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The Nazi Lust Ordeal of the Virgin Belly Dancer

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Praefectus Praetorio said:
.....for the dance to come:
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I do hope you're not bullshitting us about a dance to come. Being a slavegirl who delights and arouses an audience with a dance has long been a fantasy of mine. In all these years I've come across only TWO stories that described a dance by a slavegirl. So I'd sure love to see a third. :jump1:

I had seen only one or two of these Konstantin Razumov works before today. They are are so beautiful.
 
messaline said:
View attachment 725760 But is she only knowing for what is used this ......... thing ?

View attachment 725761 :D... :tejeqteje:
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Praefectus Praetorio said:
If her father doesn't tell her...I'm sure Abdullah will show her (gently we hope).
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Praefectus Praetorio said:
Have we answered the question of Aisha's virginity yet?:rolleyes:
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Oh for heaven's sake! I've watched Blackadder. This is how a talk like this goes:

Prince: "I'm not sure I understand."
King: "Well, let me explain. (points at prince's crotch). Tell me, do you know what that's for?
Prince: "Well, a couple of things, really."
King: "And the first of those is?"
Prince: "Best not mentioned."
King: "Right!! And the other is fornication."
:D
 
xso said:
Good story start! I am however eager to see the Nice Nazis (NN) being involved in the story...
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Rudolf and Herman return in Chapter Four and many more. There will be over a dozen chapters. There are so many threads to keep weaved but not tangled.
Jackie1111 said:
I do hope you're not bullshitting us about a dance to come. Being a slavegirl who delights and arouses an audience with a dance has long been a fantasy of mine. In all these years I've come across only TWO stories that described a dance by a slavegirl. So I'd sure love to see a third.
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Oh there will be a dance alright, maybe more than one. However, remember Aisha is not a slavegirl, but a Sheikh's daughter.
BTW - my personal choice for Aisha from Konstantin is this one:
konstantin-razumov-girl-1-pieces-canvas-prints.jpg
I think it captures her innocence and modesty.
Although, of course, the Pulp cover was my first inspiration.
 
montycrusto said:
He was great in Zhivago of Arabia :D
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Forget Omar Sharif, no sheikh ever equalled Rudy Valentino! :devil:


Jackie1111 said:
I do hope you're not bullshitting us about a dance to come. Being a slavegirl who delights and arouses an audience with a dance has long been a fantasy of mine. In all these years I've come across only TWO stories that described a dance by a slavegirl. So I'd sure love to see a third. :jump1:

I had seen only one or two of these Konstantin Razumov works before today. They are are so beautiful.
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There's a slavegirl dance in my 'For the Pleasure of Prince Uday' in the Archive :)
 
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Jackie1111 said:
You don't say? I'll be sure to look for it. Thanks!
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Here's a link and the blurb -

http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/resources/for-the-pleasure-of-prince-uday-by-eulalia.599/

When slavegirl Eul101 is summoned from the Sheikh Masrur Academy for kāfireh girls to report to the Palace of the depraved Prince Uday, she has no choice but to obey. Being chained to a post in Shahidi Square for a night of cruel subjection to his perverted pleasure turns out to be just the beginning – soon our heroine finds herself tangled in a web of Palace intrigue where nothing is ever quite as it seems (but always worse!) Dancing girls, mystic oriental herbs, an evil doctor, a strange assassination, branding irons and torture chambers, even crucifixion - but not as we know it - challenge our plucky heroine and her resourceful slavegirl friends... but what knotty web is the machiavellian Begum Raghida weaving? And who is the man with grey hair?
 
Chapter Three – Omar Makes a Fateful Choice

Now that Aisha’s husband had been chosen, preparations were required for the wedding itself. The Bedouins expected the bride’s father to make most of the provisions for the ceremony and the accompanying banquet. Omar would be expected to arrange both the Tulba and the Khetbah as well as for the Radwa [meeting of male representatives or each side to bless the arrangement], providing the Ghomrah [a kind of rehearsal dinner] and the wedding party and reception.

Unfortunately, all this came at a particularly inopportune time. The time of the aihtiram (homage) to the Alhakim Al'iiqlimiu, the sultan, in Ṣalālah. At the end of every six lunar cycles, each tribe under his lordship, sent a delegation with presents to show their loyalty. For most of the tribes, a delegation of forty to one hundred (equally divided men and women, as was the custom) was not a burden. However, for Omar’s tribe of just 100, it was a large undertaking. Just a day before, Omar had sent almost all his young men and women. His camp was like a ghost town, stripped of most of his young tribespeople and almost all his best fighters. There was not a risk of attack from another tribe, since there was a solemn hudna [truce] during the aihtiram. But it meant that Omar was severely shorthanded when trying to make wedding preparations. It would be almost two weeks before the group returned.

The approaching wedding gave Omar no option but to recall half the group. While his homage to his overlord would be somewhat lacking, the reason would be well understood.

But he needed to send a fast camel rider to catch the caravan. And here he hesitated. The obvious man was Tariq bin Hafeez. Tariq was an oily, shifty man whom Omar never trusted. But he was the fastest rider and time was important. After all, thought Omar, what harm can he do? Just take my message to the caravan.
 
Praefectus Praetorio said:
Tariq was an oily, shifty man whom Omar never trusted. But he was the fastest rider and time was important. After all, thought Omar, what harm can he do? Just take my message to the caravan.
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Many people at CF have asked silly questions like this. Take it as read (which you won't, of course, and my hat is off to you) that if you want to get something done right, you have to kill the Omars of the world before you start, but I suspect Omar will go, and the falafel will fall where it may.
 
Eulalia said:
There's a slavegirl dance in my 'For the Pleasure of Prince Uday' in the Archive :)
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I'm about halfway through your story, Eulalia. It is positively delicious. I especially love that it's written from a slavegirl's perspective, as it allows me to better feel what she feels. Or in this case, what you feel.

Your description of how you danced at the whipping post was very juicy....

"He keeps aiming at my thighs, I segue into a routine that my body’s learnt through many, many thrashings, not something I can think about while I’m dealing with the pain, just a natural response to the sharp assaults that lets the fire blaze through me unresisted. I keep my grip on the chains, letting myself swing freely as the Prince’s strokes hurl me this way and that. My lithe upper body surges and twists against the post, my breasts thrusting and hurling to and fro, continually pummelled by the wood. My pelvis turns more freely, my hips skip as the whipthong wraps around my pillowy rump, slicing into my loins."


(Sorry Praefectus, don't mean to distract your story.)
 
Chapter Four – Birds of a Feather

Mid-Morning, Tariq, riding Omar’s best camel, rode South out of the Oasis, bound for the caravan route. Driven by the pitiless winds of fortune, he rode straight at the approaching Nazi convoy and a fateful meeting.

A couple of hours later, Rudolf, seeing the rider, ordered the convoy to halt. He and Herman got out of their Kubelwagen to inspect the rider.

“Wa 'alaykum as-salām.” They had both learned a smattering of Arabic in the last several weeks. In addition, both were fluent English speakers and many in Oman had some English. The British influence here was great.

Tariq stopped and dismounted carefully. The large group of soldiers with weapons commanded respect and caution. He acknowledged their greeting and returned Salam. Presuming them to be British soldiers, he spoke in English. “Welcome! How can I help you?”

A little conversation revealed to Tariq that these men were Germans and to the SS men that Tariq was fluent in English (his father had spent several years in the employ of a British Major), and that he was rather fawning. He was up front in explaining the mission he was on. When asked about where he came from, he referred vaguely to the North.

The Captain was intrigued by the idea of this small encampment where most of the men had been sent away. He and his men had been without female company for many weeks. Tariq had the typical Arab evasiveness. But the Captain was impressed by his language skills. An interpreter could be very useful. In the last two months, Rudolf had learned that most of the ordinary Bedouins were dirt poor. He opened his side pouch and drew out a gold sovereign (British was the official currency of Oman) and held it up. He saw the Arab’s eyes widen with greed. Yes! He’s found the way to this man’s heart!

A brief haggling ended in agreement of terms. Tariq would forget his assignment for his Sheikh and join the Germans as guide and interpreter. His new assignment was to take them to Omar’s Oasis. On the way, he sat with the Captain and briefed him on Omar’s tribe. Rudolf appreciated the information, especially Tariq’s description of the Sheikh’s beautiful young daughter.
 
Chapter Five – Abdullah’s Joy

Sheikh Omar bin Omar bin Hassan, Baraka Allahu Fika (Allah give blessings to you), had chosen him as the husband for his daughter! And lovely Aisha Al Matie had accepted him! Abdullah bin Aathif bin Hasad Al-Jibreen. was overjoyed! He’d already said the du'a, the prayer of thanks to Allah 20 times today (using his prayer beads to ensure the count. He would do 100 before the sun went down!) He knew he was the luckiest man in Oman! His father, Aathif, had left the previous day to lead the tribe’s aihtiram to the Alhakim Al'iiqlimiu. Abdullah was left in command in his absence. His father had every confidence in his son. At twenty-three, he had matured into a strong young leader of the tribe. Soon, Aathif could hand over the reins to the young man. Tall, handsome, and soft-spoken, Abdullah was highly respected by all who knew him. Expert in Bedouin warfare, he was, at heart, a gentle man of peace.

Right now, however, Abdullah felt more like a giddy boy than a respected leader. The beautiful Aisha would be his bride! Of course, he had been taken by her sweet, lovely face and petite figure. But it was her manners of gentleness, modesty and submissiveness (hence her laqab, [honorific] Al Matie, meaning obedient, which had won his heart.

Sheikh Omar had taken Abdullah aside when he told him of the choice. He explained that Aisha had been raised in isolation, so was very shy and totally inexperienced even talking to a man. And, of course, she hadn’t had a mother to explain the sexual responsibilities of a married woman. Abdullah had promised Omar from his heart, that he would treasure the girl above his own life. He assured the Sheikh that he would be patient and gentle with her to ease her into the reality of the marriage bed.

Even now, Abdullah wanted to jump on his camel and ride over to Omar’s camp to see his betrothed once more. With great effort, he controlled himself. But he paced ceaselessly around the camp.
 
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Chapter Six – Guests Arrive

It was afternoon at the oasis and Sheikh Omar was chatting in his tent with Faheem, his trusted mulazin [lieutenant]. They heard the sound of motor vehicles in the distance and went outside to investigate.

Far to the South was a tell-tale cloud of dust raised by a motor convey headed in their direction. More of the tribesmen appeared from their tents, roused by the same sound. Although they had all seen motor vehicles before, the sight was very unusual in this remote desert. The few men of fighting age in the camp went and grabbed their swords and rifles.

As the convey approached, the type of vehicles and their marking could be seen to be military, though not of any Omani organization. Faheem, typically quick to react, said the soldiers were jinn and asked whether to assemble the men they had to confront them.

“No”, said Omar. He was blessed with calmness and patience which were valued traits in the desert. “We will make the traditional hasan aldiyafa [hospitality]”. He too was distrustful of the sudden appearance of a military convoy. But a couple dozen old men and boys with vintage rifles might only make things worse.

“Let us prepare, but not incite,” he advised his friend. “Please go and station the men inconspicuously around the camp. Tell them to take no action unless I order it or they hear a shot.”

“Na’am Alshaykh, [Yes, Sheikh]” replied Faheem.

“When that is done, you, my friend, please stand before the tent of Aisha.”

“I will have five of the best with me!”

“No, just you. I cannot leave the others of my children unprotected from over-caution for my own.”

Faheem hurried off on his mission while Omar went into his own tent to prepare a welcome. He emerged a few minutes later with his best rug and a coffee service and a plate of dates. Looking at the convey, he was distressed to see Tariq on his camel voluntarily accompanying the soldiers.

The convoy halted at the Western edge of the camp, near the Oasis pool. Frick ordered most of the men to go fill canteens at the watering hole and rest in the shade with their weapons ready until he summoned them. Meanwhile, he and Dortmeyer and Tariq, as well as three well-armed soldiers approached the Sheikh’s Tent.

As the group approached with the sun at their back, Omar said, “Ahlan wa sahlan. As-salāmu ʿalaykum,” bringing his hand to forehead bowing.

“Wa ʿalaykumu s-salām,” The officers replied.

“Please sit here,” Omar gestured to his best carpet, “and have some of my poor coffee and dates.”
 
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Eulalia said:
This is good, a fine tension building up, lots of juicy local detail.
I fear the cover pic doesn't predict a perfect wedding for poor Aisha.
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Many here have not read the number of actual stories in the Pulp magazines that I have (mostly as a tall, gangly young teen in the dark back aisles of seedy news/tobacco stores, sneak reading things I was too shy and embarrassed to buy). The outcome in the Agent, the Girl and the Fidelistas where the girl is tortured but rescued either right before or right after the heavy stuff starts is fairly typical. Sometimes she is rescued before anything worse than a broken heel (of a shoe!) or some mussed makeup occurs. Other times, especially in the "historical" style (about some mad Bulgarian count who killed off half his peasants), no one is saved.

In this case, Aisha's fate is totally at the mercy of my warped and twisted imagination.
 
[Editorial note. The subsequent conversations were the Germans speaking mostly English with some simple Arabic and Tariq translating. Omar and his tribesmen spoke mostly Arabic with a few English words. Rather than clumsy multilingual literal reporting, conversation from here on will be mostly English]

Chapter Seven – Hospitality Tested

While the German officers did introduce themselves, Bedouin hospitality forbid Omar from asking their purpose or questioning Tariq who was now with them. The customary small talk was leisurely exchanged. Then inquiries about other tribes in the area and about Omar’s people. At last, Captain Frick got down to business, “I don’t see any females around your camp,” he said with a lighthearted laugh. “Where are your women hiding?”

Omar caught his breath for a moment. Hospitality forbid outright lies. “Oh, I’m not sure. Most are away on a journey to pay homage to our Sultan. I’m sure the others aren’t hiding; they are just shy.”

Rudolf had expected this kind of answer, He pressed on.

“Why, then they must be found. My men and I have been alone in the desert for many days and are sorely in need of female companionship. We have heard far and wide of the hospitality of Sheikh Omar and the beauty of his tribeswomen! I have been told that Bedouins were most generous to strangers, providing entertainment and loaning women to lonely travelers.”

Omar gasped and had difficulty not objecting to the rude remark. But a lifetime of custom and practice kicked in.

“I’m afraid you seem to have been slightly misinformed of our customs,” he said, casting an evil eye at Tariq, whom he suspected might have been the source. “We don’t share our women, but we do make every effort to entertain our guests. What kind of entertainment can my poor, small tribe provide?”

“In that case,” said Frick with a grin, “we would be very pleased to see a demonstration of your local folklore, Belly Dancing, Raqs sharqi, I believe you call it. I am told that your tribe has an extremely talented practitioner here, your own daughter?”
 
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