Confessions of a Sheba Queen

by Autumn Bardot

  I groaned, arrows of pleasure shooting down my torso and hitting their mark in my woman’s core.

  His hand slid to the base of my head and his mouth covered mine, urging me back until I lay prone beneath him.

  “Much better.” Ekene kissed my eyes, cheeks, nose, and chin.

  He moved downward, sprinkled kisses on my neck and shoulders until his chest pressed tight to my belly, his mouth hovering over my breasts.

  Ekene looked up, his eyes dilated with lust. “Do you feel a tug between your legs?”

  I felt more than a tug. I pulsed with a heated ache that demanded something be done. “Yes,” I whimpered.

  “That means your body is hungry for my cock.” Ekene’s hand snaked down my torso, over my hips, and wedged between our bodies.

  “Put it in.”

  “No, Destiny. You’re not hungry enough. You can’t have my cock until you’re ravenous.” His hand lay softly on my dress, above my coiled mound. “Have you ever seen a cock?”

  “Not up close.”

  Ekene grinned and got on his knees. He removed his tunic and untied his short kilt.

  My eyes bulged. “It’s…” Huge! Thick as a giant cobra and long as a sand cat’s tail. “That will never fit inside me.” I pushed out my bottom lip. Momma should have found a man with a smaller cock.

  “It’ll fit.” Ekene arched his back.

  My cunt pulsed harder and faster as Ekene guided my hand to his length. The skin was smoother than I imagined, softer than my inner thigh. I felt his length, traced the ridge encircling the rounded smooth summit, and flicked my finger across the tiny slit. When I looked up, Ekene’s eyes were clouded and his breath came heavy.

  “By the gods—Athtar, Hawbas, Almaqah, dhāt-Himyam, and dhāt-Ba’dan—your touch is unlike any woman’s I’ve ever known.” He was panting, gaping at my hand as though it was magic. He uncurled my fingers, swaying a bit as he did so. “Your touch!” He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. “Are you part goddess?”

  Part jinn, but I didn’t tell him that. “I’m just me.”

  Ekene took a deep breath and untied the twisted cord around my waist. He kissed my belly button, plunged his tongue inside until I giggled. He tugged my dress over my hips and stared at my womanly whorls.

  “Gorgeous.” He wove his fingers through the curls, then pulled my dress past my legs and over my feet. On all fours, he loomed over me and kissed the tip of my nose. “Perfection.”

  “Do you put it in now?” I asked, my hips rising off the rug.

  “Not yet.” He lowered his head to my breast and circled my nipples with his tongue.

  My hips lifted and lowered, the space between my thighs wet as a delta after the rains. I ran my fingers through his close-cropped hair as he licked each breast and sucked each nipple.

  “Slow down,” Ekene murmured as his tongue trailed down my stomach.

  I spread my eager thighs. “Do it. Do it.”

  Instead, Ekene’s tongue snugged into my valley.

  “Oh Almaqah!” I cried out and clenched his curls as his tongue swirled into my folds. My hips tilted off the rug and moved to an ancient rhythm. My skin sparkled with pleasure. “Oh oh oh!” My feet flexed and my toes curled.

  Pleasure gathered like storm clouds around a mountaintop. A mounting thrill flowed into my delta, which swirled in an agitated eddy of bliss. His tongue went deeper, flicked harder, circled around my swollen bud.

  “I need your cock.” My fingers dug into his shoulders.

  He shook his head. And his tongue flicked faster.

  Another sensation coursed through me, slowly at first, building into a tension that flowed fast and deep, like a stream gushing from a deluge. I was lifted, tugged, dragged powerless into its raging current.

  It came like a waterfall. My body pushed over the rocks into a free fall of bliss. My core surged, rippled, flowed into paradise. I cried out—my spirit and senses singing to the sky.

  Ekene did not stop. His tongue continued lapping at my gate. The tension rose again, higher this time. I scratched at his back, my hips pushing into his face. I was heading over another waterfall. And then he stopped and lifted his glistening face.

  In one swift move, Ekene thrust his eager cock past my virgin seal. I yelped, the pain of his entry merging with my fall into bliss. My song, so clear and loud, ripened into low grunts. Each thrust catapulted me over more cataracts. His hands on each asscheek, he guided me into a rhythm, let me feel the fullness of his cock deep inside, feel its length glide out.

  My tender cunt grabbed hold, hugged tight, and pulsed around his cock.

  “You’re so tight I can’t hold back much longer.” Ekene slowed his pace.

  My cunt throbbed against his cock as yet again I was swept into a swelling bliss.

  Ekene moaned like he was in agony. He thrust. Once. Twice. Three times. He hollered to the sky, drove his cock into me. My nethers spouted with glorious release.

  I sang to the heavens and wiggled my bottom onto his cock to feel the whole of him.

  Skin dewy with sweat, Ekene rose on his elbows, his cock still inside me. “I’ve deflowered many virgins,” he said, his heavy eyes glazed with contentment. “But none has ever made me lose all control.” He pulled out and rolled to the side, one hand tracing my body’s curves. “You look human enough, but you feel like a goddess.”

  “That’s because you made me feel like one.” Sex was paradise. I looked out the doorway, surprised to see the long shadow cast by the myrrh tree. “Is your job done?”

  Ekene hugged me tight. “No, Destiny, I am well trained. My cock is ready for more.” He thrust his tongue into my eager mouth.

  CHAPTER 3

  Ekene sent me to paradise many more times. By the time he left, my cunt was sore and yet I was bursting with energy. I waved good-bye to Ekene, who plodded on weary legs down the path.

  Just as the brightest stars appeared in the sky, Momma rounded the bend with a plate of cucumbers, olives, and flatbread in one hand, and a pitcher of well water in the other. “Hungry?”

  “Ravenous.” I laughed at myself, the ignorant virgin. A few hours ago I thought only a belly could be hungry. Now I knew a body could hunger. I took the plate from Momma and snapped off a cucumber chunk.

  Momma dug into the fist-sized leather pouch she wore crosswise over her body and strode inside. She sprinkled dried leaves into water in a clay pot and heated it over the fire.

  “When is Ekene coming back?” I stuffed a bite of flatbread into my mouth.

  “Never.” She stirred the leaves, bending low to sniff the tangy aroma.

  “Why? I like him.” My body grew warm thinking about his body’s heat.

  Momma scowled. “Did he make your spirit sing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then he did his job.” She took the pot from the fire and ladled the liquid into a cup. “Drink this.” She thrust it toward me. “It keeps a man’s seed from being planted in your womb. A baby will prevent your journey to Greatness.”

  I sipped the bitter brew and wrinkled my nose. “How do you know this Wise Woman spoke the truth?”

  “Because her prophesies rang true.”

  I cocked my head. “There was more than one? How many were there?” I knew of only one proclaiming my Great Destiny.

  “Two. Now finish the cup and no more questions.”

  “But—”

  “Another visitor will come to educate you on your path to Greatness.”

  “Who?”

  Momma’s lips thrummed with aggravation. “Patience, daughter.”

  I did not possess that trait. Patience seemed like a weakness, a misnamed virtue the old used to control the young. But no matter how much I pleaded, Momma refused to tell me any more about the Wise Woman’s prophecies or this mysterious path to Greatness.

  A few days later, a traveling stranger we met by the well made us forget about mystical prophecies.

  “Is this your well?” The slump-shouldered woman stepped ba
ck, her shadowed eyes wide with fear. “I need water. I don’t think I will make it to the village.” The clay ladle shook in her hand.

  “Drink,” said Momma. “The well is shared by all.”

  The woman gulped the water. She was about Momma’s age—or the age Momma appeared to be, since jinn can live an eternity—and might have been pretty but for the jagged angry scar from ear to nostril and the years of sun engraved on her face.

  She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then dragged it dry on her long frayed dress. Her feet were dust covered, her thong sandals worn. She touched her braid, patting it down as though embarrassed by her unkempt appearance. “I’m a long way from home.”

  “You look hungry.” Momma, who was always generous to strangers—you never know their real identity, they might be a god, a powerful marid, or a ghoul, she often reminded me—pulled a few figs and husked walnuts from her pouch. “Where are you from?”

  “Ma’rib.” The woman gobbled down the walnuts.

  “Do you have relatives here?” Momma pointed to the walled village cresting the terraced fields of millet, wheat, and coffee berries.

  “A distant one. She probably won’t remember me. And if she does, she will remember why our families don’t speak.” She stuffed the fig in her mouth. “My name is Ife,” she said while chewing.

  “I’m Ismenie and this is my daughter. Spend the night with us. I know what it’s like to travel far from home.”

  Ife turned her head and spit. “Ma’rib is no longer my home. It’s an evil place.”

  Momma’s ears perked up at the mention of the Sabaean capital. “Why do you say that? What happened?”

  Ife gulped more water from the ladle. “King Hasan happened. Oh, he had everyone fooled, that one. Handsome and kind faced. Those are the dangerous ones, you know. Their sweet faces hide the depravity inside. King Hasan’s greed knows no bounds.” Her teeth tore another fig in half. “He taxes us to death, or as close as you can come to death. He hires cruel guards and gives them free rein to whip and beat anyone—man, woman, or child—to death for the slightest infraction.”

  “What sort of infraction?” Momma’s voice was honeyed disbelief. I knew the tone well. I’d heard the sweetly veiled suspicion whenever villagers told outrageous stories of surviving an encounter with an efrit, a powerful, fire-breathing jinni.

  About to plop another fig in her mouth, Ife paused, her sun-wrinkled brow furrowing into a hundred despairing lines. “I know what you’re thinking. A thief’s small infraction is a victim’s tragic crime.” A single tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away, the wet smudge revealing the lustrous ebony beneath her travel-dusted skin. “Hear my story and judge for yourself. My husband and I were walking through Ma’rib’s marketplace. We were neither poor nor rich, but had enough to buy those small treats that bring a smile to your face. Anyway, we were at a stall looking at a silver bangle—not near as fine as your daughter’s golden one—and my husband held it up to admire the etchings when the king’s guard shoved my husband aside and claimed he wanted that particular one for his wife.”

  I looked down at my bracelet. Who would have thought such a harmless trinket could ruin a woman’s life?

  “My husband is…was a logical man,” said Ife, “and he pointed to all the bangles of equal if not better price and design. The guard knocked my husband to the ground, and shouted, ‘Thief, thief!’ The guard snatched the bracelet from the ground and kicked my husband in the head. Then he asked the silversmith to confirm the theft. The silversmith shook so much he could only stammer a nonsensical reply, which the guard took as proof. Before the silversmith found his tongue, the guard hacked off my husband’s head.”

  I yelped and grabbed Momma’s arm.

  Ife ran her finger along the scar running from her ear to nose. “He sliced me too. A warning, he said, never to oppose the king’s guard.” She sighed. “I left Ma’rib the next day and decided to return to the village of my ancestors north of here. I’m done with Ma’rib, the greedy king, and his militia of vile guardsman.” She spit on the ground again.

  “You’re a smart woman,” said Momma. “King Hasan will have no one left to tax if his guards kill everyone. What happened to the previous king?”

  Momma’s question surprised me. She usually did not care for the world of kings, courts, and ministers.

  Ife shrugged. “There was a drought many years ago. Hasan rode into town wearing a golden tunic and promised he had the power to summon the rain.”

  “The drought was ten years ago.” Momma glanced at me. “You were too young to remember.”

  Ife placed the ladle on the well. “Some folks think Hasan was the old king’s bastard who had come to seize the throne. Who knows? Maybe it’s gossip. I do know the women swooned when they first saw him. Hasan is a fine-looking man with a sun-shining smile, straight nose, strong chin, and shoulders like a mountain. So handsome and so evil! A devil’s trick. The next day he stood on the palace steps and proclaimed himself king. No one saw the old king ever again.”

  “He killed him.” There could be no other explanation.

  “Yes, child,” said Ife. “But since the dam was low, all the widyan dry, and the people hungry, no one cared.”

  “Did he summon the rain?” I asked.

  “The very next day.” Ife frowned and shook her head. “For two rainy seasons everyone praised him, but that stopped when he taxed every household, merchant, and smith double.”

  I did not understand taxes. I only knew that a few times a year Momma poured silver into the tax collector’s palm. Some he put in one bag. Some in another.

  “Taxes pay for the dam’s upkeep and keep the town’s walls repaired,” said Momma.

  “King Hasan did none of those things.” Ife flapped her hand. “Nor did he listen to our complaints or settle disputes, as is his sovereign duty. He admits ten petitioners every other month and deprives them of justice. If a man brings his wife or daughter, King Hasan fucks her right there—his price, he says, for negotiations. If two men argue over a goat, he takes the goat, and demands they each bring him another goat as a tithe.”

  My mouth hung open. Momma, however, did not seem surprised.

  “Fleshly desires consume him.” Ife’s lips twisted with disgust. “He saw my beautiful friend at the marketplace, flung her over his shoulder, and carried her back to his palace.” Ife balled her hands. “There are rumors that he abuses the women in his harem.” Ife glanced over her shoulder, wary of an eavesdropper. “The harem women wear collars, and he lines them up bent over side by side and sticks his cock in each one. If one is not as tight as the others, the guards take her away and she is never seen again.”

  I squeezed Momma’s hand. She squeezed back in silent agreement.

  Ife spent the night with us. She left the next morning, but not before Momma gave her two full water skins and enough bread, lamb, walnuts, and olives to last three days. Momma also pressed silver into Ife’s hand.

  “Why don’t you fly Ife to her village?” I asked as Ife’s retreating figure disappeared around the bend in the path. “You can have her there in a blink of an eye.”

  Momma’s mouth curved into a sad smile. “There are too many reasons why I must not.”

  I clamped my hands on my hips. “Name one.”

  “It’s more than miles Ife must walk. She must learn to control her tongue.”

  “Why?”

  “Because people like the easy coin they get for snitching. What do you think King Hasan would do if he heard a woman was going from town to town slandering his name?”

  I skewed my lips in thought. “He would hunt her down and kill her.”

  “Without hesitation or remorse. And what would King Hasan do if he found out a jinni flew her to her village faster than a bird?” Momma picked up the lopsided basket I needed to finish.

  “He would try to capture you.”

  “Right again.” Momma tossed me the basket.

  “Ma’rib sounds like an awfu
l place.” I stared down at my shoddy workmanship.

  “Don’t confuse a place for the person ruling it,” said Momma. “Ma’rib is beautiful. The homes are three stories tall and traders from all over the world pass through its gates. The town is full of life, busy as a beehive. It’s a shame this King Hasan rules with stings and not honey.”

  CHAPTER 4

  A few days later, another stranger walked the steep path to our mud-brick home.

  “Hail, lucky daughter of a beautiful mother, I’m Nula.” A gorgeous woman with honey-colored skin and shiny bronze hair that flowed like water over her shoulders lowered her head with deference. “I’ve come from afar to further your journey to Greatness.”

  A woman? I asked Momma with my eyes.

  “Have fun.” Momma gave me a teeth-baring smile and walked away.

  Nula flicked her shiny hair over her shoulder, the lustrous ribbons catching the light. “Your momma didn’t tell me you were so beautiful! I bet you have many suitors.”

  “I don’t have any. Momma keeps them all away.”

  “That’s clever of her.” She tapped plump lips. “Do you know why I’m here?”

  I crossed my arms. “I think so.” But now I wasn’t so sure. Did the woman have a cock? I shifted from foot to foot, suddenly nervous.

  Nula untied her thin multicolored belt, wrapping it around her arm like a sleeve. She kicked off her thong sandals. I laughed as one flipped high in the air. Then Nula pulled her tunic over her head.

  My mouth dropped open.

  A wide ribbon the color of the night sky was wrapped about her body. The ribbon looped over her shoulders, crisscrossed between her generous breasts, bound her upper torso, crisscrossed again to girdle her wide, fleshy hips, and encircled her sturdy thighs. The ends made a bow above her hairless woman’s delta.

  Nula’s ribbon-wrapped body was stunning: her proud breasts tipped by tiny pink areolas displayed like a work of art, her hairless cunt like a gift.

  “I’ve always believed that only men should have beards.” Her hips swayed forward and she cupped her breasts. “You like?”