Gaston

***By now you know that I have a recurring theme of erotic romance in my posts so when it came to write this piece, I was watching the film version of the musical of Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom of the Opera. After hearing about a sequel he was doing titled Love Never Dies, I thought I would create a fictional story using the basis of my work on the author Gaston Leroux.




Paris, France 1910



Gaston Leroux grasped his pen as he thought of the words that flowed through his brain attempting to put his thoughts on paper. Nothing came. It should come so easily for a well known mystery writer like him especially for tonight was All Hallow’s Eve and the city of Paris bustled with excitement with masquerade galas and costume balls. He stared at the electric light bulb that illuminated his room. Inspiration had been a bitter disappointment very much like his life ever since he left Paris and the great opera house three years ago to live in London. He reinvented himself from being a great composer to a best selling mystery author and his readers could not wait for the next great work from him.



In his room, the shadows and light danced around him as they toyed with his features especially with the crescent shaped mask that he wore to hide his horrible disfigurement from birth. Even as a great song writer in the Paris Opera House, his peers looked upon him with disgust believing his cursed face would plague them with bad luck or worse. Now gathering his thoughts together, he outlined a plot for his next story. He just needed some inspiration. Footsteps tapped on the floor as he heard someone behind him come into his room.



“Monsieur Gaston,” said the voice. “It is late. You should put the pen down and get some rest. I am sure you will come up with something brilliant tomorrow.”



“I appreciate your concern Vincent,” Gaston addressed his friend. “However the mind cannot sleep when it is looking for a muse. Just a few more minutes.”



“You really should retire to bed Gaston,” recommended Vincent. “The most popular mystery writer in Paris needs his rest before your publisher meets with you tomorrow to discuss your next novel.”



“The most sought after author who ghostwrites his own work,” corrected Gaston. “May I remind you Vincent that I oblige you with the role of portraying me? You in return garner fame, attention from any female who crosses your path and even a hefty percentage of the profits of my novels as you claim my identity as your pseudo-name. Do not forget that!”



“You need not remind me Gaston!” clucked Vincent. “I only agreed upon this arrangement because I am your friend. Your only friend, may I remind you? It is time Gaston that you reveal yourself to the public! Your audience will be understanding of your plight and even sympathetic if they knew the truth about the enigmatic mystery writer. Give them the opportunity to see you instead of allowing yourself to be hidden away in this prison.”



“I SHALL NOT BE MADE INTO A CARNIVAL ATTRACTION!” he screamed.



Gaston pulled off the crescent mask to reveal his true form. His right side complimented his handsome features, chiseled Romanesque face, and angelic smile while the left reveal a grotesque disfigurement from birth. He quickly placed the mask back on to his face.



“Do you not see the truth Vincent?” he hissed. “I am to be mocked and gawked at for the rest of my life! Condemned as a hideous monster by those who know nothing about me or care even less! Used by parents as a morality tale to instill fear in their children as the monstrous phantom on All Hallow’s Eve! I will not be pitied nor will I allow them to abuse me in this manner!”



“I apologize Gaston,” replied Vincent. “I did not mean to upset you but it pains me to see my friend withdrawing from the world. You must learn to forgive and trust others. You might be surprise that human nature can surface with sympathy and compassion….



“GET OUT!” screamed Gaston. “I DO NOT WISH TO SPEAK OF THIS ANY LONGER! THIS IS THE ARRANGEMENT WE AGREED UPON! NOW LEAVE ME IN PEACE!”



Vincent backed out of the room as he watched Gaston claw at the wood of the desk with his fingers. He had not intention of upsetting his friend any further and made a quiet retreat. With the door shut, Gaston stared at the mirror as he attempted to process Vincent’s words. It had been too long that he shut himself away from the world yet he had no intention of breaking the cycle of isolation. A knock interrupted his thoughts and he rushed to answer to it. Anger still fueled him as he turned the knob.



“I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE ME IN PEACE VINCENT!” he shouted as he opened the door.



Hello Gaston,” greeted the familiar voice. “It is good to see you again.”



Standing in the doorway was a beautiful young woman. Dressed in an elegant hobble skirt and large brim hat, she smiled as her innocent eyes stared at him. Her dark curly hair fell around her shoulders as she waited for Gaston to say something.



“Lotte?” he finally spoke. “What are you doing here?”



“I heard you were in the city and I had to see you,” she whispered. “May I come in?”



Gaston gestured as Lotte entered the room. He peeked outside to see no one in the hallway, closed and locked the door. He stared at Lotte in the dimly lit room. Even as the brightness lit her face, she looked as beautiful as he once remembered her. It had been three years since he last saw her and the parting of their last meeting had been quite painful.



“You should not be here,” he told her. “Your husband, the Viscount Ondine is a powerful man. He will come looking for you.”



“I have left Rene,” she finally admitted. “I request a divorce.”



“But Lotte, your title? Your wealth? Your position as the Prima Donna soprano at the Paris Opera House?” he asked her. “Viscount Rene Ondine will take that away from you. You will be left with nothing!”



“That is true Gaston,” responded Lotte sadly. “But it is worth all the risk if I can be granted my freedom.”



“Your freedom?” he griped. “You made your choice when you left my bed for his! I molded you into developing that talented voice of yours at the opera house! You were once my muse to shape and mold you into the alluring siren you meant to be! How do you repay me? By running off and marrying the first nobleman that caught your eye?”



“No Gaston, it was not like that at all!” protested Lotte. “You must understand…”



“Oh I comprehend perfectly,” he continued. “You would not dare be seen with the vile beast of the opera house yet you had no qualms sharing my bed unless I could favor you into becoming a Prima Donna soprano! Tell me did you mock me among your fellow cast mates of seducing the pathetic phantom of the opera? It was all a game to you, was it not Lotte?”



“Please Gaston,” she cried. “Let me explain. I had no choice. Rene was jealous that you were the driving force behind the success of the Paris Opera House. As the enigmatic writer and composer, you garnered attention for the company. The Viscount hated you for that. More importantly, he despised you that you had me especially since he wanted me for himself!”



“Well you still went to him Lotte,” snapped Gaston. “I returned from a business trip to England to find that you had eloped with the Viscount Rene Ondine! You did not even have the decency inform me that you were capable of breaking my heart! You are his property now Lotte! I have no claim to you so whatever freedom you long for has nothing to do with me!”



“He threatened to kill you Gaston!” she wept. “If I did not go with him, he would employ people to ensure your death. He is a cruel and powerful man! I could not bear the thought of your senseless murder!”



“So the fallen opera singer confesses the truth?” snickered Gaston. “Or is this another ruse to make me sympathetic to your plight?”



“I speak from my heart Gaston!” Lotte wailed. “You may not believe this but I love you! It has always been you! When I discovered you had left the Paris Opera House, my heart heart sank! I never recovered from that day and I vowed I would search for you. Three years I have heard of a mystery writer living in Paris and I finally found the courage to seek you out!”



Shocked by her words, Gaston remained silent. Lotte advanced toward him slowly but he backed away.



“What is it you want?” he asked her.



“If I am to be found dead at the hands of the Viscount,” she told him. “I wish to be discovered in my lover’s arms.”


“Your innocent words no longer move me Lotte,” he said defiantly. “Please go.” He pointed toward the door.



“I am not leaving until I am convinced that you no longer love me,” she said standing up to the brutish man. “Gaston, look into my eyes and tell me that you do not want me.”



Gaston could not offer a response and turned his face away. This gave leverage for Lotte’s opportunity. She advanced toward him.



“Touch me Gaston,” she whispered.



“You would allow a demon to defile your flesh?” he spat. “A monster that causes you to gasp in horror.”



“You are no more a demon or a monster Gaston,” Lotte replied. “Just simply a man who deserves to be loved.”





She carefully removed the mask to gaze upon the disfigured half of his face. With gentle fingers, she touched each welt, each curve, and indentation of his personal shame blessing each horrible image with a loving kisses. Her lips felt soft as he reciprocated his own passion with hers. Their mouths met, tongues made contact, and the wetness of their lips found one another.



“Make love to me Gaston,” demanded Lotte holding his face in her hands.



She stood up, removed her brim hat, and directed him to remove the back buttons of her dress. Gaston did just that assisting her out of her hobble skirt, corsette, and undergarments. Bare, except for her stockings and lace boots, Lotte looked like an ethereal angel in the dim light of the room. She climbed into his bed, placed the sheet around her nakedness and beckoned him to come to her. Gaston quickly stripped off his suspenders, shirt, trousers, and long underwear before diving into bed with her. Lotte squealed in delight as he hit the mattress tossing her against the goose pillows. She wrapped her legs around his waist awaiting Gaston’s invitation.



“Are you sure you want to do this Lotte?” questioned Gaston a second time.



“Oh yes Gaston,” she moaned as she kissed him. “Be my lover.”



With quick hands, he stripped off her remaining stockings and lace boots tossing them to the side of the bed as he began caressing her neck and shoulders with soft kisses. Her creamy flesh tingled as she felt his wet tongue drew a path down her pink nipples and tender breasts each time he teased her with a pinch to each nub or a massage to their firmness. He turned her around to give attention to her back and that is when he noticed the purple bruises and faded scars on the swell of her spine.



“Good God!” he exclaimed. “The Viscount beats you! No wonder you wish to leave him!”



“He is a cruel man Gaston,” she whimpered through her tears. “Both in the bedroom and in public. I share no pleasure being with him. Please make me forget him.”



Gaston honored her request by kissing away each bruise on her body. His tongue felt like fire as he slicked his saliva down the curvature of the valley of her back to the forbidden opening of her derriere. Kneading the roundness of her bottom, he gave a playful tap which made Lotte yelp in surprise before being healed win a wash of his wet tongue. She could almost feel herself getting lost in this abyss of pleasure but it was only the beginning of Gaston’s prowess as a lover. Lifting her hips and spreading them wide, he teased her feminine curls of her womanly opening. Pushing her private lips aside, he inserted three fingers inside her wetness filling her aching need as she moaned in delight at his invasion.



“Mmmmm…Gaston…more…” she panted.



“Of course my love,” he replied. With fingers entertaining her womanly opening, he pushed a thumb on her feminine pearl making her gasp in response. He tortured her mercilessly as he substituted the eagerness of throbbing pearl with that of his strong hands with that of his moist tongue.



“You taste better than I remember,” he told her as he drank her special honey in.



Not one to let Gaston have all the pleasure, she moved herself up and kissed him again before playing with his strong chest and stomach. She moved her mouth down to find that sacred part of a man. The masculine part of him that she had missed the most. It lay flaccid. Twelve inches in length and two inches in girth crooking to the right of his thigh. She lowered her head and consumed him slowly taking him measure for measure into her wet mouth. Gaston moaned as her beautiful mouth made sweet drinking sounds as her lips puckered with each rhythm of his bucking hips.



“Siren, I can’t wait anymore!” he said with frustration. He grabbed her shoulders, tossed her against the bed, and allowed his hard shaft find the entrance of her feminine opening. Teasing her with the head of his phallus, he plunged into her fully as she clawed his back for balance. Lotte bit her lips as she washed herself in pleasure as entered and withdrew from her with each thrust of his virility. The intensity of the sensation had just been to overwhelming as her the walls of her femininity, the wetness of the friction, and the incredible hardness filled over and over again. She could feel her release as Gaston made one more push into her.



“Gaston…I love you!” she cried out as her climax erupted into a gusher along with his own. The liquid heat of their bodies melded together as he filled her with his own seed soaking the sheets with perspiration, sex, and desire. Gaston held close, kissed her fiercely more time and realized that she truly did love him.




He would not let her go this time….



Early morning came as a loud banging on the door awoke the two lovers in bed.



“LEROUX! I KNOW YOU HAVE MY WIFE IN THERE!” shouted the masculine voice.



“It is Rene!” said Lotte with fear in her eyes.



The two sprang from the bed to gather their clothes. Gaston got his shirt and trousers on while Lotte managed to slip on her undergarments. However it was too late as the enraged Viscount Rene Ondine kicked down the door holding his revolver toward the two lovers.



“YOU!” he hissed at Gaston. “You would have me cuckold with that THING!”



“Leave him alone!” Lotte shouted. She felt a hard blow to face bringing her down as the Viscount aimed the revolver toward her.



Gaston rushed toward him and wrestled for the pistol. The Viscount made a formidable adversary but Gaston proved a better fighter and knocked the weapon from his hand. However, the Viscount refused to be bettered by any man. Without warning, he pulled out a dagger and stabbed Gaston in the shoulder blade. Blood seeped as the mystery writer doubled over in pain. Lotte crawled to him as the Viscount laughed, grabbed the revolver and prepared to fire.



A gunshot rang out. Smoke filled the room as the smell of death permeated the atmosphere. However Gaston and Lotte were not the victims. Lying on the floor in a pool of blood was Viscount Rene Ondine dead. His murderer Vincent, the man Gaston ghostwrote his novels for and his friend. Vincent held the smoking gun in his hand as he looked toward the two lovers.



“Are you two all right?” he asked them. “I saw the Viscount rush in so I wanted to make sure you were safe Gaston.”



“You murdered the Viscount!” informed Gaston. “He’s a powerful man. The police will arrest us all!”



“Do not worry my friend,” assured Vincent. “I have planned this out. You and Lotte will leave here. I have prepared letters explaining a business dispute had gone awry between the Viscount and Gaston Leroux. The police will believe an argument broke out causing the accidental death of the Viscount. Since the public does not know what the real Gaston Leroux looks like, they will assume it is me. Your ghostwriting of your mystery novels has enabled me to impersonate you and therefore allows me to protect you. You will take my identity as a soldier of fortune in the Parisan army under the name Vincent Carrere and you were disfigured after serving in a battle during the civil war in ........Cairo. Lotte, the Viscount had no heirs or next of kin so his fortune will be inherited by his widow. You and Gaston are free to marry and be together.”



“Vincent, I cannot ask this of you,” commented Gaston. “Why would you go to prison for me?”



“I once told you that human nature can learn to be sympathetic and compassionate,” explained Vincent. “But we also have the ability to love as well. I do this for you not because I am your friend but because I love you. I never shied way from your disfigurement because I knew how truly beautiful you were inside. More handsome than you ever realize Gaston. I only wished you could love me in the way a man could love another man! Yet I realize that you cannot force what the heart wants and this is why I willingly do this. Please take care of him Lotte.”



“I…will…” stammered Lotte in shock.



“Promise me you will finish your last novel Gaston. The world needs your story. With that, I prove my undying love for you by giving up my life!” continued Vincent. “The police will find in the letters left here two bodies of a fight that ended in violence. Forgive me, my friend.”



“VINCENT NOOOOO!” screamed Gaston.



It was too late for Vincent had put his pistol to his head and pulled the trigger.



Ten months later 1910



Parisian high society welcomed the debut of the Viscountess Lotte and her new husband, wounded soldier of fortune named Vincent Carrere. They also the celebrated the greatest mystery novel of the year by a scandalous author who died under mysterious circumstances by the name of Gaston Leroux. The title of the novel? The Phantom of the Opera.


End.

Shalimar and Sinjin

*** I wrote this as a part of a forbidden love topic. I'm intrigued by exotic locations and international cultures. I am quite happy how this turned out!




Arabia 1901


I remember her. Her name was Shalimar with long tresses the color of a midnight raven and eyes of the deepest lake of an oasis. One would only look into her gaze to swim the deepest fathoms of an ocean, cross the sandstorms of the desert, and pledge their fealty to her beauty. She was innocence and temptation. She was my vengeance and my redemption. More significantly, she was mine in mind, body, and soul. And I loved her.

We came from a land where the Earth seduced the sky bearing from their loins the small nation known as Arikahs. It is a story told to me by my mother Samira, the favorite concubine and first wife of my father King Rafir Abdul Zimraan, who was the first cousin of the Sultan Abdul Hamid II, current ruler of the Ottoman Empire. My father had ten wives, each whom he cherished but loved my mother the most. I, Prince Sinjin, his first born son was to inherit his throne as destined by the eternal Allah, Himself. My father prepared me well, educating me in the laws of Islamic government, economy, and social importance and I, in turn, swore my allegiance to him and to our people of Arikahs in a vow of peace and prosperity as part of my legacy. Yet such a promise I could not keep. King Rafir and my mother met with an unfortunate accident and his brother, my uncle, Quadir Abdul Zimraan laid siege to the throne plunging our nation into years of civil wars, border conflicts, and social unrest. Dark days loomed ahead as Arikahs became a police state fraught with conspiracies to murder Quadir at the hands of rebels and peasant infidels.

Even my father’s harem had fallen prey to Quadir’s squandering of power. The ten wives my King Rafir honored and protected increased to seventy in his personal harem. Many of the local women and female prisoners of war were enslaved and subjected to my uncle’s cruelty as they were forced into a life of sexual servitude against their will. Any opposition was met with punishment such as being sold to a local brothel, bartered as chattel to another sheik for arms, or something far worse than the latter which was death. From this degradation arose the most precious treasure. Shalimar.

Shalimar. She was my uncle’s favorite concubine from his harem. Her mother had been English which accounts for her eyes being the deepest color of the desert lakes. While in Cairo, Shalimar’s mother had been abducted by slave traders and sold to a brothel. My uncle found her and offered her a position as his premiere mistress in his harem to which she accepted. She eventually died in childbirth with the birth of her only daughter and my uncle took the infant grooming the child to take her mother’s place. It was those years that I came to know and love Shalimar.

We sat at dinner as my uncle regaled tales of his armies squelching a recent peasant revolt. The harem feigned interest as he embellished his anecdotes placing himself in the middle of the story as some great warrior ready to fight and battle his foes.

“I stood upon the front gates of Arikahs. I alone, with no guards to protect me,” he boasted. “With my scimitar in hand, I struck down my enemies. I was aided by the vision of Muhammad who offered me the guidance of Allah to cast down these infidels as declared by the Sunni!”


A collective yawn wove threw the harem. I could sense the anger in my uncle’s eyes as he began to open his mouth to speak. Usually when this occurs, he severely punishes one of the women of his harem in the most brutal of fashions. Rumors of Quadir’s cruelty became legendary among the palace walls. It has been said that his sudden need to keep a secret garden at the back of the palace is, in truth, to mask the unmarked graves of the people he had ordered killed. Such a statement was not to be beneath him. My uncle’s face turned red as his anger rose but by the grace of Allah, Quadir’s palace eunuch Sharif interjected.

“Your majesty,” said Sharif. “Perhaps you would like to be entertained by Shalimar’s dance.”

The suggestion calmed my uncle a bit and set him on a better mood. Sharif clapped his hands for the music to begin as Shalimar entered the room. Covered entirely by her dark abayah and asha, except for her piercing liquid eyes, she started to sway to the music. King Quadir grew entranced as he observed her. The music swelled as she donned off her cloak to reveal her transparent costume of multi-colored veils covering her modesty with very little but a sash decorated with gold coins and metallic undergarments. She pushed her hips forward, rocking her belly from side to side leaning in closer to Quadir keeping him hypnotized for that moment. Her raven hair swirled around her wild and free emancipating herself from the confines of Arabic traditions and submitting herself to untamed passions. I watched in awe of her as she glided across the room. From the strength of her arch foot to the bend of her strong legs, she twisted and contorted her arms as the transparent veils teased her audience with a glimpse of her bare form then quickly concealed it away from everyone. Her head bent down at that moment as she directed her vision toward me. Oblivious to her intentions, I swore under Allah’s breath that I should not receive her invitation but it would take the eunuch Sharif to offer me reassurance.

“Shalimar wishes to see you in the secret bed chamber above the palace,” he whispered in my ear. “Do not keep her waiting Prince Sinjin.”

I said nothing as Shalimar finished her dance. My uncle rose up to applaud her as everyone in turn did the same. She smiled at the acceptance of their approval and slightly looked at me. I turned away not to return her gaze. I could not accept such a proposal to meet. I dare not. I could not. My body and heart took leave of my senses and I submitted to temptation. Forgive me Oh Great Allah for Man is weak!

Midnight covered the palace in blanket of sleep. King Quadir spent the night with three of his concubines leaving Shalimar in peace. I snuck out of my bedchamber, made my way past the guards, and found the secret room above the palace roof. It had been my father’s private chamber where he spent many evenings with my mother. Only I had known of its location but somehow Shalimar had known of its existence as well. I entered the room. It was empty, dusty, and dark. I scanned the area but no sign of her. I sat at the window sill to stare at the moon. I began reciting several suras from the Qur’an as her small footsteps became recognizable.


She stood in the darkness. Her dark abayah covering her but her face visible in the moonlight as it reflected off the deep pools of her eyes. In the dark she looked like a temptress but to me she appeared as a malak. An angel. She approached me slowly.


“Prince Sinjin, I knew you would come,” she said.


“How do you know about this room?” I asked her. “Even my uncle knows nothing of this place.”

“I discovered it by accident while exploring the palace,” replied Shalimar. “It became my personal sanctuary away from King Quadir and his lustful hands. It is my only haven.”

“I see you have little regard for Quadir,” I pointed out.


“Don’t you?” she asked. “Look what has he done to Arikahs! Civil wars. Impoverishing the kingdom’s economy. Establishing a police state and promoting a corrupt government. Unlike your father King Rafir who was a just and kind man, Quafir is quite the opposite ruling with fear. It will be only a matter of time before he runs this country to the ground. Have you no contempt for the man who has taken your legacy away from you my prince!”


“It’s true,” I answered. “Quadir is a powerful man. I loathe the man! I believe he orchestrated an accident to befall my parents so he could claim the throne. He rules through fear and will even murder those that oppose him. I welcome the day that infidels and rebels will be victorious in overthrowing him.”


“The sentiment is felt throughout this palace as well Prince Sinjin,” said Shalimar. “The people of Arikahs serve no loyalty to him and would gladly see him disposed of. I personally would enjoy bearing witness to his death for what he has done to me.”


“Has his cruelty been as brutal as they say?” I dared asked of her though I should not have. She said nothing but looked me with sadness as pools of tears flooded her eyes. “I apologize Shalimar. I do not wish to speak of your memories so painful.”


“No…I must speak of them,” she began. “To understand my hatred of the man, you must first hear the truth! Quadir is more than just my owner. He is my father!”


My eyes widened in shock. Such a revelation had dishonored the moral compass of the Qur’an. King Quadir had much to answer for in the afterlife.


“If this is true,” I stated. “Then by birth, we are cousins. But how? Quadir had made you his favored concubine. This breeds of incest.”


“It is true,” explained Shalimar. “As you know Prince Sinjin, my mother was English when she was sold into a brothel by Cairo slave traders. My father Quadir found her, forced himself on her, and got her with child. Quadir never believed himself to be the father but he was. After he enslaved her as a concubine, he eventually grew tired of her and poisoned her. This made her give birth too early causing her to die during labor when I was born. It was Sharif who would raise me as his daughter and Quadir to force me into his harem at the age of twelve.”


“But you were merely a child to be given to a harem so young,” I commented in utter disbelief. “The females have to be at least eighteen in our kingdom to be entered in such a union. It is illegal and immoral in our laws.”


“Quadir cares nothing for morality or laws,” she spat. “He defiled me at age twelve and has continued do so even though we are of the same blood. I wish for Allah to strike him down more than anything!”


Tears filled her eyes as the moon illuminated face. I embraced her close as I held her tight. I would not let her go. I heard the anguish of her pain as a puddle of cries soaked my dishdasha while I stroked her raven hair to comfort her. How could such a man do such a thing? To his own daughter no less. I looked at her innocent face as she looked at me. I could not turn away. This girl whom I loved since my childhood needed me as I required the same of her. I bent down to kiss her as she responded with the same desire I had. She broke away her lips away from mine.


“Prince Sinjin, please be the first man I allow to take my body,” she pleaded. “I willing accept you as my lover.”



Shalimar’s proposal should have appalled me but I looked into those watery pools to know she was playing a woman’s game. Both of us stood at a crossroad allowing our emotions to rule our thoughts, our hearts over our minds, and desires outweighing our conscience. Would the punishment be well worth the risk? Certainly.



“Will you accept Sinjin?” she asked of me again.






She dropped her abayah to the floor, letting the dark garment crumple to her feet, and revealed that she wore nothing underneath. Her body looked radiant as I perused her beautiful breasts, dark areolas, and curve of her hips in the darkness. A henna tattoo crisscrossed around her waist, around her flat stomach, up to the side of her arms where it combined to form a floral design. My eyes moved down to see that she had shaven her womanly area as well as her underarms as a symbol of the harem. Only sultans and kings gained the privilege of this knowledge during intimate encounters with their concubines.






Shalimar stepped forward and began to undo the buttons on my dishdasha slipping the robe from my chest. Her nimble hands stroked my bare chest as she found the grooves of my body as she laid a finger around the flatness of my belly to the roundness of my masculine nub. She moved in closer as I embraced her softness inhaling her scent forever remembering this moment. The aroma of jasmine and oranges filled the room as I grew intoxicated by her fragrance.



“I ask again my prince. Will you be my lover?” inquired Shalimar as her face met mine.



I took her lips into mine as I said the words she wanted to hear. “Yes beloved. I am yours!” She smiled as she assisted me with discarding the rest of my dishdasha to the floor. Our bare bodies connected feeling the warmth of one another as fingers, arms, and hands explored the exposed flesh as our tongues and lips met with such feverish anticipation.





I scooped her up in her arms to which she made a silent giggle as I carefully laid her on the bed to bear witness to her beauty. Not content with simply being submissive to her lover, she ordered me on my back as she trailed a path of kisses down my stomach to that masculine part of me with her lips and tongue.



“My oh my Sinjin,” she teased. “You have a rather large sword of a warrior. Such a sword is built for need, to protect its bearer, and for some to pierce with pleasure.”



She acknowledged this perspective when she took my shaft into her mouth swallowing my sword to the full hilt before withdrawing with every breath. Her lips felt warm, sleek, and wet to the touch as she repeating the process over and over again watching me with innocent eyes she kept me submissive to her dominant will. My body gave in to the intensity of her mouth as I cried out each time her tongue caressed the male part of me and teased me mercilessly.



Releasing her lips from me, she informed me to lie on my stomach as she massaged my back with her miraculously hands. Her fingers kneaded into the arch of shoulder blades to the groove of my spine as I became relaxed to her attention of me. Without warning, she let out a gasp.



“You have scars Sinjin!” she exclaimed. “Those bear the markings of a whip. Did Quadir do this to you?”



“Yes Shalimar,” I sighed. “Quadir’s cruelty shows no bounds. Even as I child I defied him and he made sure I knew who claimed the throne by administering daily lashings. In time, the wounds healed but my contempt for the man shows no bounds. I learned to feel nothing in the end.”



“And now?” Shalimar questioned with sadness in her eyes. “Has your heart now become stone?”



“Stone eventually crumbles when the heart is freely given to right person,” I answered. “And my heart I give to you Shalimar. I have loved you since I was child. Now and for eternity.”



“By the grace of Allah I have felt the same,” she told me with eyes filled with such joy. “You, my cousin, I pledge my love, my body, and my soul now and until we meet in Paradise.” She reciprocated her feelings with an embrace as she held on to me tightly. I gently set down back on to the bed and gave her gentle kisses to appease her.



“Now my beloved,” I said. “It is my turn to pleasure you.” I lifted her thighs to place them on my shoulders as I found that secret place between her legs. Spreading her feminine folds with my fingers, I caressed the precious pearl with my thumb as my hand made my way into her wetness. Hungry for her sweet nectar, I replaced my hand with mouth as I tasted her honey drinking every last drop as her fingers twirled the dark locks of my hair as my mouth filled with her liquid quenching my dry thirst for her womanly heat

.



“Ohhhh Sinjin….please…more…” begged Shalimar as I continued to consume her.



The arching need between my legs could not wait so I spread her thighs wider with my hands and mounted her. My shaft found that searing moistness as our union forever sealed our Fates. I danced with her in rhythm as he met me hip to hip, movement for movement, and pleasure for pleasure as our bodies rode a wave of ecstasy. Shalimar’s femininity accommodated herself to my awaiting girth as our bodies increased with each motion.



“Sinjin…ohhh…” she groaned as her hands found the hard structure of my masculine bottom as she held herself in place as I plunged deeper, faster, and harder into her. Her legs fastened themselves around my waist as I made my way into her entrance with the endurance of a wild animal. I needed her as I always needed her. This moment was no exception.






My hips bucked as I picked her up off the bed with my hard shaft still plunged deep inside her. I stood tall carrying the weight of her as I allowed Shalimar to ride my masculinity with her own pace and speed of her choosing. Her arms held on to me steadfast as her body galloped up and down my male saddle as I had become her mare and she the rider. The intensity rocked my loins as I felt myself ready to spill my seed.



“Shalimar…how…would you like…me to finish?” I panted.



“Give me your seed Sinjin…I want all of you…Now!” she declared.



I cried out as my seed erupted inside her filling her as remnants of what was remaining dripped to the floor. Shalimar in turn felt a release of her own pleasure as her nectar combined with mine created a mixture of pleasure and sex in the room. We both collapsed on the bed, finishing our union with tender kisses, and a romantic embrace…



We were awoken by a frightening scream as the familiar voice bellowed in the room.



“HOW DARE YOU?” screeched Quadir. “SINJIN AND SHALIMAR! YOU HAVE DISHONORED YOUR KING WITH YOUR BETRAYAL! GUARDS SEIZE THEM!”



Shalimar and I attempted to gather our clothing and dress quickly before a pair of palace guards dragged us from the bed. A pair of fists struck me to the stomach causing me to collapse to the ground. Gasping for air, I watched helplessly as Quadir slapped Shalimar across the face.



“Don’t touch her!” I pleaded. “The blames lies with me. I seduced her!”



“SHE’S NO BETTER THAN A COMMON WHORE!” hissed my uncle. “JUST LIKE HER MOTHER! THAT ENGLISH HARLOT I ALLOWED IN MY PALACE!”



“You shall not speak of my mother in that manner!” spat Shalimar. “You raped her, got her with child, forced her into your harem, and eventually poisoned her!”



“SILENCE!” ordered Quadir as he slapped her again. “I WILL NOT BE MADE A FOOL BY YOUR LIES!”



“As witnessed by the Eternal Allah, I speak the truth!” she continued. “I no longer fear your wrath! You fathered a child with my mother. The very child which would become me! You denied me as your daughter, and then when I became twelve forced me into your harem as your personal whore! It is true! I am your daughter. Flesh of your flesh and blood of your blood! You defiled me and disgraced the teachings of the Qur’an. May Allah strike you dead where you stand!”



“ENOUGH! YOU TWO HAVE BEEN PLOTTING AGAINST ME WITH LIES! YOU BROKE THE LAWS OF TREASON, I SENTENCE YOU TO DEATH BY FIRING SQUAD UPON THE NOON SUN TOMORROW!” announce Quadir. “GUARD TAKE THEM AWAY!” Nothing further was said as Shalimar and I were dragged away to meet our Fates…



Town Square of Arikahs, Noon 1901



A certain melancholy surrounded the atmosphere. The townspeople gathered to watch in horror at the live execution. My hands were bound behind my back as I felt another pair of hands touching mine, also bound with rope. I instantly knew it was Shalimar.



“I am sorry I could not protect you,” I told her as I tried to remember her aroma one more time.



“Do not lay blame on yourself my prince,” she reassured. “If I am to die, I am dying without shame. We are going to into the afterlife with honor. Our innocence preserved.”



“I agree beloved,” I told her.



“Sinjin, promise me one thing?” requested Shalimar.


“What is it?” I asked.


“In Paradise, at the moment of Houri, when you are promised your seventy two virgins that you will still love me for now and eternity?” she begged.


“I made this vow of love for you Shalimar that I shall have no other but you,” I reassured her. “I love you Shalimar.”


“I love you too Sinjin,” she responded.


These were last words said as King Quadir ordered his guards to open fire with their rifles as a hail of bullets descended upon us. Blood splattered across the streets of the town square as anguished cries could be heard in the nation of Arikahs…


I first saw darkness. Silence. Peace. Then the light guided my path as images illuminated around me from the Heavens. I looked down to the Earth. The palace of Arikahs burning to the ground. Chaos. Infidels, peasants, rebels, foreign enemies banding together to lay siege on the kingdom. The eunuch Sharif leading the rebellion again the king. My uncle, King Quadir, brutally tortured and executed by his enemies. His soul forever damned in the fiery pits of Hell. The images transform into a brilliant light. A figure approaches. So radiant. So beautiful. A malak. An angel.






He speaks.



“What do you wish for in ....Paradise?” the holy voice asks. “Ask you shall receive.”


“To be with my beloved for forever and eternity,” I tell Him.


“Granted,” replies the voice.


The light grows brighter. I feel a pair of arms embracing me. Soft hands. Feminine. I inhale the familiar scent. Jasmine and oranges. Her touch is familiar. It feels of eternal love. It is my Shalimar. Now and forever.


End