Castle Spellbound

CELLAR

The musty old crypt had gotten somewhat bigger, and in the process had acquired some interesting attributes. Completely transformed, it was now a plush seraglio fit for a sultan, padded with carpets, tapestries, pillows, and rugs. Standing braziers threw off the smoke of fragrant incense. Scented oils burned in dozens of polished silver lamps.

There were two recliners, and on them reclined Thorsby and Fetchen. Attending each were no less than eight houris. "Peel us a grape, love," Thorsby commanded..

A bare, milky arm reached out, a purple morsel 'twixt thumb and index finger.

"Ye gods, that is a peeled grape."

"It is yours but to wish, O Great One," said the houri nearest him.

His hand idly roving across smooth bare female flesh, Thorsby accepted the bit of skinned fruit. It was sweet, melting on his tongue. A burst of flavor filled his mouth, flavor unlike any he had ever experienced.

"Gods, if that's a bloody grape, what's the real food like?"

"Who's hungry?" Fetchen said after ungluing his lips from those of the houri nearest him-one of them, anyway. This said, he attached his mouth to a salient portion of the other's anatomy.

"Yes," Thorsby agreed. "Greater appetites gnaw."

"Why do you delay, Great One?" asked the honey-blond houri.

"Yes, why?" asked the flaxen-haired houri. "Take me again, master!"

"No, take me!" said the one dark of hair and eyes.

"No, me!"

"Me!"

"Ladies, please!" Thorsby sighed. "Demand is greater than supply at the moment. Besides, we don't want to achieve satiety too quickly, now, do we? This way, the expectation is deliciously prolonged."

"You will never achieve satiety, Great One," the brownhaired, green-eyed beauty told him. "Your capacity for pleasure is infinite."

"I was wondering why I was feeling a return of energy so soon after," Thorsby marveled. "You mean-?"

"Yes, Great One. You may indulge every desire, taste every variety of the fruits of passion, and not feel any sapping of strength."

"Bloody wonderful. Well, then…"

Thorsby fortified himself from the wine bottle-which, it should be noted, never emptied.

"The same applies to any sense you wish to engage," the redhead informed him. "Taste, touch, hearing, smell-"

"Well, let's see," Thorsby said. "We've got touch pretty well covered. Taste? Yes, let's have some food, finally." A huge table appeared, laden with a feast fit for the shah of shahs. Dishes were fetched and offered.

"Taste this, Great One."

"This too, Great Sultan!"

"And this!"

"One at time." He nibbled on bread dipped in something. He chewed and swallowed.

"Gods!"

"Does it meet with your approval, Great One? If not, you may order the cook to be boiled in his own oil."

"Ye gods! Fetchen, taste the food!"

Fetchen emptied his mouth. "Wha?"

"Taste this stuff! It's unbelievable."

"Quiet, can't you see I'm feeding?"

"More, O Wonderful Master?"

Thorsby's gaze swiveled back and forth. "I'll try a bit of… this. Yes… well…"

Thorsby ate a cube of spiced meat. "Merciful gods! That is good! Oh, my heavens. I could eat that all day."

Thorsby began to stuff himself. Between mouthfuls he said, "Fetchen… mmph… You really must… mmph… try some of this-"

"Oh, all bloody right." Fetchen grabbed a skewer of barbecued lamb and bit off a chunk. His eyes popped wide. "This is super!"

"Well, I bloody well told you, didn't I?"

Assisted by the houris, Fetchen tore into his food.

"What other senses may we delight, Great and Wonderful Masters?"

Thorsby turned to the honey-blonde. "I can't imagine more. Make some suggestions."

"Why, we have scarcely begun, Great One. Would some entertainment be to your liking as you take your repast?"

"Capital idea!" Thorsby said enthusiastically, his mouth so stuffed he could barely get the words out. "Bring it on, love."

"Do you have preferences, Great One?"

Thorsby swallowed. "Such as?"

"Musicians, singers, tumblers, jugglers-"

"Belly dancers!"

"Your every caprice is law, O Powerful Ruler."

Belly dancers dutifully appeared, with musicians to back them up. They were as beautiful as the other houris and more tempting. They gyrated and shook, bangles jingling, finger-cymbals clashing, to the beat of the tabour and the drone of the doumbek.

"Fantastic!" Thorsby approved.

"And when His Greatness grows weary of them, he needs but to wave a hand and they will go away." "Never! Bring them on in endless numbers! Let every one be better and more voluptuous than the last. I command it!" Thorsby took another swig of ambrosia.

"Right, I'm getting the hang of this."

"We tremble, and obey!" the houris chorused.

"But vary it a bit. Throw in some… oh, tap-dancers or something. Chorus lines. Vaudeville acts."

"Your every whim will be obeyed, O Great and Powerful Sultan."

"That's me all over. Isn't it, Fetch, old darling? Fetch? Oh, Fetch?"

Where Fetchen had been, there was now a pileup of nude flesh draped with food.

"Right," Thorsby answered himself.