Long ago in lands now forgotten, there ruled a Rais, Abu Ali of the House of Lafia. Abu Ali ruled harshly, but was known for his sense of justice. If nothing else, he brought stability to the land, and so Lafia, if not all of its people, prospered.

Rais Ali's vice it was said, concerned women, and it was by virtue of such that when once returning from the heat of battle, he stopped at an obscure house of drink and debauchery, where for a price, a whore could be had.

There he spied Layla, a harlot, young daughter of the tavern mistress Ranya, and was smitten. So did Ali take Layla from her mother after much protestation on the part of both, even though Ali gifted Ranya handsomely for having produced such a likely girl. It was said two janissaries were needed to pull Layla from Ranya, and weeping could be heard along the length of the street.

Despite his fault, Rais Ali soon came to love Layla, and she became his favourite above all others in the harem. Thus her position was elevated, and she had many liberties the others lacked.

Now of all the Rais' lieutenants, none were more beloved than Malik and Jamal. To their lord, the two men were like sons, and to each other, like brothers. Each had generous lands and possessions. It was said the two occasionally even shared women with their lord, and this was indeed the case, but since Ali was well loved by the court, not much was made of this.

“I have only two conditions I demand from my beloved,” Rais Ali said. “First, that you understand what is mine and what is yours. If I share what is mine, is not still mine?” asked Rais Ali. “Yes, yes, yes, yo Rais, a thousand times yes,” came the reply, muttered several times by Malik and Jamal. “Then I must know all that transpires, and whatever transpires does not take what is mine from me.” The Rais paused to sip of his tea. “Lastly, you must never engage in the Low Congress with these women, even your own! This is a detestable thing not only to me, but under the eyes of heaven as well, do you understand?” Commanded Rais Ali. “Yes, yo Rais,” came the reply in chorus, somewhat enthusiastically from Jamal, less so from Malik. “If I ever hear that your manhood has gone to such a place, I will make sure it does not do so again! Your stones will be left hanging without their member, and then you will think about what you have done! All of my janissaries have instructions to this effect. Good then, it is settled! Now we can discuss more pleasant matters.”

Later, when Jamal and Malik were alone, Malik spoke against Ali. “Who does he think he is to tell me how I may take my own wives?” he shouted, knocking some of the furniture about. “If I want to stick it in her ass and leave it there all night, is not my affair?” screamed Malik. “I have bled for this man! Look here!” Malik continued to rant, and bore his chest wherein there was a deep scar from a saber that nearly pierced his heart. “I have killed and eaten a horse given to me by my father (peace be upon him) so that I could return from the desert with news to save his life and this is how he repays me!?” “Brother be still! Is a woman's ass worth all of this?” asked Jamal. “Why shouldn't we do this one thing for our father? Has he not given us all else? Besides, it is indeed a filthy thing he asks us to abstain from. We will be the better for it, are not the righteous rewarded with long life?” asked Jamal, at which Malik burst into laughter. “What has righteousness to do with a woman's backside? Are you telling me you have never taken Jasmine in such away?” Malik asked incredulously. “Heaven forbid! You are speaking of the mother of my children!” At that Jamal slapped Malik fully across the face.

Malik cried out in anger and lunged to draw his sword from where it lay, when one of the servants serendipitously appeared. “Master....Rais Ali is here!” With Jamal distracted by the servant, Malik put the sword to Jamal's throat just as Rais Ali entered the doorway. “What is this madness!” demanded Ali angrily. “One son is to put another to death as in the beginning of things?” Fearful of his position, Malik dropped his sword and feigned tears, pleading that Jamal had insulted his honor. Jamal for his part, stood stunned in utter disbelief. How could his brother do such a thing? How could he speak so of their adopted father? How much better if it would all disappear like vapour rising from a pond. So, Jamal lied for the first time to Ali and fabricated a tale of an insult perceived through misunderstanding, and in this Malik assisted him. Rais Ali was blinded to deceit by affection, and was therefore satisfied by this tale.

From that moment onward, Malik hated Jamal and Ali as well, but with temper cooled by the instinct of self preservation, he vowed to bury his rage, and have his revenge through guile rather than might.

Thus it came to be that Malik began to woo Layla, one whom Malik knew Jamal could not resist. All the better that she was Rais Ali's favourite.

Unbeknownst to Malik, Layla had lain for some time with Aziz, a captain of the janissaries, who was known for his drunkenness and incompetence, but was kept in authority by virtue of his family. This she did in order to increase her influence. Layla had clouded his mind fully with her sex, convincing him that she was to be Queen one day, and in return for his loyalty, she would allow him at her side in court. “There are three that stand in our way beloved,” Layla whispered into the ear of Aziz. “But some are more of an obstacle than others. Ali loves the two fools more than his own son, it is they we must rid ourselves of first,” she cooed, stroking his manhood to fullness.

Months passed and Malik made sure to curry the favour of Jamal, making sure that all bitterness was resolved between them. He arranged then that Layla should perform for them in private audience one night and so his plan was set in motion.

Jamal arrived promptly as usual to be met by a generous table and air full of costly incense. When the two had their fill of tea and meat, they moved to an adjoining room wherein they were attended by a host. “Now, Layla, a most favoured consort will entertain us, by the grace of Ali the most beneficent,” the host then clapped his hands and a very young woman made her entrance after the fashion of a dancer. Jamal remarked straightaway of her striking beauty, while Malik commented on the fullness of her hips.

Gifted with young ears, she had clearly heard them both, even though they had taken care to mutter their observations. Layla smiled wickedly at both young men, and proceeded to offer the entertainment their station afforded.

Her uncommon beauty was matched only by her grace and agility. Soon no attribute was hidden as much to Jamal's surprise, she shed the last of her clothing and moved for them unashamed, unfettered by any sense of modesty. Jamal thought to protest, lest gossip make a quick end of them both; servants were never far despite appearances. Layla dissuaded his fears, however, placing a single, pale finger to his lips, her sex mere inches away. “The Rais wishes it,” she whispered, leaning forward so that her long ebony mane draped across his cheek and shoulder. The scent of shampoo, of her flesh and the heavy perfume which had been so liberally applied to it aroused his hungry sorely. Jamal wished fervently that she was not his master's.

Her stomach rolled in successive waves after the fashion of a serpent, her arms flowed with fluid grace and the motion of lower half celebrated a woman in full congress. “Look at that, eh?” commented Malik as Layla displayed her unadorned rear to them, quivering and then swaying from side to side like a palm caught in a night wind. Suddenly she bent completely forward, grasping her ankles as she did so. Her feet were some distance from one another, and so was she splayed wide before them, both her sex and its forbidden neighbor above.

“Ah! I would give one of my stones to take that!” Malik declared raucously. Layla quickly righted herself and resumed her movements, smiling fully at Malik like the brazen whore she was. “Come, brother, could there be anything finer!” Malik asked, grabbing Layla's bottom for a moment. “Have you become feeble?!” scolded Jamal, lightly slapping the side of Malik's head. “Do not speak of such things! It is the one thing the Rais has forbidden! Can we not abide by this as he has allowed us all else?” Jamal plead.

Malik seemed oblivious to caution, and continued to speak of Layla for days afterwards, of her rear and the joys it could provide. “Why do you begin this again?!” asked Jamal incredulously. “Was it not enough that you disgraced us in front of our lord?” Jamal continued, his voice full of the passion of one who is wronged. “I am a wretch my brother, I know,” replied Malik deceitfully. “It is the one terrible vice I have, of which I cannot rid myself. I have been thus since I was a boy, I cannot change, but I swear I will speak of it no more,” Malik promised. They made an oath then that day, and Malik kept his word. The seed had been planted however, and now Jamal, who had never known such congress, began to think of the ripe, young ass of Ali's best whore.

“My mistress bade me come,” the old maid explained in a high, breaking voice. “She says that you are in her thoughts since the night you met, and she must see you again,” she continued, ashamed now, her eyes averted downward.

This seemed the ultimate in foolishness to Jamal, even this clandestine communication might put an early end to his career, let alone anything else. Much to his dismay however, the words that came from his lips were far different than what his conscience demanded. Like the simpleton she had made of him, he agreed to whatever she asked.

“Mistress says you must meet when the moon has risen above the peak, near the border at our Master's camp,” related the old woman, who was shaking a bit now. Jamal attempted to speak, but she interrupted, “Please, have mercy! I have done more than any would for her, I must go now!” At that she rushed away as quickly as her elderly frame would bear.

Every fiber of reason within him told Jamal to forget this witch, surely she would see to his demise. Not only should he forget her, but try desperately to repair the substantial damage already done. Yes, that was it, he must defame her somehow. Layla's reputation should be destroyed beyond repair.

He emerged from his tent, resolved, and feeling all the better for it despite the danger he likely already faced. Jamal walked forward from the tent and headed toward the horses when he spied a woman near the horses, feeding one of them something from her hand. Just for a moment she looked up, her clear, blue eyes met his, and even from beneath the veil, he was certain it was Layla. Jamal grinned widely like a schoolboy, and he was sure she returned the expression, her eyes danced so. That was the end of reason.

With a visage like a simpleton, and all the subtlety of a donkey, Jamal walked briskly in her direction. As he approached, a horse moved between them for a moment, and by the time it passed on to the water trough, Layla had vanished into thin air. There was no doubt about meeting her now, such a fire had been kindled within him.

He rushed through his duties for the remainder of the day, doing the least he possibly could in all things, and shirking others altogether. As the shadows grew long, Jamal disappeared completely, much to the dismay of his sergeants. A sense of duty nagged at him all the while that eventually transformed itself into mature guilt. Jamal was using the very same tactics he'd learned in service of Ali for so many years to deceive his own now, it was not a pleasant feeling.

When at last the night was fully realised, Jamal took Malik's steed, as though that would fool anyone for long, and rode swiftly into the wasteland which between him and the camp of Ali. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the night air whipped about him, the sound of hooves battering against desert, the hot breath of horse drawn hard as stars passed overhead in a symphony of images. Jamal was in a lust trance by the time he arrived.

Jamal dismounted and attempted to hide the animal behind a cluster of date trees, but he tied it so poorly that it merely pulled free, and wandered to the stream a short distance away, meager yards from Ali's camp.

Clumsily, he stumbled up a dune and nearly fell down the other side as it sloped off steeply into the banks of the stream. For a few moments he drifted aimlessly toward the camp along the bank, seeing no sign of Layla, and missing his horse altogether as well which passed directly in front of him on the opposite bank as it returned from drinking.

A short distance away, Rais Ali, an old man by any reckoning, made his bed in order to be ready for the day ahead. Layla saw then her chance and slipped away to the tent of Aziz. “The idiot will be fucking me up the ass in plain sight near the mid of night,” Layla smirked. “I will make him take me in the stream to increase his vulnerability. When his seed is about to fall, come from behind and take his root according to the law of Ali!” she commanded. “Then drag his sorry carcass here to the court of Ali, and tell them you have caught the wretch in forced Lower Congress with his favourite!” Layla concluded, eyes beaming. “I do not like this, lover,” protested Aziz. “He is taking what is mine! Surely, there is another way! Lure him behind the rocks and I will slay him when he tries to top you,” Aziz insisted. “My sweet,” began Layla in a disparaging tone “what chance do you think you have against such a man?” Aziz glared at her angrily. “My sweet, you are the master of another sword,” she said playfully, squeezing his assets “but Jamal is a battle master with few peers. He would cut you to ribbons unless he is completely, utterly, entirely, helpless. I would say of the two us, the odds are in favour of me bringing him to such a condition.” Layla smiled wryly before slinking out into the night. Aziz appeared downcast, but resigned to the terrible idea that Jamal would take what should be his alone. She was right, as usual.

Jamal began to pace up and down the bank like an impatient child, growing more anxious every second, until once he turned and was met with a small, dark figure, swathed from head to toe in black fabric. His heart nearly failed him until the creature spoke, revealing the lilting voice of coveted Layla.

She put her delicate finger to his lips as she had not so long ago to quiet him, and bade him join her behind a nearby cluster of rocks that jutted suddenly from the sand near the stream. There they lay together, and he made love to her as she unwrapped herself a little at a time, each minute revealing more of her delicious flesh.

When the last of Layla's wrappings lay neatly tucked in a cleft of the largest boulder, she stood before him in all of her magnificent pulchritude, illuminated only by the bright moon above, her alabaster skin aglow, her form majestic, crowned by the lunar host. There Jamal swore his undying love for her, and she returned the same in kind.

Inflamed to the point of madness, Jamal pulled her down to his side, and topped her roughly there, an activity to which Layla seemed well accustomed. Despite his desire, Jamal did not loose his seed however, but withdrew from her suddenly. “I must have your ass!” he demanded maniacally , staring into her eyes with all the fervor of a madman. “I must take what you offered in the tent before Malik,” he demanded a second time. “I am your possession, lord,” replied Layla, a little short of breath from rough congress. “All that I have is yours,” she continued, gesturing to her perfect, plump form now shimmering with perspiration. “But, please, I beg of you, no man has known what you ask, you will be the first there. If you do indeed love me, please, take me as I dreamt it, under the moon in the running stream, where any might see us!” Layla begged, her eyes wide with need. Jamal paused, mouth agape, fearing to do what she asked, such a filthy thing in the open. Layla responded with a little sigh, and fingered peak of her sex as wanton women do. It was enough to break Jamal altogether, and hand in hand they made their way awkwardly into the shallow water.

“Come, fulfill your true desire!” she panted breathlessly. Layla bent as far over as she might, grabbed her ankles as the cool night stream lapped about them. As her delicate hands met the caresses of the stream, her ample rear splayed open wantonly. The entrance to her rear opened a bit and Jamal's eyes widened at the sight of it. It was perfect, like the rest of her, so pale and pink, yet flushed with desire. “Ahhh!” he cried out far too loudly into the summer wind, for the sheer ecstasy of it overwhelmed him.

Jamal pumped rapidly in and out of her now, squeezing the plump cheeks together as he did so. This path was so constricted, all of his experience regarding righteous coupling yet left him unprepared for such a congress. Layla began to swirl her buttocks against him and wring his cock inside her with the strength and articulation of a fist. “Uhhahhh!” Jamal cried out again, this time realizing he might have undone himself. His eyes darted fretfully about, but he was still too taken by Layla's lower charms to withdraw. Nothing stirred it seemed, perhaps all was still well despite his lapse of self control.

Jamal became distinctly aware of his vulnerability, how ludicrous to take her in such a way, in the open! Not only in the open, but here of all places! It was surely folly. More than fear of the Rais, more than fear of his janissaries however, Jamal wished to sate his lust deep in this young whore's ass. If they had him to rights even now, he would come first, deep inside her to fulfill this lust heretofore unknown. The desire he nurtured was far stronger than should have been, the flames of which were fanned so unnaturally by friend and lover alike. His seed boiled from deep within him, and he pushed far inside her one last time to empty his sac of the past week's desire.

Layla felt his cock swell mightily within her and let out a small cry of her own. Just then Jamal felt a pair of strong hands on each shoulder, and they pulled him violently backwards. His raging member sprung rudely from the young girl's ass, an emission already beginning to drool from the tip. Before it erupted however, the long, cold steel of a janissary's blade hacked deep into the root of his staff, and just as quickly, clean through to the other side. Jamal's proud member fell away from his body, a bit of sperm leaving the tip and life's blood polluting the stream below. It quickly shrank away, and a moment later had been swept into the darkness by the gentle current of the water.

Jamal shrieked in horror, not only at the loss of his pride, but at the loss of so much blood. His death was near to be sure. An appendage that would have been at home on any tree forced him down into the stream, causing him to think they planned to drown him in addition to all else, but all swirled about and collapsed into what seemed frightfully cold water beneath. Pain of intensity he'd not known washed over him as his senses reeled, and just before all turned to blackness, he saw the delicate feet of his lover step about in the shallow water, and her tittering laugh from above.

The Rais's wrath against Jamal was great, but the memory of his love still moved his heart, and he could not bear to put Jamal to death. It was suggested by an advisor that Jamal's stones should be ripped from his body in the most painful manner possible, and after sufficient time had elapsed for the manly elixir to drain from his body, he be placed as a guard, a eunuch in the harem. The Rais knew Jamal too well to let such a thing come to pass though. Instead, Rais Abu Ali called upon his wisest physicians and made known his thoughts to them.

Jamal was pulled from the cell where he lay to be accosted by the physicians for seven days and nights in their theater. There they applied searing iron to what was left of poor Jamal's phallus in such a way that the outward parts of the stump were left without feeling whatsoever.

After his wounds had healed, Jamal was made to clean the stables and latrines with the lowest born in the kingdom. Once a week thereafter he was chained in theater and visited by the young, pale plumplings of the harem. There they would torment him with their bodies, often pausing to squeeze his aching testicles, which after being aroused without relief since the night in the stream, had swollen sorely, making him appear even more of a bullock than when he was whole.

With dancing and caresses they would inflame him, eventually coming to lay atop him and grind their furry delights against the numb stump as they would when riding a whole man. Afterwards he would lay, wretched and moaning in frustration for hours, the need in his groin too much to bear

Now Rais Ali was an old man, nearly eighty years under the sun, and the downfall of Jamal weighed heavy on his heart, beloved as the young lord had been. To make matters worse, war was imminent with Emnar, the wild areas to the east. Ali tried to comfort himself with the fact that Malik was with him yet, and would rid him of the king of the brigands across the river, heaven willing. It was the plan of Ali to send Malik, a master of subterfuge, disguised into Emnar to foment discord between Rafi and Jibril, who had allied themselves, engendering a deadly army of brigands which threatened to tear Lafia and Alima asunder.

Layla of course, likely knew more than Ali about the national strategy, having slept with most of the court and always convenient to a curtain or doorway when matters were discussed. Now was the time to employ thick Aziz once again.

“When Malik has led the army of Ali into battle, wait until the field is ripe with battle, Malik will make fast away for the border, leaving Faruq to lead. Follow him from a distance, and in the rushes, take his head,” Layla hissed as she climbed astride Aziz, his root full and pointed toward heaven. Aziz simply nodded in response, at which point he was rewarded with the hot, silken youth of the whore's cunt about his shaft.

“So, Jamal was too mighty for poor Aziz, but no so Malik?” Aziz quipped proudly as Layla rode him slowly. “Malik is proud,” replied Layla, her breath drawing a little hard. “His pride will protect you,” “What are you talking about, woman?” asked Aziz, aggravated that Layla was far cleverer than he. “Play the fool ('Shouldn't be hard for you' she muttered under her breath) Malik will seize the opportunity to bully you, let him belittle you. When he is done affirming himself he will have forgotten you are a danger. It is then you take him. Ahhhhh!” moaned Layla as Aziz's rod touched the apex of her womanhood. If nothing else, and it likely was nothing else, Aziz did have a magnificent cock.

When the fateful day came, Malik dressed as the enemy, as Ali had commanded. When the army was fully engaged, he made his way quickly along the banks of the river, and when he had found an obscure spot, sought to cross, but was met suddenly by Aziz who glared at him, saber in hand. “What are you doing here you idiot?!” demanded Malik. “Go back up the line where you belong! Where are your men? What are they doing without you?” “F-forgive me sire! I thought you were an agent of the enemy and followed you all this way!” stuttered Aziz. “You are pathetic, the drink washes away all of your sense! Away with you, idiot!” commanded Malik. Aziz turned, pretending to leave, and Malik turned his back to him. With one fell motion, Aziz took his head.

Malik's mission, never undertaken, proved moot in the end, when under heavy attack from the army of Faruq, Prince of Lafia, the army of the two brigand kings broke, a fact for which each blamed the other. By the end of the month the two were at each other's throats again, so that Lafia and Alima were saved for the present.

News traveled swiftly to the ears of Ali, and when he heard Malik's headless body had been found near the river Urden, the apparent victim of the brigands, he tore his vest and sank to his knees, and covered his head in dust. Ali wept bitterly for three days, and then sat, staring vacantly from the window of his study. Afterwards, he was never the same, spending most of his time in the date orchards, he discussed nothing but cultivation, and that only with the peasant farmers. Matters of state were seen to by Faruq, and none questioned this, for there were few among the court who did not pity the old man.

Months passed and Aziz became restless, and he questioned Layla when she came to lay with him. “What of Ali?” asked Aziz. “Do not worry, he will not live forever despite what they say. He is nearly eighty, oft is the time when looses his breath or is afflicted with pains, more so since the loss of Malik and Jamal. He will die soon and then we can consummate our plans,” Layla replied, before engulfing Aziz's member fully with her mouth.

Mumblings began at court, “It is time for Faruq to marry, he has not yet one wife, and he is the crown prince. What should happen if he were taken from us, and Lafia were without an heir?” An agreement was struck then with Shiekh Ahmed of Alima, who had long ago pledged his life to Ali, and wished to unite their houses. So then did Ahmed give his firstborn to Faruq in marriage, on the condition that she would be Queen, and their heirs would rule Lafia and Alima.

“Take a squad of janissaries, dress as the Emnari and hide in the wilds on the border of Alima,” commanded Layla. “Behave as bandits, and kill them both before they set foot in Lafia,” she concluded, popping a date into her lovely mouth. “What has the girl done?” stammered Aziz. “She is the firstborn daughter of Ahmed!” Layla rolled her eyes, but out of sight of Aziz to be sure. 'Fool!' she muttered under her breath. “What did you say?!” yelled Aziz. “No one disrespects me thus! Especially the court whore! Do you think I am unaware of....” Aziz suddenly went silent, only gurgling sounds came from his throat as Layla nearly crushed his stones in her fist. “If Ali's favourite were to tell, oh, say, Faruq that she was raped by thick Aziz because he thought she was ripe for the taking, a court whore as you say, what do you think would be his response? Who will he believe? And if you kill me, what will they make of it?” At that she released him, and Aziz rolled onto his stomach where he stayed for some time. He never questioned her again.

Aziz did as he was told, and at the end of year, after the marriage had been contracted, news reached the court that Faruq and his young bride were murdered by a band of Emnari brigands just west of the Lafian border. All agreed it was best to keep the news from Ali, at least for a time.

Layla walked with Ali in the cool shadows of the date trees, her hand in his as much for support as feigned affection. “You have become all the more precious to me dear one since,” Ali could speak no more of recent events, and took on the expression of old men who have seen too much. “Shh, habibi,” said Layla soothingly. “You are, so, so delightful,” Ali stuttered, his face like a child. “I-I want to have you as my senior wife, nothing else will make an old man happy, please, I beg of you, do not protest,” Ali muttered on. Layla caused her face to beam with joy. “Oh! Habibi! How I have dreamt of this day, but dared not speak of it! I had a vision that this would come to pass a short time after you saw and loved me in the tavern. Heaven wills it!” Layla even managed tears by thinking of her mother, dead not long after she was taken, her throat slit for the coins with which Ali had purchased her. Ali mistook them for tears of joy as she wished, and fantasies of a new life with the young whore, one farce following another in his addled mind.

Rais Ali then took Layla before the court. “This is my beloved, Layla, you all know. I would wed her and have her at my side in an all things. If anything (heaven forbid) should befall me, it is her I trust above all others, for those I loved best have departed from before me. Do this for an old man's heart.”

That night, for the first time, Ali actually asked permission for her favours, instead of taking them as his right. Layla evinced joy once again, and he welcomed her into his chamber. She arrived clad in a golden wrap that would have purchased a living for year. Once doors were shut the wrap fell away to reveal the scantest garments, barely enough to cover her sex. Ali seemed overjoyed, overexcited in fact. Layla made note of his flushed countenance and his strained breath, coming raspy like the blacksmith's bellows.

It took all of Layla's skill, and and not a little effort to bring Ali to a useful state, but given a some time, she succeeded. She lay splayed beneath him unashamed, a grin from ear to ear as he topped her. Ali drew slowly in and out of her, obviously using every bit of his strength to do so. An eternity passed, and it became difficult even for the great play actress Layla to appear ecstatic, but at long last it seemed as if Ali's seed might actually fall. “Ah! My love!” he wheezed, his old prick swollen within her. Just as his emission began, Layla moved her head upwards to his ear and whispered therein, “Your Faruq is dead!” His emission continued nevertheless, involuntary at that point, but the look of agony on the old man's face made clear she was successful. “I had him gutted like a commoner returning from Alima,” she hissed. “Why?!” the word gurgled from deep within Ali's throat as he rolled off her, clutching his chest, and fell from the bed to the floor. There he lay for several minutes, attempting to call for aid, but his voice failed him. Ali gazed up in disbelief at the woman he would have made his Queen as she sat on the edge of the bed toying with one of her fingernails, pausing occasionally to see if he still lived.

When news of Ali's death reached the court, the assembly degenerated into chaos. Fights ensued, shouting matches were heard some distance away, most of the furor prompted by the idea that Layla was now regent by the law of Ali. Things continued thus for the majority of the day, until Aziz stood upon a table and announced in a most unrefined manner that his support was with Layla. As the majority heir of Lafia, dullard or not, Aziz's opinion carried weight; politics dictated maintenance of the status quo, for the time being.

Those who thought Layla nothing more than whore declared Aziz the true heir, and referred to him as the “crown prince”. It was much the same among the people, but it mattered little to Aziz and Layla who had firmly seized the throne regardless.

Layla moved quickly to ensure herself. Her first act as regent was to distribute food to the most wretched in the land, the first in a succession of social reforms that were to make her the most beloved ruler of Lafia in memory.

Jamal's degradation continued since Layla had not reascended it. She remembered him, and decided upon a course of action, arranging that she should take one of the harem girl's place when the time for his torment arrived.

When she entered the cell, Jamal hung as though lifeless from the rack, resigned to his fate, but unwilling to assist his tormentors in their endeavor. He had resolved to remain as difficult as possible some months ago when the pressure in his stones felt as though it would split them.

Layla made her way towards him, swathed only in a single layer of sheer fabric, which did little to conceal her charms. She drew close to his side, and when her body pressed against his, she let her hair fall along his chest and shoulder, and whispered into his ear, “I did not forget you,”. At once Jamal's head bolted upright, he could never forget her voice. Layla was taken aback by his countenance, he seemed a shadow of his former self, and had the features of a man at least ten years his senior. Jamal's eyes were hollow and distant, but as he gazed into Layla's, the feeling of betrayal was evident.

“You see, I am never far from you my love, I have kept my word,” she hissed, running her fingers along his neck, and then fully caressing his chest and stomach. Layla let the wrap fall from her body as she made her way to what was left of his manhood, tracing her fingers millimeters from the root of the numb stump which jutted suddenly from a crop of black pubic hair. Her full breast pressed into Jamal's side as she did so, and much to his horror, he found himself aroused. Over a year of deprivation had caused him to give leave of his senses, and despite his best efforts, he found himself clinging to the memory of the love he once fantasized existed between the two of them. Thoughts of her dance, of the love made behind the rock near the night stream filled his head, and before long, the pitiful stump that now represented his manhood jutted rudely from its patch.

Layla moved to his stones now, manipulating and squeezing them with expert skill until Jamal moaned long and low, his expression, ecstatic. “Ahhh,” cooed Layla. “They could not quell my bull, I thought as much,”. Her head moved downwards until she was able to take a ripe stone into her mouth, tugging and swirling her heavenly tongue about it. Jamal's head cocked backward as if in the throws of congress, and moaned once again. Meanwhile, Layla's hand began to make its way towards his backside.

Her finger worked its way just inside him, Jamal trembled violently as she manipulated him as expertly as she had years ago. Tenderly she leaned forward, and could be seen whispering into Jamal's ear. With her free hand, Layla then suddenly gripped his swollen stones, and her arm which trailed out of sight around Jamal's backside seemed to flex a bit. “Ahhhhhiieeeee!!!” he shrieked, as he had in the night stream, but with a desperation unknown to him then. Just then, Jamal ejaculated, and mightily at that. Long ribbons of white emission erupted from the gnarled stump between his legs, in quantities seldom if ever seen. The guards gathered about to watch from a safe distance, marveling at what they saw.

Layla kissed the quivering wreck of a man who lay beneath her, nearly unconscious. “Rest now my love, relieved, troubled no more,” As she slipped away she commanded the nearest guard to take his stones before he awoke from stupor.

Aziz she kept as her lover because of his skill and his cock, his only redeeming features. He spent many years thus, servicing her, until one day when he was well past his prime, a maid informed that Aziz had his cock up the ass of one of Ali's former brides. Layla made the maid an offer as a reward, one which she gladly accepted.

The following day, the young maid offered her ass to Aziz, which he rabidly consumed. When he was in full congress with her, she severed his cock at the root with a carving knife. The physicians rushed to the aid of Aziz, but not before he bled to death on the kitchen floor, rendering it unclean for months. Shortly afterwards, a new lady was made in the court who mysteriously inherited all of Aziz's property courtesy of some heretofore unknown kinship.

Now there was no denying Layla as Queen. Regardless, her actions had not gone entirely without note, thus was it long whispered that Layla, Queen of Lafia was a tender slayer. She had cut the very cock from men, but such was her power over their sex that they came in great torrents simply for the favour of her proximate flesh. When had there ever been a Queen, nay a woman like Layla?

End