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Message-ID: <40687asstr$1044414606@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: shadowloup@aol.comAntispam (Shadowloup)
Subject: {ASSM} (NEW)  Sailbad the Sinner Part1/3 (mf, humor, viziers)
Date: Tue,  4 Feb 2003 22:10:06 -0500
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You must be physically and metaphysically old enough to read this.
Constructive feedback is welcome.
Those wishing to use this (for who knows what reason) can feel free to contact
me.




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 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.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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