or affronted. She is a mockery of all that is a man – and yet my own cock twitches; I find this sight strangely arousing. More so when, ignoring me, she kneels up upon the bed and touches the supine handmaid upon the peak of her breast.
The girl opens her eyes, gazing up at her queen with a look of naked adoration. First she stretches up to kiss the slippery shaft, then she rolls over onto her front, drawing her knees beneath her to raise her ass. Presented like that, it appears as an exquisite heart-shape. The girl who has been doing the licking slides her hands into those of the kneeling girl and grips her tight, as a comrade offering comfort.
Oh, how I ache.
The queen … the queen is kneeling up behind that luscious rear, her hands on those hips. The phallus is angled right at the maiden’s well-licked sex. That cleft must be puffy and wet and open by now; it certainly seems to offer no resistance as the blunt helmet noses into it and the shaft follows, disappearing inch by inch into the hot depths. The queen works her hips with consummate care, biting her lip as she surges and then slacks. Her eyes are half-hooded, her sapphire-painted lids fluttering with each push of her thighs, each heave of her glorious breasts. The handmaiden below whimpers and gasps, twisting her own hips as she makes room for the obdurate prod invading her innermost parts. I struggle to understand what is happening – surely the queen can feel nothing through that false manhood?
Then I realise that each thrust must press upon the sensitive nub of her sex, and grind the second phallus into her own passage. It seems to be sufficient to bring her satisfaction. There is a glow rising in the queen’s cheeks as she labours, and a trembling jerkiness to her movements, just as the girl’s groans are becoming deeper and wilder. Bilqis’ breasts shudder, and the wobbling dance of those delectable orbs with their staring nipples is almost enough to distract me from the unnatural fucking going on beneath. Almost, but not quite. The undulation of all that feminine flesh quivering and slapping together is making the hot blood throb in my cock.
I would show them how it is done, if I were free.
Then Bilqis begins to gasp, her hands biting into the girl’s flesh, her thrusts suddenly commendably savage. The girl wails – though not, I think, in protest; she is pressing back upon her queen’s weapon – and in a flurry of shudders and two mingled cries of release it is over.
A smile upon her flushed face, Bilqis detaches the thigh-straps of the harness and steps down from the bed, leaving the phallic apparatus still buried in the pretty slave-girl. ‘Was that instructive, djinni?’
‘Most enlightening, mistress.’ How I burn to use the harlot, just as she used the maid.
With
