My High Price Paid to Write Erotica
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Historical Erotica Ch. 02 free porn video
Note to Reader: It’s 1532 and the main character, Leyla Khanom, is a Harem girl of Turkish Anatolian origin. A raven beauty with dark hair and eyes with light skin, she is a woman of great intellect, culture and possess artistic and musical qualities. A great conversationalist who can hold discussions on Greek Philosophy, Astronomy, Theology, Political strategy, Poetry and great works of literature. But Leyla is not just dinner entertainment, she has political ambitions and wishes to use her talents as a lover to get closer to the corridors of power in the Ottoman Empire. Her position is constantly threatened by other women in the Harem leading to the Harem wars.
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A crier burst into the Sultan’s Majlis (throne room) while he is holding court and discussing important military matters with his generals. ‘Murder… Murder… Murder most Foul,’ the crier repeatedly says in an erratic fashion, which alarms the Sultan. The Sultan stares at the crier with a look of surprise and agitation on his face. The crier is humbled before Sultan Suleiman called the magnificent by some and the law-giver by others. Before the crier is the most feared emperor in Europe and leader of a rising empire.
‘Oh glorious Sultan, please forgive my abrupt entrance but I come baring nefarious news. The Lady Shireen, who lives in your Excellencies Harem, has been found with multiple wounds to the head and lying face down on the floor.’ The crier proclaims. The atmosphere changes from concerned to tense, The Lady Shireen was a gift to the Sultan from Shah Tahmasp of Persia and she was meant to cement Safavid-Ottoman goodwill. The Sultan’s armies had finished fighting in Hungry and tension was rising on the Empires eastern border with Persia and now a Persian is murdered in the Sultan’s Harem.
While confusion reigns supreme, one person not confused is Leyla Khanom, who is quietly recovering from the heinous act she has committed. Leyla has never murdered before, but desperate times call for desperate measures. While rumours circulate about a Habsburg plot or an Uzbek conspiracy, Leyla has not interests in quelling these rumours, because Lady Shireen was no ordinary Harem girl. She was a niece of the Shah of Persia and was in-fact a Safavid Princess and whoever killed her would be executed immediately. But as they say ‘You think you know a story, but you only know how it ends. To get to the heart of a story, you have to go back to the beginning.’
6-months earlier: Leyla Khanom in her own words
The new batch arrived today. More girls from the provinces, Greece, the Balkans, Ukraine and Hungry. Desperate European girls who hope to be married off to the Sultan or some high ranking official. I don’t pity them, I despise them. My brother is in the Ottoman Army and is fighting in Hungry, and the brothers of these girls are trying to kill him. But nothing will stop our Empire, we are the rightful heirs of the Egyptian, Mesopotamian, Persian, Chinese, Roman and Greek Empires and heirs to the Ummayad and Abbasid Caliphates.
When Mehmet II took over Al-Rum Empire (Byzantine), and conquered Istanbul (Constantinople) from them, it was a sign from God about our ascension. It was a vindication of Sultan Osman I dream of glorious empire and we shall continue to fulfil his dream by marching into the hinterlands of Christendom. They may have discovered the ‘New World’, but we are about to take the ‘Old World’ from them.
Hasan the Janissary approaches me in great haste, the Janissaries are a corps of guards and special forces soldiers who fight in battles and provide palace security and security in the Harems. Despite being brave they are eunuchs or men who have had their manhood chopped off, which means the Sultan trusts them with us. Hasan looks at me and says, ‘Oh my dear lady, Farooq the commander has arrived and has requested your company.’
Farooq and I are lovers, genuine lovers, for I am not a concubine. ‘Very well! If he indeed requests my company, than by the grace of God, I shall go.’ Farooq is a young officer who is helping to build up our naval fleet- he also has one of the largest manhoods I’ve ever seen. He’ll want to indulge in some sodomy, before we must depart ways. I am entertaining at a dinner this evening and he has some other engagement. Of course, I do all of this with the greatest levels of secrecy, no one can know. In-fact Farooq doesn’t even know I have other lovers or that I have been deflowered.
I arrive at Farooq’s room and there he stands, the eunuch leaves us and Farooq turns his attentions to me. He walks over to me and as I try to greet him, he grabs my face and starts kissing me. Slides his wet tongue and smelly breath into my odourless mouth, our tongues encourage and entice one another. Slurping away and sucking on each other’s tongues, like a couple of sloppy animals during feeding time. I haven’t had a cock inside me for a few days and so it would be nice to have something before dinner.
Farooq pauses ravaging my mouth for a few moments, ‘Oh lady flower, you ignite a fiery passion within my heart, stomach and crotch. Like a rose you tease and beckon all those who approach, tempting them to pick your petals. Every flowers needs water for sustenance, every flower needs the sun and rain to grow, survival is the best indication of exposure. Yet, I am left to wonder what thou has been exposed to, how has this flower bloomed in the uneven soil of palace life?’
‘Every flower has its secrets, but every follower has its morals and ethics. The flower remains loyal to the gardener and survives only by the grace of god. I have peaked only for you to enjoy me.’
‘You’re too clever and lovely for your own good, but I fear, the urgent matter of relief takes precedents over riddle and mystery solving.’
‘If that be so, waste no more time in haste, for the sun shall rise and expel our moon. Do not allow the twitch in your britches to last another day, don’t let your mind be possessed by satanic whisperings, for the Jinns (spirits) move in the shadows and they require the sultan of hearts to be at the highest level of attentiveness. Nay, allow this night to rearm yourself and to make your defences more verily, for this night makes the young lusty and the old weary. The fountain of youth begs you to take a dip, for only re-birth keeps the defences strong. Only a woman can make you strong again.’
Farooq moves in for another kiss and places his hand up my dress and onto my bare leg. Suddenly, he thrusts me and turns me around, strong, assertive and manly, that’s how Farooq is and that’s how I like it. He pulls down my dress and under clothing and reveals my smooth, Turkish butt, which beckons all those who lay their eyes on it. Farooq takes a moment to stare in awe at the beauty of creation, surely none are left unstiff by the appearance of Turkish delight. Sweet as our food, pure as our souls and ripe as our fruit, so too does the Turkish butt reminds us of the simple pleasures of life.
‘Oh verily Sultan of Hearts, whose the finniest of red-blooded Ottoman males and the pleasurer of woman from the Balkans to the frontiers of Persia, surely though has not seen such a rare diamond among the common women of Christendom? Oh fertile Ottoman man, who is the noblest of creatures, but who must carry the burden of the large manhood and the women of Rum (Byzantine) eager to be conquered by it. The men of Christendom, who are envious of the knowledge that their women desire to be subdued by Ottoman masculinity, whom dream of nothing but the bloodiest of revenge. Why not unburden by taking on the only equal to the Ottoman man, the Ottoman woman, who is the purest thing this life has to offer. If thou knows this, why does thou hesitate, would the lesser men of Christendom or indeed the Great Khans of the Mongol Steppe show such hesitance?’
Farooq seems to get the message and begins to lick his lips. He falls to his knees and opens my butt cheeks with his two fingers. Though I can’t see him, I kn
ow the look of his face must be one of wonder, intrigue and excitement, for carnal pleasure awaits him. He is about to engage in the dirtiest and filthiest of debauched desires, sodomy, he knows how Crusader men dream of performing such acts on Muslim girls and knows how lucky he is. Indeed the Turkish woman with her innocence and yet sultry suggestiveness seems to have a transcendent effect on men. Entering us is like entering a sacred garden with the ripest fruits, greenest pastures and most eloquent fountains.
I feel his breath upon my naked butt, he kisses both cheeks out of respect of the power of my ass. Sliding open my cheeks and licking his finger, he inserts into my anus and start finger fucking it. The feeling of his wet finger does at first make me want to jump, but I remain composed and take it in my stride. Like a fat child at a cake feast, wide-eyed Farooq, has the look of overwhelming pleasure on his face. I let out a little groaning to encourage him to go further.
‘My Sultan is so kind and considerate, my cheeks are always wide for him. A woman’s carnal pleasure is entrapped in her body and keep in there by society, but the fair Sultan, takes pity upon the lowly woman and seeks relief for the built-up lust.’
Farooq now inserts his wet tongue into my asshole, he licks away like there’s no tomorrow. There’s no shame in allowing him to indulge in his perverted pleasures, for all men have their needs, wants and desires and if not satisfied they become a serious weakness that could destroy a man. The Ottoman woman takes the Ottoman man at his weakness and builds his strength up again, thus giving him the agility to fight off crusaders. His wet tongue makes waves inside my anus, which is becoming moister by the second. He shoves his entire mouth onto my opening and licks away like a greedy child in-front of a bowl of candy. Being anally tongue fucked is always an interesting experience, it softens the ass up for the final blow, which will be Farooq massive manhood.
Slurping away, biting and fingering, my ass is completely in his hands. He’s licking very loudly and I am concerned that someone will hear, not that this will be of much concern to Farooq, he’s male and expected to do things like this. My power lies in a murky grey world between pure virgin and devilish whore. It’s in my interest not to confirm the camp I am in, the world of the Ottoman court can be a slippery place. Farooq is finished licking me out and stands up-right, he pulls my hair back to raise my head.
‘Ohh… My Sultan is so strong, he possess the strength of 10 lions, surely I’m not worthy of the delight he is about to bestow upon me? I humbly pray that my weak and feeble body is enough to satisfy the hunger of the pack and that any pleasure I may get from the feed is merely coincidental and secondary to the lions feast.’
Farooq rubs his cock onto my butt cheeks, he spits on them and rubs the spit in. Teasing my cheeks with spit and his throbbing cock that rests on them, he takes a deep breath and then pulls his cock towards my anus. Although but a few moments, the anticipation created a grave impatience’s within me, the internal flame is now burning. Suddenly, I feel my anus opening up and widening and something large being poked in. The large object is pushing up further and further into my hole and I try to hold my tongue, but sound does still seep through. Farooq is groaning and grunting all the way, my ass is clearly having an effect on him. He’s in, all the way, he takes a moment and then begins pounding and screams, yells and cries as he does.
‘Oh my Sultan is so generous, may he not extend his generosity by going harder and faster? I want it and I want it bad. Show me what you are made off. I demand to know what the conquer of the Mediterranean is made off, please use the same force you used against the Spaniard Navies, the same brutal brilliance you used to subdue the Austrians.’
Farooq finds the energy and starts pounding my ass inside out, my outer cheeks go red and I egg him on to go harder and faster. I am loving every second of this, it’s just a shame, Farooq cannot do the same to my flower as this would give the game away. His enormous balls clip away at my cheeks, I am afraid that he’s going to rip my ass in two. I scream, cry, groan and grunt, I bite my teeth and I take what’s coming to me with a smile. Farooq is nearly ready to cum and starts preparing himself to cross the threshold.
‘Ahhhh… Oh woman of Anatolia, the seductress of the south, who forces noble men into ignoble actions. The queen of whores and the embodiment of Eros pleasures described in the finest stories of high literature, will relief not come in your fertile lands. I know of men who would disembody themselves just to graze in your fields. Wives look in envy upon you and your abilities to usurp their thrones and take their husbands. No more-no more.’
Suddenly, huge warm deposits entered into my anus making it wet with thick white liquid. Farooq gasps for air after an intense effort. He gradually moves of me. We exchange some brief pleasantries and he goes to clean himself off, as do I, I have a dinner to get too.
Walking through Topkapi Palace with its endless peep holes, long corridors, grand rooms, beautiful gardens, princes, nobles, foreign envoys, ambassadors, honored gusts, servants, spies and possible assassins. Life at the top is a paranoid existence, but you wouldn’t know it from all the games and good cheer that goes on inside the Palace’s walls. I enter the courtyard where the mini-dinner party is taking place. High-ranking Ottoman officials and rising stars are enjoying themselves with wine, fruit and the finniest foods. Woman are all over the place, mostly Christians brought in from the European provinces, but there is also another woman there who I have never seen before.
She’s petite, light olive-skinned and very attractive. Elegant and well-bread, who is she? She is speaking Persian with a Persian accent.
‘Beloved, upon this river of wine, launch our boat-shaped cup, and into this river throw those weeping with envy, too. Winebringer, throw a cask of wine into my boat, for without that-for forty days and nights on the open sea- I will die of thirst. I am lost in this city and can no longer find the winehouse door. Please help me to find that street again where love resides. Bring me a cup of wine that is dark red and smells like musk. Don’t bring me the expensive brand that tastes like money and smells like lust. Even though I am drunk and worthless, be kind to me, and on this dark heart shine the light of your smile. If it’s sun at midnight that you desire, throw the veil from the face of the rose, and you will have all the light you need. If I die, don’t let them bury me in a dusty grave.’
She is reciting the Persian poet Hafiz and seems to have her audience captivated, I must quickly intercede, I move around the court in a womanly fashion sussing out the competition. I will not be outdone by the Rivers of Wine poem.
‘Take my corpse to the winehouse and throw me into a cask of wine! Hafiz, if you have had enough of this world and all its violence, then take up the cup, and from the inside let this liquid love make peace.’ She finishes her poem and there is a huge round of applause, I must draw my sword and offer a challenge to her poetic recitation for this is about influence.
I quip, ‘Impressive a newbie with such appropriate poetic talents for a drinking party, but does she understand the deeper meanings of poetry? The point of poems? It’s not enough to be able to recite a poem, one must understand its inner dimension too. As Al-Muntanabbi relies to us, I am the one whose literature can be seen (even) by the blind. And whose words are heard (even) by the deaf. The steed, the night and the desert all know me, as do the sword, the spear, the paper and the pen.’
Lady Shireen responds, ‘Even seen by the blind and heard by the deaf? What would you call the drunk, but deaf and blind! But I see e
ven a smile on your face, thus my poem must have penetrated your heartless exterior and light a candle within your own heart.’
I respond, ‘As Al-Muntanabbi also informs us, if you see the teeth of the lion, do not think that the lion is smiling at you.’ We encircle one another like a pack of tigers waiting for the other to strike and watching every move. The men seem to be enjoying the possible violent tension, female cat fights are arousing to them. Finally, one intercedes.
‘Now then be still, for I speak. Ladies humble yourself and put down your swords, for by the grace of God, wars of the harem serve no useful purpose. Do not allow female arrogance lead you astray from the straight path, we seek your company for pleasure not for pain.’
Both me and the woman begrudge, but accept and take a set-back and are seated. During informative discourse, I learn the name of the tiger, Lady Shireen and that she is a gift from the Safavid Shah and of reported royal lineage. Though discussion centres around International affairs from the idiot Tudor King of England Henry, Charles I of Spain and his designs on Milan and others, I am more concerned by the threat closer to home. Soon discussion moves to philosophy and I decide to take centre stage.
‘Honored guests and officials, we live in exciting times, times of innovation and enquiry and yet the same questions still vexes us. The Houses of Wisdom of the Abbasids produced some of the finniest knowledge, scholars, inventions and questions. And it is for us to continue the legacy, which has enriched our civilisation. For instances, what is the substance of all living things? The Al-Mutazilla movement of Baghdad and Basra during the early Abbasid years, believed the world consisted of tiny things called atoms. These atoms were set in-place by the great lord of the universe, but once he set the atoms in motion, he did not interfere in what the atoms created. Atoms are tiny elements, which make up everything around us, including us.’
Lady Shireen intercedes, ‘Ah yes, the Muntazillya. The ones who rejected fate or predestination on the basis of the platonic notion of the unmoving mover. Personally, I find their theology, philosophy and renditions of the natural world too rational, materialistic and calculated they leave no room for awe and do not answer the question of beauty. The rational explanation is not necessarily the correct one and there is so much that it excludes. Don’t get me wrong, Logos is vitally important, but don’t let Logos dictate to you, like all things in life man reaches his true perfection when Logos and Mythos are equally balanced. They should be forced to work for you and not you it. Put simply rationalism is not rational.’
Shireen is vicious, ‘Surely, what you speak of is darkness. Shireen, reason is what governs our universe. I remind you of the dream Caliph Haroon Rashid had when Aristotle appeared before him. Aristotle told him he had the answer to the question that had vexed him. What is better for the affairs of man, reason or revelation? Aristotle said onto him, the two were not in conflict with one another, but it was only through reason that man finds true revelation.’
She interjects, ‘I do not contest that forms of revelation can be found through reason, but I challenge the absolutists framework by which your assumption operates. Some things are beyond the cognitive reasoning of man, such as why and what is beauty and why and what is good and the problem of evil. Empirical reason does not explain these things. I see the beauty of a child’s smile or the beauty of a mountain as a reflection of divine beauty. Beauty emanates from an interfering deity, for his beauty and its reflection is interference into our world. As Neo-Platonists and the likes of Al-Ghazali have shown us.’
Battle lines have been drawn, I was merely attempting to engage in speculative reasoning to show my many intellectual talents and she has boxed me in. Such an attempt is clear, she aims to replace me and make herself the most powerful woman in the Harem, but for what gain? I am willing to bet that she is a plant for the Shah of Persia to wage a secret war.
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