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Message-ID: <40707asstr$1044454204@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: shadowloup@aol.comAntispam (Shadowloup)
Subject: {ASSM} (NEW)  Sailbad the Sinner Part2/3 (mf, humor, viziers)
Date: Wed,  5 Feb 2003 09:10:04 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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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 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 tales 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.

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.

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