Friends, this series is going to be an epic set of tales that would make you rediscover the tales from Arabian Nights, just the way they should have been.
All characters are eighteen plus, all readers must be too.
Hundreds of years back, well to be precise around fifteen hundred years ago, in the vast Persian empire ruled an exalted king called Shahryar. He was fondly called Sultan.
His vast kingdom spanned as far out as Tibet and Hindoostan in the East, Sham and Anatolia in the West, Hejaz and Najd in the South, and Samarkand in the North. While some of his ancestors ruled the kingdom from Persia, he chose his seat of power in Menefer, Kemet. The place is now known as Memphis. In the north, he appointed his younger brother, Shah Zaman as the king of Samarkand.
In every respect, Shahryar was an alpha male. Six feet three inches tall, muscular physique, solid hard chest and abs, calloused hands from having led many battles from the front. His enemies were terrified of the fearless Persian leader.
Then he fell in love. On one of his expeditions to Hindoostan, he stopped en route in Khorasan, Afghania for a night’s rest. They would have moved on with the campaign a day later. The royal Khorasan family hosted a banquet in his honor. It is here that he saw Morsal, daughter of the royal Khorasan family. Their domain was under the aegis of the Sultan. It was like a match made in heaven.
Sultan married her immediately. Instead of heading on to Hindoostan, he spent many weeks in Khorasan, spending endless days making love to his lovely wife.
He became besotted with the beautiful girl that was Morsal, the flower of Khorasan. Morsal was indeed very beautiful and attractive. Every man who saw her was envious of Sultan. Upon her marriage to the Sultan, she attained the title, Sultana.
Sultan had an old mate and a trusted bodyguard named Gulbaz. He would shadow Sultan everywhere and vowed to do anything to protect Sultan from traitors, spies, and renegades.
The celebration of Sultan’s marriage had lasted over a month. Sultan all but forgot about his campaign. His army, which at first rejoiced the break and the celebrations of their honorable leader’s marriage, after a while, became desolate and miserable.
Realizing the predicament, one of Sultan’s generals, who was also his confidante, shared with him the army’s restlessness. Agreeing with his general, Sultan immediately ordered a march forward and led the army from Khorasan. To protect his dearest Sultana, he left behind his trusted bodyguard, Gulbaz, in Khorasan.
They had merely traveled a hundred miles when they were forced to camp. Rain and bad weather prevented the march forward for the second day as well. On the second evening, he was informed by his general that the weather might remain inclement for another day or two.
Sultan was already craving for his dearest Sultana, and this news was like a godsend to him. He thought, if the weather is to be like this, it would be best if I could ride back to my wife, my beloved, and spend another night with her before we march forward.
Hoping that she too would be in a melancholy, having separated from her husband, to surprise her, he rode back in haste. Being an excellent rider, Sultan reached Khorasan within a couple of hours.
Just as he was about to enter Sultana’s chambers, he heard Sultana’s cries. Her moans of passion, her cries of climax, and her wails of orgasm.
Astounded in disbelief, he barged into Sultana’s bed chambers and saw his trusted Gulbaz thrusting in and out of Sultana’s pussy. Gulbaz pumped in and out of Sultana in a fierce tempo, quite in contrast to Sultan, who made passionate, tender love to his wife. To Sultan, the entire scene was an epitome of vulgarity and decadence.
Consumed with rage and angered beyond senses, Sultan thrust his sword into Gulbaz’s spine that very instance. His sword pierced through Gulbaz’s chest and entered Sultana between her breasts.
The betrayal was so cruel and severe for Sultan, that after he had murdered his wife and his bodyguard, he sat and cried for hours, unable to fathom the motive of Sultana’s betrayal. She was his queen, his consort. She could have ruled the world with him, and she chose a servant.
Instead of marching on to Hindoostan, Sultan returned with his army back to his capital, Menefer. The failed campaign was his only combat failure, ever, and it was one he did not even fight.
Back in his palace, he spent his time mostly alone. He had a harem full of women. His wise Vizier, who like everyone, knew of Sultana’s betrayal and the Sultan’s anguish. The Vizier ensured Sultan was sent women from the harem regularly to entertain him.
Sultan’s brother, Shah Zaman in Samarkand, coincidentally had had a similar experience. Shah Zaman’s wife also had betrayed him and had eloped with one of his ministers. Shah Zaman tracked them down and beheaded them both.
Hearing of his brother’s condition of depression, Shah travesti gaziantep Zaman traveled to Menefer to meet with his brother.
The meeting was only partially helpful. Shah Zaman was able to get Sultan’s spirit somewhat up, but it was mostly on account of reminding Sultan of his royal duties.
They shared their fate in failed marriages, and in one outburst while talking with his brother, Shah Zaman said, “O, brother. The sum and substance of all problems is a woman. If it were upon me, I would kill them all. Women entrance and seduce you. Then they use you. And whenever they feel their purpose is served, they betray you. I hate them all.”
Sultan was equally upset and furious. Inadvertently, his brother had given him a way to redeem himself. He thought, ‘I am Sultan. I can do whatever I want. My brother is right, Women are the problem, and all of them must be extinguished.’
An executive order was issued. “All women must be hanged, instantly. Hung until they are dead.”
The order sent shivers down the spine of the court staff. Noone knew what should be done.
With some presence of mind, the court staff went scrambling for the intelligent Vizier to save the day.
He bravely reached out to Sultan and said, “O my great Sultan. I congratulate you on your decision, and the order shall be fulfilled post-haste, starting this very instant.”
Sultan was pleased to hear this and nodded to the Vizier to go and start.
In a soft tone, just so no one hears him say it, Vizier said, “May I say something that needs the Sultan’s attention?”
Sultan nodded again.
“O, my great Sultan, the women are the bearer of children. Without any more children, very soon we would have no progeny. There could be a possibility that we may very shortly, have no men to battle for this great kingdom that your ancestors have fought hard to build, and you have persevered to expand.”
Sultan understood what Vizier was saying, but an ‘order was an order’ and Sultan was not known to take back his words. He seemed frustrated.
Before Sultan could say anything intractable, Vizier offered, “My lord Sultan, may I offer a solution?”
Sultan nodded, frowning.
“Allow me to convey the order that the Sultan has asked only the unmarried women to be hung. The married ones can continue to give us children for the future.” Vizier proferred a solution that he hoped Sultan would agree with.
Sultan nodded again. He found the solution reasonable.
The order was written, and the Vizier personally took it in his hand and said, “My lord the great Sultan, your order is in my hands, and I shall personally see to it that it starts to be effected from daybreak tomorrow.”
He bowed and left.
The Vizier spent another night, thinking and encouraging himself, for another meeting with the Sultan.
The message was sent to the Sultan, early the very next morning, that the Vizier seeks an emergency meeting.
“What now?” the Sultan asked.
“O, my great Sultan. I apprehend another small problem, and before passing the orders to the men of the court for executing the order, I felt it would be best I consult with you once.”
Sultan nodded, satisfied that if his wise Vizier wants validation of some kind, it surely must be reasonable.
“O great Sultan, I fear if all the virgins in the kingdom are killed then the young men would start to emigrate from your kingdom because they won’t have anyone to marry. The exodus would hurt the kingdom more than it would help gain.”
Sultan could not help but agree.
Before Sultan could dig his heels into the ground on his order, the wise Vizier offered, “I have not yet handed over the orders to the court staff for execution. May I suggest something if my lord permits.”
With some feigned apprehension, Vizier said, “It is my solemn duty to also see to it that the subjects of this great kingdom must never question their Sultan’s orders. Not just vocally in public but even in their minds and their conscience. There should be no doubts or concerns about the great Sultan’s orders. That is what makes them your true followers.”
Sultan heard him patiently.
“O great sultan, even while the entire citizenry is your property, but someone’s wife, daughter, or son is also their own personal property as well.”
Sultan wasn’t pleased, but he was listening quietly.
“My suggestion o great Sultan is all the maidens in your kingdom who are of marriable age be sent to you one by one as your wife. What you do with your wife would not affect anyone, my lord.”
His suggestion, albeit reluctantly, was agreed upon. Sultan just wanted blood. The Vizier had successfully manipulated reducing the tragedy to one woman a day.
The executive order was privately destroyed. Sultan marrying daily needed no proclamation.
A large vessel that carried name-leaves of all the maidens of the Sultan’s kingdom was organized. Each day a name was drawn from gaziantep travesti that vessel.
Each maiden, whose name was drawn, was considered married to the Sultan and sent to his royal quarters promptly every evening. The next morning she was murdered, or ordered to be killed, or hung to death.
With a large and bustling population of millions of people all over the kingdom, this did not affect the citizenry at large; not immediately. To many, it came to be known as one of Sultan’s eccentricities, and to others who knew the reasons, they were compassionate to him given the betrayal by his beloved.
So as it went, day after day.
The wise Vizier spent many days trying to concoct another ruse or an excuse to save the souls of young women from the order, but the Sultan did not fall for any other of his rationale.
Amongst many names in the vessel, of various young girls, was one of Sheherazade. She was Vizier’s own daughter.
All of nineteen years old, beautiful beyond comparison, wise beyond words, educated, and articulate, Sheherazade was a woman any man would kill for. She had traveled along with her father on many occasions. Sheherazade had learned languages, read scriptures, and had debated with many wise men from far-off lands.
Each day Vizier returned home relieved and yet tense. Sheherazade knew of the Sultan’s order, but she had not made much of it. But the more she got to know of it from her family and her father’s worries, the more it concerned her.
One day, Sheherazade asked her father, the Vizier, “O my father, Is there no way to convince the Sultan to give up on these idiosyncrasies?”
Vizier exasperated, “ah, my dear daughter. You have no idea how many times have I tried to convince him. How many tricks have I devised to help get the Sultan to reconsider. But he seems to be adamant. At least for now. I shall keep trying until I am successful.” He sounded positive for his daughter’s sake.
Sheherazade nodded and, after thinking for a while, said, “O my dear father, I have a request to make.”
Vizier gladly said, “Yes, my dear. Anything for you.”
Sheherazade asked, “Would it possible for you to arrange for a specific name to be drawn out?”
Vizier was puzzled, “I receive tens of people every day with special requests to devise tricks to try and suppress a name or remove their daughter’s or their sister’s name from the lot. No one has ever come up to me with such a request.”
“But can you get it done, father?” Sheherazade asked.
After thinking, the Vizier said, “Yes, I think I can.” He was surprised but confirmed that it could be done.
“Then, my dear father, grant me this one wish and ensure it is my name that is drawn tomorrow,” Sheherazade asked.
Vizier just fell back on his chair aghast. His child, the one he loved, and the charming Sheherazade, who everyone in the house doted upon, was asking to be killed the very next day. The merciless Sultan would not spare her, even if he was told that she was Vizier’s daughter.
Vizier was crushed. Sheherazade had made him promise for her wish, and she wouldn’t let him back out. How could he send his own child to death with his own hands?
What followed was a long winding argument between father and daughter, and what clinched the argument was, “every woman being sent to Sultan every day to be killed is someone’s daughter or someone’s sister. If my father was doing everything to save his own daughter and not for all those others who are getting killed, then the deaths of those hapless girls were upon him as much as it is upon the heartless Sultan.”
Vizier knew she was doing an honorable thing. He also knew it would happen sooner or later, anyway. Her name might come out of the vessel any day. It was just fate that it had not, yet.
Sheherazade was offered as Sultan’s wife the next day. Sheherazade asked her younger sister Dinarzade to accompany her. Vizier allowed this only for the reason that he knew the Sultan would not murder them both. If on her last night, and Sheherazade wanted the company of her younger sister, so be it.
Outside the Sultan’s bed-chamber, Sheherazade hugged Dinarzade and asked her, “Dinar, I love you the most. If anything were to happen to me in the morning tomorrow, yours is the last face I would like to see. It would be upon you to take care of our parents and love them the most above anyone else.”
Dinarzade and Sheherzade both cried hugging. They kissed and hugged each other for long and then Sheherzade said, “If I am successful in achieving my objective tonight, then I might need your help.”
Dinarzade nodded hopefully and confidently as if trying to make herself believe it.
Sheherazade had already told her the plan. Dinarzade smiled and confirmed she was up for it.
As Sheherazade entered the Sultan’s bed-chamber, he was in an instant mesmerized by her beauty. A true virgin, with her face like a dove, she glowed white like gaziantep travestileri the moon. Her large eyes blackened with kohl complimented her cheeks. Her ruby red lips were glistening and waiting to be kissed.
Sheherazade had worn just jewels and a loincloth. Through her necklaces, Sultan caught a glimpse of the alabaster skin of her breasts. The jewels and pearls could only partially hide her breasts, her skin and nipples peeked from behind strings of gold that hung from her neck.
Sultan gazed lower and was taken by her bare, thin waist. Her navel spied furtively from above the thin ornate cummerbund adorning her hips.
Sheherazade’s loincloth was but just for the name. It hung on a pair of red strings going around her hips. The cloth in the front covered nothing other than her pussy mound. The thin red fabric made of silk wavered with every step she took, and Sultan already longed to see beyond it.
Sheherazade’s long and thin legs were like carved of ivory, completely bare. An anklet with tiny bells sang with her every step.
Sultan’s glistening gaze returned to Sheherazade’s face, and their eyes met approvingly. On her head sat a small tiara made of diamonds and rubies. As she walked towards Sultan, he could not help but fall in love with her deer-like walk.
Sheherazade made every ounce of him denounce his wishes, his order. Then he remembered how he had fallen for Morsal. He recounted the betrayal. His heart turned in rage. He knew Sheherazade was many times more beautiful than Morsal, but he truly believed that women were born to deceive. They could not be loyal.
His expression started to freeze as he hardened his resolve. Sheherazade was going to have to work hard.
Sheherazade’s first impression of the Sultan was also emphatic. She, too, was taken by the handsome man that he was. Tall, dark, and well built. The aura of his face was magnetic. His confidence made him irresistible.
Sheherazade greeted him with salaam, bowing her head and a hand gesture.
“Sheherazade, your consort, O great exalted Sultan,” she introduced herself.
Sultan nodded in acknowledgment.
The momentary awkward silence between them confused both Sultan and Sheherazade.
She took the initiative and moved towards the wine jug and tumblers. She poured wine for Sultan. She walked the few steps and offered him the red glass. She went back to pour sherbet for herself.
Her walk was majestic, confident, and suggestive. It allowed Sultan to admire her from behind. She was spotless from her neck to her lower back. Only a few threads holding her jewelry and her cummerbund shielded mere millimeters on her back. A tiny rectangular loincloth covered her crack on her butt. Two delicious white melons peered on either side of the red silk cloth. Her cheeks looked firm, round, and inviting.
Sheherazade walked back to Sultan’s bed and sat on the footstool with her glass in hand. Sultan seemed to have forgotten his own glass she had handed him. She put a finger at the bottom of his glass and pushed it up, reminding him to take a sip.
“Sheherazade, how old are you?” Sultan took a sip and asked her.
“Nineteen, O, great Sultan,” she replied coyly, her eyes blinked like flower petals.
Sheherazade’s smile was so captivating that Sultan cringed every few minutes to reconsider his order that would have this magnificent creature die the next day.
Sheherazade charmed him over the next couple of hours with her enchanting skills.
Somewhere during their conversation, Sultan asked her, “Do you have any talents? You know you are supposed to entertain me tonight.”
“What kind of talent, O great Sultan?” she queried, despite knowing well what he would reply.
“you know, singing, dancing…” he would have said ‘making love,’ but he knew she was a virgin.
“O, great Sultan. I apologize for disappointing you. I have not trained in either of those…although…” she was going to say something but stopped.
She hesitated for effect and said, “O, great Sultan, my friends tell me I am good at telling stories.”
Sultan was amused at that being referred to as a talent. But he said, “all right then. Do tell me one.”
“O, great Sultan. I am sorry, but my stories are from my experiences and my travels. They usually don’t end quickly. It is now late at night, and I also have to warm your bed… and it would be daybreak soon after that. I won’t be able to finish in time before my lord takes my breath away.” She shook, somewhat artificially, for Sultan to feel the power over her.
“Don’t worry. It is my decision when you shall die. Tell me your best story.” Sultan commanded.
“I am sorry, O, great Sultan, but I am worried your commanders will carry out the order despite…” She was still in the middle of the sentence when Sultan raised his voice and said.
“I, Sultan of Persia, exalted king of Asia Minor, undefeated ruler of the world, give you my word that unless your story finishes you shall live, no matter what hour of the day it is in the morning,” Sultan announced his proclamation.
This was what Sheherazade wanted, and she smiled inwardly, pleased with the first milestone.
Sheherazade bowed in front of the Sultan, offering her salaam, and said, “I apologize, O, great Sultan for upsetting you. Please relax and let me tell you one of my favorite stories.”