Confessions of a Sheba Queen

by Autumn Bardot

  “Women are all the same.” Fetid Breath grunted. “Even the young ones.”

  Recalling one of my teacher’s wisdoms, I tried a different tactic, despite the fact that Fetid Breath made my skin crawl—his attitude more than his breath. “The minister wants me to fuck the king wearing his wife’s necklace. Guess it’s some kind of joke between the minister and king. Can you guess which hole these beads are going in?” I gave him an impish grin.

  My playful demeanor worked.

  Fetid Breath’s scowl leaked into a cautious smile. “Your cunt? His ass? Your ass? Both your asses?”

  I wiggled his nose and winked. “I like how you think. What’s your name?”

  “Fudu.” His stern façade melted as he concluded I was nothing more than a harmless prostitute.

  “That’s a very nice name. Almost as nice as your muscles.”

  Fudu flexed his bicep. “You like that? Want to see something even bigger?”

  “Maybe later.” I faked a giggle, sashayed past him, and followed the path to the king’s chambers.

  The king’s guards were morons, apparently. Easily tricked and cajoled and cowed.

  Another guard, his long dagger glowing in the lamplight, stepped out of a shadowed vestibule. This one was groomed, clean, and fresh breathed. “State your business.”

  Revenge and murder, I thought. “Sex and procreation,” I said.

  “Prove it.” He lifted his angular chin and looked down his long beak nose with eagle eyes.

  Sharp. Everything about this guard was sharp. From his slicing glare, to his jutting shoulder blades, to his protruding knuckles.

  “I am the Gift from the high priest of dhāt-Himyam.” Dhāt-Himyam was a lesser female fertility god.

  “Is that so?” he snorted. “I’m surprised the high priest didn’t come to suck the king’s cock himself, he’s such a groveling flatterer.”

  It was a classic ruse, a trick to test a stranger’s credibility with false information. A prostitute would have no knowledge of how much or little a high priest groveled to the king. “Is he? I wouldn’t know. I never met the high priest.” I touched my fingertips to my belly. “An intermediary sent me.”

  My answer satisfied him. “Well, best of luck. Fuck the king good and long, that way I can take a quick nap.” He winked.

  “You lie down on the job?” I was not impressed with any of the guards. It was clear King Hasan inspired no loyalty.

  The guard shut one eye. “The other eye always stays open.”

  “The king doesn’t deserve two eyes?”

  The guard glanced across the courtyard. “I always have two eyes on the harem.”

  I wasn’t surprised. “A lot of pretty women to see.”

  The guard’s Adam’s apple jumped, and his eyes clouded. “One of them is my eldest daughter.”

  My hand flew to my heart. “Maybe one day you can buy her back.”

  “Not on this pay.” The guard sheathed his sword. “A word of caution: if he likes you too much he will lock you in the harem.”

  I looked across the courtyard. There were no locks, no bolted doors. “The women don’t look locked in.”

  He tapped his heart. “The strongest prison is fear.”

  “King Hasan threatens them?”

  “With their families’ lives.”

  Comply or your family suffers. It was a threat as old as the mountains. And the guard was imprisoned as well. If he quit or disobeyed, his daughter would suffer the consequences.

  The guard pulled open the red lacquered door. “Through that door, brave woman. May Almaqah keep you safe.”

  I passed into a small lighted antechamber inlaid top to bottom with a thousand dazzling gems.

  The door to King Hasan’s private chambers was only an arm’s length away, but it felt like a thousand miles. I had been lucky so far—Almaqah’s divine intervention had cleared my path.

  I straightened my spine, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

  “Enter.” The deep voice came from within.

  CHAPTER 20

  King Hasan was naked, his back to me as he looked out a narrow window. Straight, sun-kissed brown hair fell past his sloping muscular shoulders. A deep vertical cleft divided powerful back muscles that joined at his high round buttocks. His arms were crossed in front, bulging biceps further proof of his impressive musculature.

  I stood unmoving and transfixed by the beautiful backside of this tyrant king. I should have prepared myself. Everyone said he was handsome. But nobody warned me that his physique was godlike.

  King Hasan reminded me of a bull, the beast of Almaqah. Surely this was proof that he had Almaqah’s favor and protection. His height and shape alone suggested he was the embodiment of Almaqah’s glory and power.

  All courage drained out of me.

  The door slammed shut, an unexpected wind on a windless night shattering the room’s silence.

  “What the—” King Hasan spun about, his face contorted with anger. “Oh . . .” His anger melted. “Who are you?” He had the body of a bull and the face of an angel, with eyes blue as the seas, a perfect straight nose, and expressive lips.

  I opened my mouth to speak but jumbled thoughts seized my throat.

  Hasan’s eyes narrowed, the inner corners of his perfectly groomed brows lifting upward in a way that made him look vulnerable and honest. How could a man with such a virtuous face be a tyrant? I could not look away. He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen.

  I swallowed my shock. “I am the Gift.”

  “I like gifts.” Hasan’s voice was gravelly, as though his words pushed through a pebble-clogged throat. “Unwrap yourself.”

  I slid the shawl from my face.

  Hasan’s brows lifted, sloping downward into an adorable expression of puzzlement. He smacked his lips together. “I am not fond of waiting.”

  I slipped the cape over one shoulder.

  Hasan looked sideways and yawned. “A shoulder does not excite me.”

  He lied. It did excite him.

  His cock stirred and lifted away from his thigh. I slithered the shawl off the other shoulder. I flicked my tongue across my upper lip, lowering the shawl ruby bead by ruby bead.

  Hasan’s cock swelled and rose.

  Lower and lower I went, from décolleté to breasts to waist. His cock saluted my slow disrobing, yet his studied stare appeared pained.

  I dropped the shawl over my hips, and Hasan sucked air between his teeth, my curvaceous figure surpassing his expectations.

  “Oooh,” he exhaled when I slid the shawl past my hairless woman’s cushion.

  I dropped the shawl where it puddled at my feet, then stretched my arms to the ceiling in a pose that lifted my breasts and displayed my curves.

  “Who sent you?” Hasan’s voice was rough and too loud for my sensual reveal.

  “A friend.” I lowered my arms and spread my feminine flower to expose my glistening desire.

  “Are the rubies a gift as well?” His lips and eyes were all charming innocence.

  I wrapped the strand around my finger and thrust out my bosom. “Only after they are properly . . . used.”

  King Hasan rubbed his hands together like a child delighted by a new toy.

  My heart flip-flopped. My pulse quickened. I had waited for days to ask Hasan if he ordered Momma’s death. Now I dare not. He was godlike in his splendor, beautiful and virtuous in expression.

  A second gust blasted through the open door to the courtyard. The door clanged open, slammed shut, and banged open again. I startled, the cold wind rousing me from my stupidity. King Hasan was evil’s perfect trick, his depravity and corruption hidden behind a godlike façade.

  “Fucking wind.” King Hasan kicked closed the door. He dropped a thick bar down across it to lock us in. He coughed, wiped his eyes, then plopped onto a bed big enough for six people. “Suck me.” He opened his thighs and leered, the once bright and innocent face darkening with contempt. “If you’re no good . . . well .
. . try to be good, okay?”

  “It is an honor to suck a god king’s cock.” I walked toward him, my gaze sweeping across the room.

  Artwork adorned every wall, each one with his likeness—battling enemies, hunting lion, fucking women, bestowing judgment, signing documents, plowing fields, and making gifts to Almaqah. Each was a testament to his conceit and narcissism.

  Exotic pelts covered the floor, and every item of furniture was gilded and ornate. A long curved sword with a jewel-encrusted hilt hung on the wall. Two alabaster tables shaped like griffins flanked the bed. Atop each stood a marble bowl filled with pomegranates, a gold pitcher, an alabaster chalice, and a small knife for slicing fruit.

  I stopped just beyond his reach and spread my wet delta for him to marvel at the pink banquet eager for his cock.

  Hasan leaned over to touch.

  I dropped to my knees. “The night is as long as my desires. Let me begin by honoring you.” Like a supplicant I walked on my knees to his splayed thighs.

  King Hasan yanked off the braid that was wrapped like a crown around my head and wound it around his wrist. “I am not easily impressed by cock-licking whores.” He grinned, all his innocent beauty marred by a cruel ugliness shifting beneath his skin.

  I was not afraid of his veiled threat or of the hideous soul residing within him. My power was superior. My strength of spirit uncompromising. My beauty reflective of my inner light.

  “You will be delighted beyond all measure.” I lowered my head and flicked my tongue across the tip of his cock.

  Hasan winced in pleasurable agony as I licked his length, swirled my tongue from bottom to top, circled the head, and stroked his tight balls. He pulled on my braids as though they were the reins of a horse. Each tug, I quickly discovered, was his uncontrollable jerk of pleasure.

  I blew hot and cold over his balls, tickled my tongue over the sensitive skin beyond, all the while letting his erratic tugs guide me as to his preferences. He liked a noisy mouth fuck, so I drew his cock deep into my mouth, my hand pumping, my tongue loudly slurping, all the while punctuating it with moans while looking into his gorgeous blue eyes.

  His pulls became hard yanks as his fervor rose. “Fucking amazing. I’m keeping you.”

  Sensing he was on the verge of release, I slowed my pace.

  “No!” He wrenched my braid. “Finish me, bitch.” His ugliness emerged in all its hideous glory.

  I drew his cock from my mouth. “The ecstasy I give cannot be rushed, my king.” I rose from my kneeling position and gently pushed him down onto the bed. “Are you thirsty?” I took the alabaster pitcher off the beside table and dribbled wine over my body. I poured wine over his as well. I bent down and licked the rivulets over his hairless chest.

  “Lick it, whore,” he commanded.

  He spilled more wine over himself, poured some straight into his mouth. “Yes . . . yes.” He wrapped his fist around his own cock.

  “Do not rush yourself.” I gently pried his fingers off his cock, then poured wine over my hands, rubbed it into my tits, and lowered them to his face.

  King Hasan grabbed them, buried his nose in my cleavage. He was a coarse lover, without concern for his partner, his mouth roving as though starved.

  I was surprised at what happened next. My body was a traitor. My nipples hardened and my cunt juiced with desire. Was it physical lust? Or the satisfaction of controlling him? Or my almost-completed revenge?

  I rolled off him and poured wine over my body. Hasan straddled me, his knees at my hips, his hands by my shoulders. I squealed as he nipped and nibbled, then moved lower to lap up the wine I dribbled over my belly. His mouth followed the course of the stream into my wine-wet delta, and gorged with gusto. He lapped at my cunt. It was glorious. His wet tongue, eager and probing, servicing me . . .

  I dug my nails into his scalp. “Lick me,” I commanded.

  Hasan moaned his agreement. Suddenly I understood! He enjoyed being submissive. Even if he didn’t know it himself. Perhaps years of dominance had lost its arousing luster. There was one way to find out.

  I yanked his hair hard. “That’s not good enough.” I dragged my nails across his shoulder.

  Hasan shuddered, moved back up my body, and his tongue circled my ripe nipple with a renewed vigor.

  “You’re a bad boy!” I scratched his skin, leaving a pink trail. “Tongue fuck this whore.”

  Like a frightened servant, King Hasan released my breasts and scooted down between my thighs. Hasan was mine now, his tongue cramming into my delta, eager to please. His toes curled and uncurled, his moans louder than when I’d sucked him.

  I poured more wine over my cunt. “Drink!”

  He lapped like a thirsty lion at a river and jammed his fingers deep.

  “Give me your cock.” I shoved his forehead away.

  With obedient eyes, Hasan slithered upward, his cock poised for entry, awaiting my next command.

  “Put it in,” I snarled.

  King Hasan slicked in. “Blessed Almaqah, you’re so fucking tight.”

  “That’s right. I am the Gift.”

  His eyes tracked my movement like an obedient dog as I lifted the ruby necklace from my neck. So intent was he on the ruby necklace and what I was going to do with it, he did not pay attention to my other hand.

  “Are you ready for the best fuck of your life?” I asked, squeezing my cunt around his cock.

  “You are a gift,” he groaned. “Praise Almaqah!” His eyes fluttered. “Ohhhh fuck no, not yet, not yet . . . I’m coming.”

  I had a split-second choice to make at that moment. I wanted to satisfy my desire to see his shocked face when I asked him about Momma. But that would ruin my only chance to kill him.

  With my legs locked around his hips, I rocked my pelvis. “I am Bilqīs. You murdered Ismenie, my momma. Now her half-jinni daughter will kill you.”

  CHAPTER 21

  I plunged the blade into his lower back, turning his blissful orgasmic groan into an agonized caterwaul.

  I confess, I orgasmed at that moment. My fire spirit, senses, and success united for one brief moment. It remains my biggest shame.

  I twisted the knife, putting a teacher’s lesson to practical use. It assured a swift death.

  Caught in the middle of orgasm and agony, confused by the simultaneous pleasure and pain, Hasan’s eyes bugged out. All breath abandoned him.

  With a grunt, I rolled his still-warm body off me.

  I sprang from the bed and stared down at his beautiful tyrant face. No wonder his people permitted such atrocities. King Hasan was handsome and kind-faced even in death.

  “You sent men to murder jinn,” I said. “You stole women to quench your lustful appetite. You strangled the kingdom of Saba with high taxes and tariffs.” I wiped the blood from the small fruit knife with a sheet. “Your cock was large, but your fear was colossal. You might have been tall, but you chose to be small . . . a miserly, short-sighted, ignorant, and selfish idiot with no regard for your people.” I tossed the knife on the bed. “I am the Gift, just not your gift. I am the Sabaeans’ gift.”

  My destiny began with blood, but I did not consider what I had done to be murder. King Hasan was a sacrifice to Almaqah and to His people. King Hasan was a goat whose blood had to be spilled on Almaqah’s altar.

  My heart swelled with pride and thumped against my bosom. I crossed the room and, with a steady hand, removed the sword from the wall. The jeweled hilt sparkled with multicolored light in my hand, the long, polished blade gleaming in the lamplight. It had never seen a day of battle. The sword was as beautiful, useless, and deadly as King Hasan.

  I hefted it, surprised by its weight. This comforted me—the sword’s heaviness added righteous heft to my next task. I carried the sword to the bed, stood over King Hasan, and lifted the sword over my head.

  “Give me strength, Almaqah. This is for Momma. For your people. For the kingdom of Saba.” I struck with the strength of a jinni.

  Bright blood gushe
d forth and soaked the fur beneath. I nudged away his head, then wrapped an orange and black striped pelt around Hasan. Next, I dragged his wrapped body off the bed and across the floor to the far side of the room.

  Breathing heavily, I unlatched the courtyard door and peered outside. The night was still, the dark sky bright with a million stars.

  In the distance, I saw fertile fields clutch the earth in straight rows, and dark craggy mountains like sentinels hold up a glittering indigo sky. Momma’s scent wafted into the room on a warm breeze and swirled around me. It roused me from my satisfaction from a successful vengeance. Delivered the real purpose of my life. This was it. My Great Destiny. The one prophesied by the Wise Woman at my birth. The one Momma prepared me for. The one I had felt in my heart since arriving in Ma’rib.

  It was night and yet I felt dawn’s approach. Felt it strengthening my bones and blood. A new day for Saba. A new life for Sabaeans.

  I entered this room an assassin. I must depart a savior and queen.

  CHAPTER 22

  My heart sang. My limbs tingled. My mind, however, churned with worry. I paced the room.

  Saving the Sabaean people from a tyrant was one thing. Becoming their queen quite another. It felt like I had mounted only one step of a vast towering stairway.

  I wrinkled my nose at the dried cum between my thighs. I did not want a tyrant’s child. Nothing less than the progeny of the greatest king in the world would I deign to give birth to.

  I crossed the room, unbolted the door to the jeweled vestibule, and poked my head around the door. “Psst. The king wants water. Hurry.”

  The guard’s brows lifted. “That’s a first. He usually wants more wine.” He put two fingers to his mouth and whistled.

  Across the courtyard a figure rose from the ground. The guard raised his arms over his head and brought his palms together. The figure scurried off.

  “My own idea. A sign for the king’s most frequent demands: wine, water, food, a woman, many women, and,” he lifted both arms and crossed them at the elbows, “the Oracle.”