Sailbad the Sinner

Chapter the First, in which we meet the adventurer Sailbad, and his crew of malcontents.

Oh, Allah, the merciful, the just, the beneficent, grant me wisdom to regale the masses with a tales of wonder, of deeds daring and bold and lascivious, such as may give a smile or a blush to a maiden, or even concupiscence to the dead, yet allow my clumsy tongue to avoid any semblance of misogyny or ill temper or boredom.

Listen, oh my children who are above the age of ten and eight, or whatever age of consent the local caliph has set for you, as I, a humble servant of Allah, entertain you with one of the many adventures of the mighty Sailbad the Sinner, whom Allah has favored above all other adventurers.

My story takes place in the seaside city of Quartom, ruled for many generations by the Sultans of Schwing.

Sailbad, that plucky sailor, had once again braved death itself to scale the tall garden walls of the sultan's palace, slip past the powerful eunuchs who guarded the innermost chamber of the harem girls, and plundered those beautiful women's most intimate treasurers.

He had done a thorough job of it too. Few of the hundred and eleven girls had cause to complain, since it was well known that the sultan, who was but a child of five, had little use at this point in his life for the bevy of beauties his deceased father had collected during the thirty-three and one third years of his own reign.

Subsequently, the harem was much ignored, and the women were forced to find more creative outlays for their amorous feelings.

So when a swarthy, handsome stranger, bright of smile, tall of frame, and stiff of cock, swung through the window, none had complained to the guards. In fact, they had plotted and hidden the stranger for five days, allowing him to avoid discovery by those guards and Moustacha, the grand vizier who also made secret use of the harem.

After one week of virtual non-stop erotic activity and carnal cavorting, Sailbad's member had become sluggish and unresponsive to the most luscious caresses the harem girls could bestow upon it. They would fondle, it would shudder. They would kiss lightly, it would wilt. They would whisper erotic words into Sailbad's ears, he would sit in a dazed stupor with a faint smile across his lips, but nothing else stirring.

It was in this state that Sailbad was eventually discovered by none other than the grand vizier himself. Moustacha had come to vent his sadistic lust upon the shapely buttocks of his favorite harem girl Sana, a blond woman with eyes as blue as the sea, smallish tits as firm as the vizier's convictions, and a rump just made for spanking and buggering. Hidden beneath her veil was flaxen hair and lips as red as the desert rose. Unfortunately those lips happened to be fastened around Sailbad's unresponsive prick just as the vizier entered.

Due to his erotically inebriated state, Sailbad offered no resistance when taken by the guards.

Moustacha quickly convened a council of the elders, before which Sailbad was given a short, perfunctory trial. All agreed that, although the current sultan did not use his harem as he should, protocol should none-the-less be kept. Sailbad was found guilty and sentenced.

"You shall first be-balled, then beheaded," the grand vizier proclaimed.

"I've heard of beheadings," said Sailbad, "but be-balling is new to me."

"It's like beheading, only lower," the vizier replied, with obvious glee. "In fact, it could be said that we are beheading you twice, since you think with your penis more than with your brains."

It looked dark for Sailbad. Fortunately, the news was heard by his first mate Maven, a big-titted, auburn-haired beauty with dark eyes, shapely thighs, and a propensity for both fucking and fighting, though not necessarily in that order.

She had jealousy waited while her captain had sported for most of the week. Upon hearing the news, she quickly ran to Sailbad's ship, docked in the port.

But bad news travels faster than even the swiftest feet. The crew had already heard of their captain's impending untimely demise. In honor of it, they were preparing for a hasty departure.

"Too bad. Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy," said crewmember Khadaffi upon hearing Maven's news. He then continued climbing the rigging to help unfurl the sail.

"But you haven't been paid, and only Sailbad can open the treasure chest to pay you," Maven said.

"Not true. I too can open the treasure chest without benefit of key, so I happen to know that Sailbad's money bags are as barren as my camel lovers. So, as the prophets have written, 'Them's the breaks'", quoted Sailbad's first mate Saddam, who then continued untying the ship's moorings.

"I am unfamiliar with that particular theological passage," Maven said.

"Well, if they did not write it, it was an oversight on their part which I am humble rectifying."

"Have you no loyalty? Have you no wish to be paid?"

"Look," said al-Hazred, the poet and entertainer of the crew. He gently draped his arm around Maven's shoulders. "It's not that we dislike Sailbad..."

"Camel shit!" spat Osama ben Hiding, Sailbad's second mate, from above where he helped Khadaffi.

"All right, we do hate Sailbad," al-Hazred calmly continued. "He has a letch to bed the most difficult to obtain woman, and when he finally succeeds, that woman usually has an angry lover who takes his vengeance. But does that lover kill Sailbad? No, he usually misses, killing some of us crewmen who didn't even have the opportunity to screw the lady in question."

"Don't forget the infamous Roc droppings incident," interrupted Osama.

al-Hazard continued. "Then there is the little matter of Sailbad never sharing his pussy. We help him travel to distant exotic lands, he immediately disembarks while we are still securing the ship. Then he manages to get into trouble, after he has had his, I might add, and he then requires a hasty retreat. So he runs back to the ship just as we are leaving to get our share of shagging, and we are stuck putting back to sea."

"You have to admit," called the wizened old sailor Khomeni from the forecastle, "that Sailbad is a jinx."

Shouts of approval showed that all the other crewmembers agreed, even Sailbad's brother and hanger-on Chad. This disrespect did not sit well with Maven.

"Since when has this crew suffered from a lack of sexual release? When I listen at night, I am almost deafened by the sound of hands slapping rigid poles. Then there is also the painting of the beautiful woman on the rear side of the cabin, the one with the hole cut where her vagina should be. I notice it takes two of you, one on one side poking, and usually Osama on the other, sitting, to man that device."

"One's own hand, and another sailor's bum are poor substitute for a woman's pussy," al-Hazard said, ignoring the dirty look Osama gave him.

"Am I not a woman? And has not every member of this crew availed himself of my pussy?" Maven asked.

"As a matter of fact, we've been meaning to talk to you about that," al-Hazard said. "First, we are grateful for the use of your body. But having bedded the same person over and over is the antithesis of why we became men of adventure. We crave new things, pussy included. Continually humping the same person is almost like being married. Second, you do have a propensity for treating us, how shall we say, roughly?"

Maven was about to strike him, but instead placed her hands on her hips. "My roughness comes from frustration. If any of you knew how to use your rods instead of merely shoving them inside and expecting the girl to orgasm from your lack of size, you wouldn't have this trouble."

"Did you, or did you not punch poor Ali the cabin boy in the mouth after he had spent three hours attempting to satisfy you?" al-Hazard asked.

"I spent three hours on edge. Do you know what it's like waiting for release which never comes?"

"Yes!" cried al-Hazred triumphantly. "That is why we are leaving without Sailbad."

Chapter the Second, in which an execution is not well executed.

Meanwhile, Sailbad was once again being led by his penis, but this time it was firmly grasped in the hands of an overeager, giggling eunuch. Five other men, each carrying a heavy halberd, surrounded the pirate. Sailbad, hands tied behind his back, trousers around his knees, hobbled along as best he could.



Many women wept at the thought of losing so prodigious a prick as Sailbad, while many men secretly cheered at the demise of so big a prick, having been cuckolded by the wily pirate for too many years.

The awkward procession wound round the market stalls of the dusty port city, under the waning light of a dying day. Hawkers fell silent, beggars stopped begging, and the crowd split asunder and made way.

From a discreet window overlooking the scaffold in the city center, sat the grand vizier with Sana on his lap. Two of his fingers were busy twiddling deep inside her rumphole, making the girl's thighs jiggle in a manner most stimulating on the vizier's cock through his robe. Sana's soft grunting filled the narrow room.

"I will be rid of Sailbad at last," the vizier said, giving a particularly deep thrust with his pointer finger, making Sana's eyes nearly pop out of her head and her cheeks expand in a long gasp. The vizier's hands were preternaturally cold, but none the less created heat in the harem girl's loins.

At the scaffold, Sailbad was manhandled by the eunuch to climb the steps to the dais, where a black-hooded, bare-chested, heavily muscled executioner awaited with a very large, very sharp ax which glinted like fire in the glorious rays of Allah's sunset.

"Hiya Sailbad, long time no see," the executioner said, his eyes bright beneath the hood.

"Hello Kareem. How's it going?" Sailbad responded.

"Oh, can't complain. Nobody would listen if I did."

The giggling eunuch draped Sailbad's oversized, drooping prick across the cutting stone.

"We having a bris?" the executioner asked.

"I'm to be be-balled, then beheaded," Sailbad said.

"Bummer."

"Tell me about it." Sailbad said.

A stout man wearing the ceremonial red robes of a judge made his way out of the palace. He waddled up the steps, and stood next to Sailbad.

"Sailbad, you have been judged guilty of crimes against the sultan, and sentenced to have both your testicles and your head cut off. Do you repent your crimes?"

"If I repent, will you let me go?"

"Hell no," said the judge. "We'll kill you anyway. You will just gain more mercy from Allah."

"But if Allah can read my heart, and knows whether I truly repent, what difference does it make whether I blather about it to the likes of you."

The judge paused, and pursed his lips. "It would make me feel superior."

"How about I go to meet Allah unrepentant, and tell you to go fuck yourself?"

"That would make me feel bad. I would not get to see you grovel, which is the entire purpose of giving you your last words."

"Then I must apologize for making you feel bad," Sailbad said. "I always feel a little testy when someone is ready to lop off my testes."

"Not a problem," the judge said. "Executioner, you may continue."

The executioner waved his ax in the air. He then made a few perfunctory passes. The blade shimmered against the blue-black sky. Then he paused.

"I am calling this execution on account of darkness," the executioner said, and marched off the scaffold.

"What!" screamed Moustacha from his window. "Can he do that?"

The captain of the guards leaned in. "Yes, oh vizier, he can. The executioners union is very powerful."

Sana, still gyrating upon the vizier's intrusively cold fingers, spoke. "You could place Sailbad in your private torture chamber."

A smile as radiant as a newborn sun spread across the vizier's countenance. "Yes," he said, introducing a third finger up Sana's tight oiled tush, "I think that would be most appropriate."

Meanwhile, back at Sailbad's ship, a tatterdemalion stranger approached in the gloom. He stood taller than even Osama, who was the tallest of Sailbad's crew. His beard was long, strong, while his eyes glowed with a steady light fueled by an unquenchable inner fire.

"I am Sin Saladin. I seek Sailbad the Sinner"

"Then you are out of luck, my friend, for he is currently incarcerated by the Sultan of Schwing," explained Saddam as he untangled ropes.

"Will this incarceration be of a long duration?" Saladin asked.

"Only for as long as it takes for the executioner to lop off Sailbad's head."

"Oh woe is me," said Saladin.

"No. Woe is Sailbad. You are merely tangentially screwed," replied Saddam.

"How am I to get my treasure when only Sailbad knows where it is buried?" cried Saladin.

Everyone paused in their duties to stare at the stranger. One could almost see golden drachmas falling into large golden piles within their eyes. Everyone except Saddam, who continued untangling ropes. Osama flew like an 'Ifrit from the top of the mast to the deck, where he stalked Saladin as a lion preys upon a deer.

"Tell me, oh dear brother of the faith, how come ye to know our dearest captain, and what adventures brought forth this gelt?"

Saddam snorted. "If Sailbad got a hold of this 'treasure', then only by the direct intervention of Allah's own hand does it still exist."

"It was many years ago," Saladin said, ignoring Saddam. As Saladin continued, a wistful expression covered his face. "Sailbad and I were merely another two crewmembers aboard the Ruby Yacht of the legendary captain Omar Khiyam. He and his brothers Owat-Ajer and Victor Khiyam were called the 'banes of Baghdad.'

"We sailed to the ends of the earth and up the Asscrack of Creation. There we found the island of Tora Bora, Allah be praised, a place lush with vegetation, full of game, and where fresh water pours forth as though all the angels of heaven pissed as one. Using geometry, we paced off a certain distance and buried the treasure, vowing to Allah that one should not return for it over the other."

"And why should Sailbad not have sailed hence to get the treasure?"

Saladin smiled. "The journey to Tora Bora is long and arduous, and he had no map."

"And why did you not sail to find this treasure?"

"For I had neither a boat, nor could I read the map."

"But this map...?" asked Osama.

"Is safely hidden upon my person till captain Sailbad can be found."

Chapter Three, in which Sailbad escapes, thus allowing the story to continue

Furious that the execution of Sailbad would not take place as planned, Moustacha never the less vowed that Sailbad would provide some sport for him and his guests. Thus the manly adventurer, that rose of the rough and raunchy rectum wreckers, was tied face up on the floor while scantily clad court dancers swayed and undulated above him, offering scintillating views of their private pleasure palaces.

But alas, no one had counted upon the copious copulation which the prince of privateers had undergone these last few days. At most his shaft merely shivered once when one courtesan bent so low as to caress his nose with her musky pubic hairs. Sailbad's lethargy was not easily broken.

In a foul and terrible mood, the sultan called forth several harem members who had imbibed most heavily upon Sailbad's loins, and they were indecorously spanked before the assembly. Their cries and bleats were counterpoint to the lusty laughter of the audience which thrilled at seeing shapely buttocks abused and bouncy boobs beaten.

"Now this is the life," said the vizier as he sat back, luxuriating in the feeling of Sana tonguing his testicles while she knelt before him.

"I fail to understand, grand vizier," said one of the guards. "Sailbad is totally within your power. You can do many vile, torturous, and unspeakable things to him. Why do you satiate yourself by merely rubbing his nose in the twats of various dancing girls?"

Moustacha reflected for a moment. "There are times when I feel as though I am merely a character in a pornographic story, with my actions dictated by a lascivious author. This is one of those times."

The captain of the guards interrupted Moustacha's thoughts. "Sire, there is a troop of dancing girls here to entertain you," he said.

Tiring of seeing the same horny harem members spanked and eager to see new nublie nymphettes, Moustacha gave his approval, and the group was ushered in. A strange spectacle they made, for of the four dancers, each was taller than any harem girl. All the dancers were covered from head to toe in formless burqas of pale blue. They were accompanied by a man carrying drums, who looked suspiciously like Sailbad's first mate Saddam, and a man carrying a lute who looked suspiciously like Sailbad's poet al-Hazred. But it could not be them, Moustacha reflected, because these two wore long beards that flowed down to their waists.

"You are dancers?" said the vizier with not a little disbelief.

"We are the Tali-band," explained the lute player. "We are itinerate entertainers who travel forth to regale the faithful of Allah with the one and one-half songs which are not banned by our religion."

"I have heard of you," Moustacha said. "Does not your religion eschew all song, merriment, and joy? And if this is so, does it not make for a dull show?"

"In truth we have only one song, for even that half song is banned. But our one song is the song of Allah, accept no substitutes. Let us perform for you."

With that, he began playing the lute, and the drummer began beating upon the drums with more ferocity than Moustacha had ever shown a poor slave girl's bottom. The din this duo created rivaled some of the worst screams which had ever emanated from the vizier's dungeon. While they played, the four dancing girls swayed. It was all they could do beneath the burqas.

"I think an appropriate title for this work would be the swaying of tents in the wind," Moustacha said. He did not notice that while they swayed, the dancers drew closer to Sailbad on the floor. The lute player started singing;

"Taliband, Taliband. Ruling earth as Allah planned.

"Banning joy, and also fun. When your laughs are anguished cries You'll know our work done."

"Could you maybe rub your feet, or even kick that naked fellow on the floor?" Moustacha asked. "It would be in keeping with the evening's entertainment motif."

The bouncing blue burquas complied with the vizier's request, and soon Sailbad's body was completely obscured from view. The lutist continued:

"Do not bother thinking We will tell you what to do. Women are all evil, little boys you can still screw.

"Anyone who says our theology is flawed will find that they are facing the might of our jihad."

The lutist sang the refrain once more, then stopped.

Realizing protocol demanded some sort of reaction, Moustacha searched for a suitable response. "That was.... spiritual?"

"Thank you, oh kind vizier. May Allah smile down upon you. Now we have but one request. In exchange for enjoying our humble music, we ask you to offer special prayers for Allah. Right now."

Confused, Moustacha, then the rest of the courtiers did so, kneeling upon rugs on the floor and bowing three times to show their devotion amidst their debaucheries. When they finally arose from their prayers, the dancers were gone. As was Sailbad.

"What!" roared Moustacha. "I have been duped!"

"Oh great and glorious vizier," said the captain of the guards. "See what happens when you try to gain cheap legitimacy by appeasing religious zealots."

Back at Sailbad's boat, the now fully clothed captain bestowed his own blessings upon his brave crew.

"Thank you, my brothers, for saving my humble hindquarters," he said.

"Think nothing of it, oh brother of the faith," said Osama.

Chapter four, in which a recount is recounted

"Hmm," said Sailbad, eyeing Osama suspiciously. "I have noticed that whenever you call someone 'brother of the faith', you are usually trying to dupe them."

"My captain, how could you say such a terrible thing?" Osama said. "Why, just last night I had a dream. You and I were in Paradise, naked, and luxuriating in Allah's glory. That was when a bevy of seventy-two virgins came to us. And you said, 'Let us be away, Osama, for these paltry women interest me not.' And so we left. Then you changed into a camel, the biggest camel I have ever seen, and bit me upon the thigh. That is when I said, 'Sailbad, do not be so frisky...'"

Eying his second mate with deepening suspicion, Sailbad looked to the other crewmembers, and then at the stranger who stood at the edge of the crowd.

"It suddenly dawns on me that you may have had ulterior motives to effect my rescue," Sailbad said.

"Indeed," said Maven. "They wish you to take them to your buried treasure."

Sailbad reflected for a moment. "The only time I recall burying treasure is when I slide my family jewels into the willing twat of a woman."

The stranger Sim Saladin strode forth. "Oh my brother. How soon you forget." Saladin made a few gestures with his fingers, and the pupils of Sailbad's eyes grew wide.

"Do you not recall the wonderful wenches of Tora Bora? Me and you? And a dog named Boo?" Saladin asked.

"Oh yes. Tora Bora. And Boo. How could I have forgotten Boo."

"We were thinking that, since you owe us, it would be nice to sail to this Tora Bora, dig up this treasure, and finally be paid," Osama said.

"This would be nice," Sailbad said. "But we are not going to do it."

"Why in the name of Allah not?"

"Because the journey to Tora Bora, as any sailor worth his salt knows, is perilous, fraught with danger, and just an all around bad idea. Do you not know that it lies up the Asscrack of Creation?"

"Such has already been told to us. But when has a little difficulty like that stopped us before, ehhh?" asked Osama.

"Since I said so."

"I say you have no sense," Osama said, an edge sharper than a scimitar entering his voice. "I also say that we shall sail."

"I was elected captain of this vessel!" Sailbad angrily replied.

"Yes! And your brother counted the votes!" Osama spat back.

"'Tis true, Sailbad," explained Saddam in a calm manner. "While each of us did agree to inscribe either your or Osama's name upon a fig, we entrusted those figs to the care of your brother Chad. However, his eating some figs while tabulating the results gave us cause for concern."

"And then, when we demanded a recount, we found he had eaten them all!" Osama yelled. "I should be captain, and I will not be denied!"

"Very well," Sailbad said. "I shall make a decree. I hereby decree that Osama shall no longer be denied. All those doing so, will now cease. Will that please you?"

"Very much," said Osama. "Now, can I be captain?"

"Go fuck yourself," replied Sailbad. "As for you, dear Saladin, I do not remember what we buried at Tora Bora, for we must have been very, very drunk."

"So it could be a chest of gold," theorized Khadaffi

"Or a throne of silver!" hypothesized Khomeni.

"Or a couple of stools laid by two drunken sailors," said Sailbad. "Nay, we shall not sail. I am grateful, but not gullible."

"Brothers, brothers! Please!" interjected Saddam. "Do not let harsh words pass between us. For many paragraphs have passed without reference to the carnal bliss which was originally promised at the start of this story. Let us settle our differences so we may concentrate on more pleasurable pursuits."

"I agree," said Saladin, drawing his scimitar and laying the blade to Sailbad's throat. "I also grieve heartily for the friendship we once had, Sailbad. But now I must prevail upon the supreme judge to recount that aforementioned vote. I suspect fortune now favors Osama."

And so Sailbad and Maven, who did not wish to sail on so silly a voyage either, were tied in the hold.

Chapter five, in which a plot point is purposefully yet cunningly divulged

Little did Osama suspect the travails that awaited him through the grace of Allah, for indeed the map to the island was cunningly hidden on Saladin's person. Alas, it was directly upon his person, peeking out at the word from beneath the hair of Saladin's butt cheeks. Even after Osama had personally shaved off the obstructing hair, he was hard pressed to read it. In fact, Osama continually readjusted himself beneath his robe as he stared intently at the orbs holding the map.

After Saladin felt one breath too many across he freshly shaven hindquarters, he looked back at Osama and asked "Are you nearsighted? For you draw dreadfully close to read my map."

"There are strange writings which need deciphering," replied Osama, busying himself with maps which, to his chagrin, he found he held upside down.

"But you can sail there?"

"It will be child's play," boasted Osama. "We sail straight south till we hit the Asscrack of Creation. I personally have been in tighter spots than this."

"Of that, I have no doubt."

"Now, you must excuse me. There are some very important duties I have to perform."

"Is it prayer time again already?" Saladin asked.

"No. It is time for the hole on the side of the cabin to be manned."

Meanwhile, back in Quartom, Moustacha was still irate.

"He shall not avoid my vengeance that easily," the vizier decreed. "Ready the swiftest ship in our fleet. Sailbad may cross the oceans, sail the sees, paddle across puddles, settle down, buy a farm, raise a crop, marry a woman, have children, and die an old man, but he will still answer to me!"

"But vizier, it is a vast sea," said one of his advisors. "We must have some idea of where he is going to make at least a half-vast search."

And so the captain of the guards dispatched to search for information. In a while he was able to report to Moustacha that, before the crew had sailed, they were overheard quarreling loudly over sailing to a place called Tora Bora with a ferocious dog.

"Aha! We have them now!" cried the vizier with glee. "Make ready my ship to sail to Tora Bora."

Upon saying this, all the courtiers and advisors blanched.

"Why does the mere mention of this place make grown men shudder like the freshly spanked buttocks of a harem girl?"

"The city of Kwarter on the island of Tora Bora was used by the evil magician Sodoman as a base for his magic. Only the army of 'Ifrit, empowered by the word of Allah Himself kept that foul magician from implementing his fell plans. But wild and powerful magic still resides there. Djinn guard it with perpetual fog, and great and terrible obstacles await those who try to venture into the cities which were ruined even before Allah created human beings."

"So, what is your point?" Moustacha asked.

Chapter Six, in which the poet al-Hazred is driven mad

During their stay in the hold of his ship, Sailbad reflected on many things. Finally he spoke his mind to Maven.

"You know, I do not remember burying any treasure at any time during my career," he said.

"That is good, for it is difficult to make money off buried loot," Maven said. "For as the prophets have written, 'Allah saves, but Abraham invests.'"

"What is more," Sailbad continued. "I do not ever recall sailing with any Sim Saladin. Nor do I recall setting eyes on him before. I believe we have been ensorcelled."

Meanwhile, half the crewmembers on the ship were remembering why they had chosen to not elect Osama, as that worthy individual instituted a strict policy of prayer, fasting, and forced fornication with the hole in the side of the cabin. While Osama's rule was harsh, they also chaffed at Saladin's instructions, which he enforced by the point of his blade. Saladin was particularly intent upon having the lookout position manned at all times, and demanded that the lookout remain awake.

After many days of sailing in the westerly direction, when Khadaffi stood in the crows nest, he cried out that he saw land. The crew rushed to the prow.

In the distance appeared two large, smooth mounds, looming larger and larger as the ship neared. By the third day of travel two things became apparent. The first was that those hillocks were of a vast size. The second was that, despite their vastness, they still resembled a pair of shapely buttocks thrust straight out of the water with a thin trickle of water parting those mighty cheeks.

"Behold," said Saladin as the ship neared the mountains rearing up from the ocean's depths. "It is the Asscrack of Creation."

"It is magnificent," agreed Osama.

"They are beautiful," said al-Hazard. "Like two fat, female hillocks."

Saladin then took a ball of wax from his workshop that Sailbad's former cabin. He gave everyone a measure of the white tallow, and bade them to put it in their ears. "For there are terrible monsters which prowl these shores. Their cries alone will destroy you. You must keep alert."

"We will, but what will you be doing?" said Khomeni.

"I will be creating a magic ointment to keep the cheeks from scrunching up while we are between them," Saladin replied, stifling a yawn.

On the sixth day, they drew close enough to see the waves queerly lapping against the sides of the mighty mounds. It was then that the crew made another startling discovery. Beautiful mermaids prowled the waters, each more beautiful than the next. Their tails were long and sinuous, covered with blue-green scales the color of tropical water near a deserted beach on a sunny day. Their upper chests and heads were female. In their long tresses were reflected all the hues of the rainbow. They cavorted within the waves, waving to the aroused sailors who crowded the decks.

"Back! Away from the sides, my brothers!" cried Osama. "These are evil creatures who will cause us to stray from the true path."

As the crew was used to such utterances from Osama, they were prepared to ignore him. They were not prepared to ignore the lightning swift scimitar of Saladin, who agreed with Osama.

With heavy hearts, the crew toiled on for three more days, not daring to look over the side. Finally al-Hazred could stand it no longer. He threw down his mop and grabbed a hold of the balustrade. The mermaids were still there, twiddling and playing with themselves, splashing and frolicking in the wake of the ship.

"I love you!" he called down to one brunette mermaid. "And I love you too!" he called out to another with golden hair. "And you. And you!"

Running to the wheel, where Khomeni steered, al-Hazred yelled "Stop the boat!"

"What?" said Khomeni, cupping his hand to his was stoppened ear.

"I said stop the boat!"

"I can't hear you!"

"STOP THE BOAT!"

"WHAT?!"

"Son of an infidel! Why are we not stopping?" cried al-Hazred in exasperation, running back to the ship's side. "There are mermaids sporting in the waves, and Allah has seen fit to give them bubbies so big they can be used for flotation. And yet we do not stop!"

Sensing something of importance was happening, the crew looked about. Osama started walking towards the poet.

"Beware, al-Hazred, for they are not what they seem," Osama said. "They appear in mortal guise, but they are actually the daughters of al-Jazeera, and as such serve the dark gods. They shall call forth your soul so they can feast upon its fear. Then you shall be left alone and broken in the desert, forever uttering terrible poetry."

"Allah damn it! You are all assholes! You suck! You all suck dead camel dick!" cried al-Hazred with such passion spittle issued from his mouth. He then climbed atop the railing and dove into the choppy waves to make a desperate swim to the Asscrack of Creation.

"Meshugina," said Osama.

Chapter Seven, in which the groping fog attempts to beat off the crew

Fog, thicker than a citadel wall, crushed in upon the ship. One could not see the bow from the stern. It slithered into every nook and cranny of the boat, and groped into every fold of the crew's clothes.

There was muttering and whispering amongst the men. Chad reported seeing a feminine figure, with pale hair and a paler countenance and hollow eyes, peering through one of the portholes.

When they could stand no more of the preternatural gray, a contingent of crewmen made their way to Saladin's cabin.

Standing in the doorway, turbans in hand, they beseeched Saladin to do something.

"Do not fear," said their new leader. "This fog is a manifestation of the djinn, who use it to cloak the island of Tora Bora from unworthy eyes. Its very presence means we are close to our objective."

For another day the stalwart sailors pressed on. The fog continued to thicken. It penetrated everything and everywhere. Chinks, crannies, nooks, naves, noses, eyes. Everything looked as though concealed from view by a gray gauze. All agreed that it was an unnatural fog. They could also feel a presence within the fog, watching them.

Then presence began to make itself physical. Saddam nearly fell out of the rigging during his watch when something which felt like a preternaturally cold tongue bathed his ballocks.

Khadaffi complained that a ghostly hand had rubbed his ballocks. When he had turned to rebuke Osama, he found himself quite alone, though the fog bore a strange resemblance of a white-clad lady with long, gray hair and empty eyes like those of a hollowed skull. Despite the reassurances of Saladin, the crew began fretting.

Khomeni found himself goosed so thoroughly it took several minutes for him to remove his pants from his anus. And Osama was knocked sputtering to the deck by what felt like a ghostly pair of bosoms walloping him in the face.

When they could stand no more of the preternatural groping and goosing, yet another contingent marched upon Saladin's cabin, turbans in hand.

"This presence would be the djinn Noirotique," said Saladin. "Fear her not, for she merely seeks someone who can warm her frosty cooch. Over the years, she has developed a taste for human sex."

"That may be so," said Khomeni, "but we tire of pulling our pants out of our asscracks, where ghostly fingers push them. And we fear the ethereal hands which lewdly caress our bodies against our will.'

"And well you should," said Saladin. "Those foolhardy enough to try and mate with her come away with dicks both sore and frost burned. But if you ignore her, she is harmless."

The crewmen did not believe this, and only further promises by Saladin to create some sort of elixir to alleviate the problem kept them from outright mutiny.

Onward they sailed, the fog clutching the ship to its bosom, creeping further into the very passages of the ship until it came to the locked storage room door, behind which Sailbad and Maven lay captive.

Sailbad awoke from a troubled sleep by a feeling of being watched. Since Ali had already fed them for the day, no one else was expected. In the dim light he was just able to perceive the form of a woman, shapely built, with long gray tresses flowing about her shoulders and bosom.

"Greetings, oh most beautiful of Allah's flowers," said Sailbad. "To whom do I owe the pleasure?"

The figure looked at the captain with empty, hollow sockets. Then she knelt down beside Sailbad, her fingers preying upon his breeches. These were soon peeled down to his thighs. Ghostly palms pressed and handled Sailbad's cock. Despite the horror of the situation, Sailbad felt himself growing erect. A smile played about the creature's ghostly countenance. Then its head bent down and it began to suckle.

To Sailbad it felt as thought fiery ice lathered the head of his prick, and he was soon at a boiling point.

"We could do this better if I had my hands untied," he said.

The 'Ifriteh ignored him. When his penis was engorged enough, she mounted him. If his prick was both pleased and frosted before, it was nothing compared to the frosty heat of the lady's ghostly vagina, which felt like a glacier covering a volcano. She rode Sailbad as no woman had ever done before, silently gasping as Sailbad bucked his hips. With a low groan, Sailbad ejaculated deeply into the misty twat.

The 'Ifriteh bent low and kissed Sailbad. A mere pass of her fingers caused the knots of his fetters to untie. She then floated serenely, with a smile across her face, through the door.

Once free, Sailbad released Maven. As these two rubbed their limbs to restore circulation, they heard the latch on the door let go, and saw the now-unlocked door open a crack.

"Sailbad, how did you set yourself free?" Maven asked.

"Do not ask so many questions," Sailbad said, peering through the crack at the misty hallway beyond. He spied Saddam sneaking down the stairs from the upper deck. The first mate's hands were full of daggers, and he looked about apprehensively, as though fearing someone would see him, before entering his own cabin.

Maven and Sailbad slipped from the storage room towards Saddam's quarters. There Maven opened the door. Saddam spotted them, but was silenced by the flat of Maven's hand smacking against his windpipe. While he gasped upon the floor, Maven and Sailbad searched the room. They found eighteen scimitars, ten daggers, four and twenty bows, innumerable arrows, and various vials of magic elixirs.

"What, were you planning to take over the ship?" Sailbad asked.

"Oh no, no, no," said Saddam. "I merely needed them for protection. In this strange and woolly world created by Allah, you can never be too careful."

Both Maven and Sailbad took a scimitar apiece. Looking back at the door, Sailbad saw the misty lady beckoning him.

"Come along, Maven. And take Saddam too. If he makes a noise, kill him."

"Me? Make a noise?" said Saddam. "Surely captain, you must realize that this cache of weapons was actually prepared for the eventuality of your escape."

"If that is true, why did you frown upon seeing us?"

"I am always smiling when I see you," Saddam said. "Even if I do not smile on the outside, know that I do indeed smile within."

The three made their way to the upper deck. Thanks to the power of the 'Ifriteh, the fog swirled tightly about them, shielding them from the eyes and ears of the other crewmembers.

The trio lowered a boat to the choppy sea below, and, with guidance from the spirit, traveled out in the fog.

Chapter Eight, in which a problem is licked, and we finally get to the good parts

By the next morning the veil of fog mysteriously lifted, and the sun broke through the clouds, revealing a day of splendor such as Allah had not created since forming humans.

Like men awaking from a terrible dream, the crew stumbled to the deck, their eyes blinking from the unaccustomed light.

"Saladin! Saladin! You have done it!" they cried.

Saladin exited his cabin and paused for a second, staring at the sun. "Of course I have," he finally said.

"Land ho!" cried Khadaffi.

All the crew turned to the right, and beheld incredible sight which had hitherto been hidden from their view. It was the ancient port of Khwarter, guarded by a colossal statue. As tall as twenty men, it straddled across the waterway, resplendent in the golden rays of the rising sun. A laurel wreathed the giant's head, and an arrogant sneer was chiseled upon his lips, as if to say "Woe be the fools who molest my city."

His hands, large of aspect, toyed with his prick, and a stream of water sprayed forth from that erect organ, a great fountain upon the sea.

"Blasphemy!" Spat Osama. "That prick rivals Allah's! It rears up to the sky, mocking the almighty!"

"Easy, Osama, easy. This statue was erected as a warning from Allah," Saladin said. "This island is fraught with danger. Speaking of which, I need several volunteers to scout for traps. And by volunteers, I of course mean our captives."

Chad and Khomeni were dispatched to collect them, but returned in a few minutes, faces red and panting.

"Sailbad and Maven have escaped!" Chad said.

"We also fear that Saddam has joined them," Khomeni added.

"That is unfortunate, but somehow expected," Saladin said. "There is nothing for it but for us to follow him."

While this discussion had taken place, Sailbad, Maven and Saddam had used their lead to good opportunity. They had landed their small row boat on a shore filled with golden sand, smooth as Saddam's demeanor, and untouched by human feet. Not far from their landing spot lay a narrow though overgrown path into the dense jungle.

They followed this path until it ended at the entrance to a mighty cave. The sides of the entrance were decorated with pillars as thick as a man's body, and each pillar had once possessed ornate and intricate carvings chiseled into the very rock, but now nearly erased by sun, wind and rain.

Maven, Sailbad and Saddam entered the inky darkness, lit by occasional torches upon the walls.

A short stumbling walk through a tunnel hewn into the solid rock brought them to a vast cavern, the center of which was filled by a circular well. A knee-high wall created of smaller stones surrounded the well. The water of the well was blacker than night, its brackish surface was lit by the smoldering light of three and twenty torches on the walls surrounding it.

Sitting on the stone wall was a human figure, cloaked from head to ankle in a black cloth. Shapely bulges in the chest area convinced the three that the figure was female.

"Good thing Osama is not here," said Saddam. "Otherwise he would have her thrashed for showing her feet."

"Why has he never bothered me?" asked Maven.

"Because Osama has convinced himself that you are a strangely formed boy," Sailbad explained. "Of course, it does help that Khadaffi likes to wear your underclothes when you are not around."

"What!" cried Maven. She stopped when she saw the seated figure at the well raised an arm. A feminine hand slid out, palm up, its pointer finger first beckoning to the trio, then, as they approached, pointing toward words engraved in a smooth stone by her feet:

"Revelations will be stunning with a linguist oh so cunning. You had better ask real quick for this problem to be licked."

"What could this mean?" Sailbad asked.

"A riddle of some sort to test our worthiness?" asked Saddam

The feminine hand set itself atop the wall.

"Look for key words," suggested Maven.

"Linguist. Cunning. Lick. Something is coming. I can just feel it on the tip of my tongue," said Sailbad.

The feminine fingers began drumming impatiently on the wall.

"I don't suppose we could have a hint?" Sailbad asked.

The fingers began weaving patterns of power through the air. Where the fingers had flowed, eerie blue sparks followed, until the air of the very cavern was filled with energy like that of an impending thunderstorm.

"Ah! I have it!" cried Maven. "Oh feminine spirit of the well, can Saddam lick you out?"

The fingers stopped weaving, instead dropping to the cloaked lap where they were joined by fingers from the other hand. Both hands parted the cloak, revealing two beautiful thighs framing a brown-furred sporran of such beauty that even Maven's mouth watered at the thought of tasting it, and Maven had never before been so inclined.

Giggling like a naughty young boy, Saddam knelt before the cunny and began tonguing till the labia grew hot and aroused, glistening with a mixture of saliva, sweat, and womanly dew. The female spirit grabbed a hold of Saddam's ears, and thrust against his mouth. She arched her back and threw back her head as if to moan.

The only sound which could be heard was a voice with the aspect of gravel clattering.

"I am the guardian of the well. Heed me, for to cross into Kwarter, the stronghold of the ancients, you must prove yourself worthy," it said.

"I am ready, ancient one," responded Sailbad, looking around for the source. The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.

"If you fail to answer my questions, small djinns shall infest your bowels, heating your shit till it is hotter than the sun, singing your ballocks until you are struck impotent. Despite this, your wives shall continue bearing boys, and all your sons shall become the finest harem girls in Baghdad."

"I am not afraid."

"Let us begin, then. What is the strongest force in the universe?"

"Stupidity."

"If a man says he understands women, what is he?"

"Drunk."

"If a woman says she understands men, what is she?"

"Mistaken."

"What foul wind only blows one person any good?"

"A fart."

"Why do women always trek to the bathroom in groups?"

Sailbad paused. "I do not know," he reluctantly admitted.

"Pity, you were doing so well. I'd hoped you would know the answer to that last one, for I do not."

"So do we get in?" Sailbad asked.

"Of course. I merely slipped that last one in on a lark," said the 'Ifrit. "Now, before you go, I must offer some sage advice. First, always watch your money during investment bubbles. Second, always wear a turban in inclement weather. And third, and most importantly, to follow the right path of Allah, you must go left when you come across halls of the labyrinth."

With that, the feminine hands gripped Saddam's nose, choking off his breathing. As the pirate fell back, gasping for breath and licking from his lips the delicate essence of the spirit, the legs closed, and the robes were drawn over the thighs. All was as they had first seen the room, except that now a door hollowed out of the rock shimmered into existence at the far end of the room.

"We thank you, oh spirit," Sailbad said as he hurriedly made his way out, Maven and Saddam in tow, the latter reluctantly.

Chapter Nine, in which Sailbad and Saddam become brothers to the weasel, and bad puns abound

Beyond a bend in the hallway off of the room of the well, stood two giants. They were as tall as trees, simply clad in smelly loincloths of fur. They were shaved bald, and each possessed one great, blood-shot eye in the middle of their foreheads. Muscles rippled across their smooth chests. Both brandished stout clubs of wood.

They had not spotted the trio of adventurers, for they were busy comparing their nasal offerings atop their index fingers.

"Such is the woe which befalls all sentries who are kept on duty for too long," said Maven.

"I believe one of Saddam's elixirs is called for," said Sailbad.

"I have just the one, captain," said Saddam, reaching into his pack and extracting a delicate phial of robin egg-blue sealed with the blood-red mark of Sodoman the magician. "This little number shall make their blood boil to steam within their veins."

Saddam threw the bottle down the hallway, where it broke. The noise startled the creatures. As they growled and looked about, they were swiftly enveloped in a dark green cloud emanating from the broken phial. As this cloud dissipated, it could be seen that the creatures had dropped their wooden clubs in order to better grasp clubs of another sort which reared like angry, throbbing weapons from their groins, lifting their loincloths like skirts.

"Ye Allah!" exclaimed Maven.

"Their blood is definitely boiling," said Sailbad. "But not in a way I'd care to face. There is nothing for it but to fight them. On the count of three, we shall charge them together."

And so Sailbad counted to three. But when he reached the appointed number, neither he nor Saddam leapt forward. Only the battle-ready Maven heeded the call. The two men admired her plump pumping buttocks as she flew down the hall.

"She's a big, yet tight girl," Sailbad said. "She can lick them in no time."

Maven had drawn her sword and was ready to strike, when she was caught full in the face by a great gout of sticky spunk. Shocked and now off balance, she dropped her sword and tried to clear her eyes of the viscous fluid when the two giants were upon her. She fought valiantly, but was quickly overcome, and even more quickly skewered both fore and aft by the gruesome pair.

"Sailbad, he-gulp!" was all she managed to utter before her cry was pushed back into her throat by giant cock.

Saddam and Sailbad waited a few moments as the rutting giants took their toll on Maven, who was bucked to and fro, teats and butt cheeks wiggling most salaciously as she was rocked between their bodies. Since the larger duo was occupied, the smaller pair was able to pass unmolested. They ignored the dirty looks Maven shot them as gigantic cock was forced up her quim and down her throat.

Her choked protests followed them accusingly as they started running away.

In fact they ran for ten minutes, only ceasing when a sudden tingling took a hold of their loins.

"I like it, yet I do not," said Saddam.

The walked forward slowly, when suddenly they both fell, their dicks spasming inside their trousers, coating the insides with sticky white.

"I believe we have just come across the Labyrinth," Sailbad managed to gasp.

Indeed, from what they could see in the torchlight, four main passages diverged. The first was the one they had just exited. Another went to the left, the other to the right, and a third went straight ahead. Off of each hallway were innumerable doors.

"Now what did that oracle say?" wondered Sailbad. "In the excitement I seem to have forgotten."

"I think the crux of it was to go to the left. Right?" asked Saddam.

"That is what I'm asking you. Left, or right?"

Despite their best efforts, they could not agree. So they compromised and went straight forward, ignoring the ominous hissing which grew louder with every step they trod.

Chapter Ten, in which Sailbad and Saddam's adventure begins to suck, and violence is added to the sex

"You know," said Saddam, arms akimbo behind his head. "Of all the ways to die, this is one of the more pleasurable ones."

With that, his eyes closed, his mouth set in a grimace of pain mixed with ecstasy, and his body was wracked with yet another orgasm.

"I know what you mean," Sailbad replied, tousling the hair of the head affixed to his own groin.

The cave of the lamias had been easy to enter. But the pair were finding it difficult to leave.

The duo had entered a large hall filled with hissing as though every serpent slithering across the face of the earth had a voice in this place. Looking about, they were startled when two feminine yet sibilant voices accosted them. Not far away two very comely ladies basked upon a rock, watching them with their chins gently cupped on their palms, and smirks upon their lips. Greenish hair flowed gently about their pale skin to their shoulders, caressing the tops of their breasts, which were hidden behind the rock.

They had flattered the two sailors, ultimately offering to relieve their frustrations orally. Being men, Sailbad and Saddam had not thought to look a gift of fellatio in the mouth. But once their glans had been enveloped tightly by the pair of willing mouths, the two men made the shocking discovery that the ladies' lower bodies were serpentine.

"However shall we screw them?" Saddam thought to ask before nearly being knocked unconscious with his first orgasm. Sailbad managed better, freeing his sword just as his first orgasm sucked the strength from him.

Now the pair lay upon the rocky floor, entwined within the python thick and very strong tails of the lamias, growing weaker and weaker with every passing orgasm.

Sailbad was barely able to hear the footfalls coming down the hall leading to the pit. Despite the fact that his sword lay nearby, he was already too depleted of energy to reach for it.

He looked up to see the form of Maven. Sailbad briefly wondered if he would have been better off being discovered by Osama and the crewmembers.

Beneath a layer of oily spunk, Maven's face was set in a scowl. Her fiery red hair was matted to her head like a dark skullcap, thanks to the essences of the two giants she had engaged in carnal combat. Lips, eyebrows, hair bangs, the top of her breasts and her thighs were covered with white, sticky gunk.

But the sword Maven held in her hand was very clean.

"Sailbad," she said. "We need to talk about our relationship."

"Maven dearest, nothing would delight me more. But Saddam and I are in a bit of a fix right now."

"Did you not leave me in a 'bit of a fix'?"

"Perhaps, but we thought you were martyring yourself on our behalf."

Maven glared at the pirate.

"Have you any concept of being manhandled against your will?" she said.

"I can guess," Sailbad said, gritting his teeth as another orgasm shot through his body, weakening him while feeding the lamia.

"It will take me weeks to wash this gunk off my body," Maven said. "I will not even speak of my hair. Even now I feel some creeping from my poor mistreated bum."

"Please," said the lamia feasting upon Sailbad. "We are trying to eat."

"I have something you can eat," Maven replied, slashing with her sword and smiting in the neck the vixen suckling upon Sailbad's schlong. Both Sailbad and the lamia shrieked. As their cries echoed down the long hallway, they were answered by an increased hissing.

Sailbad checked himself to see that he had suffered no ill effect from Maven's stroke, thanking Allah profusely when he discovered little Sailbad was still intact.

Saddam was trying to roll away from the lamia who had been feasting upon him. Seeing her sister's demise, this lamia sought to disentangle herself, hissing like a cobra, her hair spread out like a hood behind her, her breasts bouncing above her serpentine waist.

Maven faced the lamia, using her sword to deflect a wad of spittle and semen the lamia spat at her. The lamia made to bit with her sharp fangs, but Maven's blade was swifter, and decapitated the serpent lady.

The trio caught their breathes as the hissing grew louder.

"How did you think to find us?" Sailbad managed to pant.

"I followed the one way I knew was absolutely incorrect," Maven said. "But we must now flee sideways, for the way ahead will be blocked by angry lamias, and our former crewmates must be scuffling in the dark behind us."

Chapter Eleven, in which Osama and Saladin face exactly the same perils

Meanwhile, Sailbad's former crew was now stymied in the room of the well.

"Khomeni! Lick!" commanded Saladin.

The wizened little sailor gave a dirty look to the warrior, his gnarled fingers stroking his whitened whiskers.

"But I will muss my beard," he whined.

"You can tongue twat," said Saladin, drawing his blade. "Or you can suck scimitar. The choice is yours."

With that, Khomeni suddenly found he had a voracious appetite for this strange woman's lower lips. It took a while, but the woman's hips finally began gyrating, and a great hollow voice boomed from all around the well:

"I am the oracle of the well and... holy shit! I never expected to see you again."

"Never mind that," Saladin said. "What is with this new path? Who has dared to redecorate while I was away?"

"Allah himself decreed these changes to keep the unwary and unwise from using and abusing the magic of this place, so do not get torqued with me. Now, also by Allah's decree I must start with a boiler plate disclaimer. To cross into Kwarter, the stronghold of the ancients, you must prove yourself worthy."

"Yes, yes, we are ready," said Saladin impatiently.

"If you fail to answer my questions, your backsides will be ravaged by a near-sighted, love-struck camel, and while you are lying on the ground recovering from this, a fat smelly eunuch shall mistake your faces for cushions."

"Thrilling," said Saladin.

"What is the strongest force in the universe?"

"The will of Allah," said Saladin

"If a man says he understands women, what is he?"

"Wasting his time!" Osama interrupted.

"If a woman says she understands men, what is she?"

"Beaten till she recognizes the impertinence of her ways!" Osama said.

"What foul wind only blows one person any good?"

"Osama's breath," said Saladin, adding "Is this going to take long?"

"Not really," the 'Ifrit said. "You've only answered two of the four questions with anything resembling a correct answers."

"Yes, but in your introductory preamble, you merely said we had to answer the questions. Correctness was never an issue," argued Saladin.

"Damn, you're a smart one. But since only two of the four were right, you must forfeit something."

With that, Khomeni's head was swiftly enveloped in the vagina he was licking. A muffled yelling was heard as his arms waved about between the enclosing thighs, and his legs kicked even as the female leaned backwards, causing herself and the crewman to splash into the well. The waters of the well roiled violently. Slowly they stilled until they moved no more.

"What a kurve!" exclaimed Osama. "Brother Khomeni martyred himself for us, though, as the prophets say 'Better him than me.'"

"Let us pray to Allah that he is rewarded with seventy-two virgins," Khadaffi said.

"I suspect he will have little taste for them," Saladin responded.

The magician felt about in his pack, finally withdrawing a brazier into which he dropped some incense. Setting the incense alight with a magically produced flame, Saladin uttered several incantations for causing illusions to melt away. When the final syllable of the final incantation echoed off the wall, a doorway appeared. Osama and Saladin then herded the remainder of the crew through the door and down the ancient hallway beyond.

They had not trekked far when Khadaffi made an unsettling discovery. "There are strange, sticky white puddles upon the floor," he said.

Osama bent down, touched one such puddle with his finger, and tasted it. "'Tis sperm," he declared. "Possibly from a giant. Freshly spilt too."

"I fear we near the hall of the twin lions of the loins," Saladin said. "Khadaffi, go scout ahead."

Khadaffi made to protest, but the gleam in Saladin's eyes, which matched that of the drawn scimitar, made the sailor reassess his position. He crept forward slowly and quietly towards the bend in the hallway.

He was not quiet enough. A huge hand grabbed him by the back of his neck. He yelped as another huge hand began removing his trousers even before he disappeared around the curve.

Strange muffled shrieks and moans and growls made their way down the hall from beyond the bend. The crewmen looked at each other uneasily.

"We go forward," Saladin declared, his unsheathed scimitar flickering in the torchlight.

When the group rounded the curve themselves, they found the pair of giants absorbed in their diversion of raping Khadaffi, one aft, the other fore.

"Allah have mercy!" cried Chad.

"He too has martyred himself for our cause," declared Saladin. "Though the giants undress him, may Allah bless him." The magician then forced the men to go around the rutting trio.

Walking quickly, with more than a few glances back to guard against rearwards attacks, the crew came across the halls of the labyrinth.

Saladin was the swiftest to recover. He paused as he considered the differing directions. Finally he spoke to Ali.

"Cabin boy, you will travel down this rightward passage."

The terrified Ali could do nothing but comply. They watched as the cabin boy's light flickered until it was swallowed by the darkness. That was when a blood curdling scream dimly echoed back to them.

"Nope, that is not the way," said Saladin. "You, Chad, travel down this forward path."

"Oh great and glorious master, surely you do not mean the one from which the hideous hissing and shrieking sounds emanate?" asked Chad.

"That is precisely the way I mean," Saladin said, gesturing towards that direction with his sword.

Chad complied, and soon his torch was swallowed by the dark. Soon after that, another scream dimly echoed from that hallway as well.

"Well fuck me," said Saladin. "I guess that was not the way either. That just leaves this one last way."

"And only two of us," Osama said. "Which is fortunate, as the narrator has been lazy in identifying exactly how many people staff our pirate ship."

"Indeed. I often wondered how you conquered so many ships with so few crewmembers," Saladin said. "But, be that as it may, let us journey to the left."

Chapter Twelve, in which the ruler shall sit uneasily

Blue tiles, inlaid with white ones, spread throughout the vast chamber. Two rows of columns, each capable of hiding a fully-grown elephant, marched down the center of the floor. Torches flickered and smoldered along these towering columns, their smoky tendrils drifting upwards, becoming lost in the inky shadows which hid the ceiling. The room was vast, hollow, and terrible in its isolation.

At the far side of the room sat a dais, raised some four feet from the floor. Atop this dais sat a magnificently carved throne, inset with diamonds, gold, pearls and opals. Rich leopard skins were its cushions.

In the middle of the seat of this throne sat a skinny, short column of pure silver. Light bounced from its surface like rays from a setting sun breaking through the clouds after a heavy storm. Despite Saladin's best efforts, he was unable to move that column.

It was then he spied an inscription carved in the wood atop the throne:

Great power can be had if wanted very bad But to win it fair and square one must sit upon this chair

"Son of an infidel!" exclaimed Saladin. "This is not something I expected."

Confused, Osama looked about. There seemed to be nothing else in the room except the throne.

"Saladin, I hate to be a nudnik, but where is the rest of the treasure?" he finally asked.

"This is the treasure," Saladin said.

"Don't get me wrong, oh great magician and brother of the faith. This is a most beautiful throne, but surely this is not the only treasure contained within this room?"

"It is the ultimate power which comes with the throne which is the ultimate treasure."

"Why should you be interested in that?"

"Because I am Sodoman the Great. I made that damned throne. I poured my power into it, but was vanquished before I could use it. And now I must thank you for helping me reclaim my rightful place."

"Son of the infidel! You mean we were duped?" said Osama. "I suppose I should stop you."

"That would be unwise." Here Saladin, now Sodoman, eyed the final hurdle uneasily. "But I am now struck by the thought that I do not necessarily want my power back that badly," he said.

"I do not fear this piddley obstacle!" cried Osama. He parted his robes and, before Saladin could stop him, placed his backside atop the impaling implement, using his training at the hole on the ship. But this rod was far larger than any crewmember's member, and Osama let loose a blood curdling cry that rent the cavern.

After several seconds, Osama was able to make some downwards progress. He gave Saladin a fiendish grin which quickly froze upon his face.

"From the way your blade is poised to strike my neck, I believe you do not wish me well in my endeavor," Osama said.

Saladin smiled. "Allah be praised, what the prophets say is correct. For long ago they wrote 'a man may see many wonderful things if he will but remove his head from his own ass'. No, Osama, I do not wish you well. I worked too hard to be thwarted at this juncture by so foul a personage as you. So when your rump makes its final descent, and as the ultimate power quickens within you, I shall lop off your head and gain that power in your stead."

The two adversaries glared at each other. Neither moved. One was set, mid-squat, impaled atop the ornate throne, while the other stood poised like a serpent with a sharp shimmering fang of a sword, ready to strike.

Seeing the malevolent pair thus engaged, Sailbad crept forward from where he and Maven and Saddam had been hiding. When he judged himself near enough, Sailbad hurled the flask of magic elixir. It flew through the air to break at the dais before the feet of Saladin, spewing its contents upon the stone floor.

Thick green vapor enveloped the pair. When it cleared, they made a startling discovery. Osama looked down to see a gigantic pair of breasts jutting out the front of his robe. He shrieked at the sight, and arose to flee the pair, unimpaling himself in the process. Saladin was likewise afflicted. In shock, the magician dropped his sword to check on his now non-existent sword of pork, and his new accoutrements, which swayed uncomfortably on his chest against his tight robes.

"Oh, to be turned into the vilest of Allah's creatures", wailed Osama. "Oh unmerciful Allah, you hath truly screwed me!"

"What have you done?" Saladin asked Sailbad, who walked out of hiding. Maven and Saddam quickly joined him.

"I merely threw at you an elixir, one which Saddam stole from you," Sailbad said.

"This is odd, for never have I created such a transgender elixir."

All eyes turned to Saddam, who merely shrugged. "So maybe I picked it up in Baghdad. I always purchase a few things here, a few few things there, because, you never know."

"I understand," said Sailbad, making a mental note to have Maven monitor Saddam's future elixir purchases.

Using his scimitar like a shepherd's crook, Sailbad herded the dangerous but now dainty duo away from the throne of ultimate power.

"Surely you are not going to leave the throne of ultimate power to be found by anyone else?" said Maven.

Sailbad uneasily eyed the impaling implement upon the seat of the throne. "There are some things for which the cost is too high. But I shall take that dildo of silver."

"No! Do not do that!" cried Saladin..

Sailbad ignored the magician, and began pushing, pulling and grasping of the rod. But to no avail.

"Aww, screw it!" Sailbad said, both because of his inability to affect the rod, and because he had too late remembered what had once been seated upon it.

"It is not like you to give up so easily," said Maven. "Especially when you are coming away from an adventure with nothing at all to show for your hardships."

"We do have two women we have not yet screwed," Saddam said in a helpful tone. His half smile faltered beneath the steady, spiteful gaze everyone bestowed upon him.

"It is more than we usually come away with," Saddam muttered to himself.

Undaunted, Sailbad once again set upon the silver dildo. He pushed it, pulled it, gripped it, stroked it, and did almost everything to it within his power. Slowly, with the mercy of Allah aiding him, Sailbad was able to slightly rotate the implement. That slight rotation became a steady unscrewing as Sailbad discovered the secret to removing the dildo was to twist it in the opposite direction than that which he had been toiling.

The silver rod came free from the chair, and behold, there arose from the side of the room a staircase leading to an opening in the roof of the cavern through which the golden rays of the sun lit the interior, and the chirping of birds could be heard.

Chapter Thirteen, in which some loose ends other than Osama's are tied up

While everyone from Sailbad's ship had been occupied with adventuring or dying within the ancient caverns of Tora Bora, the grand vizier Moustacha's ship had pulled alongside the pirate ship.

Cleverly employing a route which bypassed the hazards faced by Sailbad's crew, Moustacha's vessel had made excellent time.

But when the vizier's ship pulled into the harbor alongside Sailbad's, Moustacha's men searched it and found it deserted. So the vizier and his men set to the island in their own boats, finding the two other rowboats already there.

"They must have followed this trail into the island's interior," the vizier said. "Instead of following them, we shall bide our time until they return. For it is very difficult to sail across the sea without a ship of some sort."

Meanwhile, back at the cave entrance, Sailbad, Saddam, Maven and their two captives had just climbed down from atop the cliff, and now stood at the entrance to the cave they had first entered many hours before. A noise from within the cave caught their attention. As they watched, a familiar human figure staggered into the light.

"Chad, we thought you had died," Sailbad said with glee.

"It wasn't all that bad," he said.

That was when Ali stumbled out of the darkness.

"Merciful Allah, we thought you had been martyred too."

"Tales of my martyrdom have been grossly exaggerated," Ali said.

That was when Khadaffi stumbled out of the dark as well.

"Khadaffi, we thought you had been done for," Osama said. "This is all very strange."

"It's queer, but I'm here, get used to it," he said.

They newly reconstituted crew made their way back down the jungle trail, but were chagrined to see Moustacha and his men grinning back at them at the sands of the beach.

"Allah damn it," said Sailbad. "Don't you ever give up?"

"Never! Until I am avenged! Just once I am going to screw one of your women before you get the chance."

Sailbad and Saddam exchanged arched eyebrows.

"No. No. Not these two women," Sailbad said with only half his heart. "I have not yet had sexual relations with them."

"That is precisely what I'm going to do!" said Moustacha, rubbing his hands in salacious expectation. "Hand them over."

"If I do, will you let us go?"

Moustacha thought for a second. "I will give you passage to your ship and a head start."

The captain of the guards leaned over to whisper into the vizier's ear. "We once again have Sailbad in our grasp. Why do you allow him to escape on so lenient terms?"

"For two reasons," Moustacha explained. "First, for once I am cuckolding Sailbad instead of the other way around. Second, I once again feel as though I am merely a pawn in a badly written story."

Meanwhile, Saladin and Osama registered their displeasure at the sudden turn of events.

"You cannot do this to us!" cried Saladin.

"As the prophets have written 'What can you do?'" said Sailbad. "Now, 'ladies', you must go with your new master."

"Screw this," said Saladin. "I'm taking my chances with the lamias." He turned tail and ran, the foliage of the jungle swaying with his abrupt passage.

"Wait for me!" Osama wailed, following.

"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. I fear my two vixen have taken flight," Sailbad told Moustacha.

Cursing, the grand vizier and his men ran down the jungle trail in pursuit, leaving only the captain of the guards behind.

"Why do you not go with your master?" Sailbad asked. "You do not think to stop us by yourself?"

"No. I merely wish to inquire about possible positions with your crew. I tire of giving advice to idiots."

"Then you would do better to join someone else's crew," Maven muttered.

"As the djinn of irony would have it, we do have several openings" Sailbad said. "But what qualities would you bring to our organization?"

"I have clear vision, am able to quickly and properly assess any situation, and can instantaneously voice the proper course of action to take. My dower demeanor also allows me to play an excellent foil for your comedic exploits. Plus, I am a people person."

"Can you unfurl a sail?"

"Absolutely," the captain of the guard lied.

"Excellent! Welcome aboard," Sailbad said extending a hand to his new crewmemeber.

"Now," the heroic pirate captain proclaimed, "let us give a prayer to Allah for our deliverance. Oh Allah, we humbly thank you for your bounty, and we humbly beseech you to give us new opportunities to get our freak on."

With that, Sailbad and his crew climbed aboard one of the rowboats.

"You know," the former captain of the guards said, "we could strand Moustacha upon this island by taking with us the other rowboats."

"That would not be in the keeping with our code of generosity to our foes. It would also muck up the art of storytelling, which demands a villain worthy of a good hero," Sailbad explained.

Once the crew had made their way to Sailbad's ship, that worthy captain once again turned to address them.

"Men, and woman," he said. "I know we have been through some rough times. I also know many of you are not satisfied with the way things have been run. All I ask is that you sail with me one last time. I think you will be thrilled with our destination, for we will be seeking the lost brothels of Uber. This time we cannot fail!"

As the men cheered loudly, the former captain of the guards turned to Maven and asked her in a soft voice, "Is not the city of Uber landlocked?"

"More than likely," she replied. "But it is better not to quibble. For there are many things which could aggravate one if one pondered them for too long."

"Example?" said the former captain.

"For instance," Maven said, "these sailing ships we ride are all wrong. True corsair pirates typically rode upon galleys, which were rowed by slaves. And then there were the few female characters who populated this story. Most were nonhuman, and those that were human had little to no depth as characters. Personally, I think this to be a devastating indictment of the author's inability to relate to females..."

And so the great and glorious pirate prince Sailbad the Sinner and his worthy crew sailed off, their ship high above the azure waves and into the golden halo and embracing rays of the setting sun.

THE END

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