Boudi-Ca: A Jinn by Arnett Hartwell by Arnett Hartwell - Read Online

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Boudi-Ca

a Jinn

By Arnett Hartwell

Copyright 2015 Arnett Hartwell

MESAI Global LLC Edition

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the author.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to MESAI GLOBAL LLC.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All character depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years old or older.

Contents

The Brown-Eyed Boy

An Affair Between Fledglings

The Forbidden Love

Meeting Master Bindi

Phenexi-Ca’s Bedroom

A Promise Of Vengeance

A Ride And A Surprise

The Pink Alastor

An Invitation with Complications

Meeting Master Khya

A Very Dirty Color

A Beautiful Cry

Phenexi-Ca’s Punishment

The Goad

A Piercing Revelation

Into The Pit

Good And Sweet And Kind

The Most Decadent

The Double, Double Bind

The Circle Of The Oath

Chapter 1.

The Brown-Eyed Boy

Once upon a time, I was born into a dark world, and I could remember nothing, not even who I was.  I had no idea why.  Someone was there to help me.  She held my hand through those days of doubt and fear.  She was Mistress Lydi-ah—a wealthy and important Jinn.  I was a fallen mimọ, a former resident of Heaven who had been reborn and transformed.

I believed Lydi-ah’s story.  I sat for hours at the marble-topped vanity in my bedchamber in northern Haawiyah, angling my armchair to see my back in the gilt-framed mirror.  The twin scars along my shoulder blades were pink and tender.  The severing of my wings seemed recent from all appearances, but there was a terrifying emptiness where my memories needed to be.

According to Lydi-ah, I’d rebelled from Heaven.  I’d betrayed Lord Tuhan and the arch-mimọs.  I’d weighted my mimọ body and jumped into the lower realms.  I’d splashed down into the sea of desire.

Lydi-ah had waited for me to fall.  She’d dragged my unconscious body from the brackish waves near the cool effluvium of the river Styx.  She’d slapped me awake with her benevolent hands and spirited me away from any guardian mimọs who might have given chase.

Lydi-ah was one of hell’s most illustrious ambassadors.  According to her, she’d been my contact during my spying activities.  I’d been a respectable female mimọ—a precocious junior member of an interior ministry.  I’d known some of Heaven’s secrets.  The information that I’d delivered had helped turned the tables in the battle of the ages.  The forces of hell, for the first time in centuries, were winning the war over territory and souls.

The powers of hell had been pleased with my defection.  Due to the black nectar that I was imbibing, however, I remembered nothing of the transformation ceremony where Lady Cybele herself, queen and mother of all the djinn, had made me into one of her dark daughters as my reward.  It wasn’t my destiny to become a slave like all other fallen mimọs, although my wings had been snipped and my halo had disintegrated, eroded by an inundation of sin.

Mistress Lydi-ah was my mentor.  I had no choice but to believe everything she said.  My Mistress promised that she would teach me everything that I needed to know to become an upstanding daughter of Cybele, a proper servant of Hell, a devoted worshiper of the great Lord Hades, and a passionate seductress and purveyor of lust upon human and mimọ souls.

I was to be Lydi-ah’s fledgling—a student Jinn who was learning her dark arts.  My name was Boudi-Ca, with a -ca suffix to denote my fledgling status, while Lydi-ah’s –ah suffix meant a fully-fledged Jinn.  Lydi-ah was an elder, many centuries old.

My life among the djinn would not be easy.  I was an outsider, and the shocks of my fall and transformation had made me unstable.  My emotions were out of control, and I had no memory-moorings to help keep them in check.  I was often happy one minute and angry the next, and a minute after that I would burst into tears.  Over the weeks and moons of my rehabilitation in Lydi-ah’s country château, my goal was to patch over my wounded mimọ soul.

Mistress Lydi-ah comforted me.  She brought me slave boys each evening.  She taught me to steal love from our slaves in the djinn way—to suck the energy of their sexual desires to sate my never-ending Jinn Hunger.

Lydi-ah praised my progress, but I hoped that I hadn’t made a mistake in betraying my own kind. When I saw the pain sometimes in a punished mimọ boy’s eyes, I wondered if I was to blame for his collar, his chains, and his fate.

When I demanded more answers from Mistress Lydi-ah, she would only smile enigmatically.  My role was over, she said.  I needn’t worry.  My task was to serve our Lord Hades and Lady Cybele.  I needed to work.  I had much to learn.  I needed to let go of my doubts and indulge myself fully in a life of lust and desire.  I needed to surrender to my Jinn transformation and thereby heal my mind.

I was frustrated by the lack of answers about my past, but my Mistress was like a hovering mother, always by my side.  Lydi-ah was also mentoring another fledgling.  Phenexi-Ca had studied with Lydi-ah for some decades.  Jinni aged very slowly, just like mimọs, so Phenexi-Ca appeared young, no older than me.  She was responsible for bringing my black tea.

One night after the evening slave-taking, I retired as usual to my bedchamber, but Phenexi-Ca didn’t bring my tea.  As the hours passed towards midnight, I became jittery.  I extinguished the candles, but my body felt hot.  I tossed and turned in my black lace nightshirt.

My medicinal tea gave me an intense and lingering pleasure, dear reader.  When I didn’t have it, my body and mind began to ache.  It can’t be overstated how much I needed my black tea.  I needed the tea more deeply than I even knew in those dreamy, half-awake days.

Of course, the jinni had addicted me to the black poppy nectar that they were mixing into my tea, but in those days I was innocent of such subtlety and venom.  I would soon become more aware of what Lydi-ah was doing to me, but I’ll relate more of that in the following chapters.

Around midnight on that particular night, I decided to go find Phenexi-Ca.  I couldn’t sleep.  I needed my tea.  I put on a gown and ventured barefoot from my bedroom.

Lydi-ah’s country home was a lavish château in the wastes of Haawiyah, some distance north from Hell’s capital city of Tangi.  The château was a peaceful place far from the chaos, predation, and political intrigues of the big city—a good place for a traitorous mimọ to relax and recuperate after a fall.

Lydi-ah’s country home was grand.  She was very wealthy.  She was one of Hell’s ambassadors, and her devil husband, Archduke Fennell, was a high-ranking official in Hell’s Court.  Lydi-ah passed each winter season in the north country, while her husband remained in the capital with his Court business.

The château was dead silent that night, with no music or laughter from male visitors.  The bronze satyr at the end of the second floor hallway looked at me in blind silence.  Beyond the statue, no curtains stirred in the half-open window.  No spider lightning flashed that night, or dry thunder in the polluted sky.

Phenexi-Ca’s bedchamber was dark too, and no stirrings came from the void of Lydi-ah’s half-open door at the far end of the hall.  I peeked into the tapestry-draped cavern of Lydi-ah’s bedchamber.  The only life was a white candle that guttered in an ornate silver holder by the silken black bed.

I descended in silence to the ground floor of the château, down the steps of the curving marble staircase lit by candelabra.  When I reached the foyer, I heard the noises—faint clicks or snaps coming from the forbidden door in the corner.  Lydi-ah had ordered me not to access the door in the foyer, but I walked over and tested the gilded handle anyway.

The door opened.  The snapping sound came louder from below.  Curiosity compelled me, and so did my need for tea.  I was afraid to get caught, but I was supposedly a former spy.  Surely I was skilled at eavesdropping, or so I must have reasoned at the time.  I tip-toed through the door and down the steep close-walled curving stairs.  When I reached the bottom, a startling scene unfolded.

There was a large room under Lydi-ah’s château with a floor mosaic of red and white tiles that formed spiraling waves.  A low slab table sat in the center of the room on four stubby clawed legs.  A boy with light brown skin perched on all fours on the table.  He looked young like me, around college age in Earth terms, with lithe brown limbs, slender hips, and masculine shoulders.

Mistress Lydi-ah sat on the low table next to the nude boy with her back towards me.  She wore a red leather corset that wasped her waist.  Her white-blonde hair fell most of the way to her muscular hindquarters, where the light of the lamps threw the deep cleft of her bare buttocks into shadow.  Lydi-ah was nude from the waist down.  In the low light of the candles, her skin looked almost as brown as the boy’s.  it was as if her skin was changing to match his. Her long, tapering legs were splayed wide to brace herself with her elder’s hooves.

The snapping sounds were loud in the low stone room.  Lydi-ah held one strong hand on the boy’s bare lower back and worked the paddle with the other.  Snap, snap, snock.  Lydi-ah leaned forward to examine her work.  She continued paddling.  Snap, snap, snock.

The boy looked up in mid-moan.  He’d spotted me hiding there in the shadow of the stair, squatting like a silent gargoyle.  I saw a shimmer when the boy turned his head.  He had a halo.  I glimpsed scars on his back too.  They looked just like my own.  The boy’s scars caught the lamplight when he arched and flexed his oiled Brown body under the force of the paddle strokes.  The boy was an mimọ like most of Lydi-ah’s slaves—one of her private collection of them.

The mimọ boy was distracted, but he kept his eyes fixed on me.  His eyes were wide and glassy in the light of the lamps.  His irises were a rich chocolate color.  I thought at the time that the boy was crying from Lydi-ah’s paddling, but in light of what I would discover eventually, I wonder if he was crying at the sight of me—his old girlfriend from Heaven, his one true love that he’d thought long lost.  Without access to my memories, I didn’t recognize him then, although the sight of him tugged a deep memory-string.

The boy groaned softly, even as he kept his eyes fixed on me.  Snap, snap, snock.  Snap, snap, snock.  The muscles of Lydi-ah’s shoulder flexed in the lamplight as she worked the paddle over the boy’s ass in a steady, patient rhythm.

Lydi-ah paused to dip her hand under the boy’s hip.  The boy was aroused, and the Mistress stroked his cock slowly with her fingertips, teasing and tugging.  Her fingers were like the legs of a spider, weaving a web of pleasure into the boy’s most tender skin.  She worked for some seconds until she audibly flicked her black-painted fingernail against the tip and pulled her hand away.

Lydi-ah licked her hand, reached back underneath, and worked the boy’s cock a second more before she pulled her hand away again, dragging her fingernails across the skin of his hip.  The boy arched with pleasure and pain.  I knew the desperate ache in his glistening eyes.  He was maddened by need for his release.  The corner of Lydi-ah’s black-painted mouth curled.  She seemed pleased.  She resumed the paddling.

Snap, snap, snock.

Emotions flowed through me as I watched—lust, desire, and a fear from viewing the forbidden.  I reached between my thighs, insinuated my hand under my nightgown, and pushed against the petals of my sex.  I was wet.

I wasn’t aroused so much from the sight of the boy, but more from the power of Mistress Lydi-ah and the things she was doing to him.  The paddle smacks percussed a chord in my wicked Jinn soul.  I let my gaze roam to the walls of the room, which were covered with whips, crops, and a myriad of leather, metal, and glass implements.  On the far side, a hall led to another lamplit room.

I could see cages deeper in the gloom of Lydi-ah’s pit.  I glimpsed another faint halo, and another.  Lydi-ah’s mimọ slave boys all lived down there.  The brown-eyed boy dropped his head suddenly, unable to crane his neck to watch me anymore.  Snap, snap, snock.

The Mistress reached under the mimọ boy and stroked him again.  She turned her wrist to slap and worry his cock, sustaining the slave boy’s intimate torture.  The paddle fell again from a different angle, a little harder.

Snap, snap, snock, snock, snock.

The boy lifted his head to look at me again.  I’d never seen anything like his eyes.  They were filled with anxiety, pain, wonderment, sadness, and surprise.  A chill stirred my bones then.  I was afraid of how Lydi-ah might feel about my forbidden intrusion.  I’d seen enough, and my stomach ached.  Despite the beauty of that boy, I couldn’t focus.  I needed to find Phenexi-Ca.  I needed my black tea for the evening.

I withdrew my hand from between my thighs, dried my fingers on my nightgown, and silently pivoted.  My heart jumped to my throat.  Phenexi-Ca was standing behind me in the stairwell, looking down from a few steps up.  Her doll-like painted eyebrows formed a frown.  Lydi-ah’s first fledgling was dressed in an exquisite black evening gown.  The smells of Hell’s decadence wafted from her—sweat, perfume, flowers, leather, sex, and other olfactory scent-pleasures.

Phenexi-Ca had been out to a party, which explained my missing tea.  I quietly slipped past her and fled up the steps.  When I reached the foyer, I turned to close the door, but Phenexi-Ca had followed me.  She grabbed my wrist.  Her long, decoratively painted fingernails bit like vipers into my sensitive mimọ skin.

That door is supposed to be forbidden to you, she whispered with her stilted, Asian accent.  You’re in trouble.

Please leave me alone.  Please don’t tell the Mistress.

I wrenched my arm away from Phenexi-Ca and ran up the curving staircase until I arrived out of breath in my bedchamber.  I buried my heated body beneath the quilted bed covers.  I was afraid there might be real consequences for my transgression.

As I tried to sleep without my tea, the brown-eyed mimọ boy haunted me.  I wondered if he had something to do with my memories.  Perhaps he was a key to everything that had happened to me in the past.  Nothing else in Hell had tugged so hard at the deep muck of my lost mimọ girl memories.

I finally shucked off my nightgown and bedcovers to feel the coolness coming through the grid of iron bars in my bedroom window.  The scene with the boy had aroused me.  Lydi-ah had treated him wickedly.  The jinni are evil, I knew; I was afraid that I was evil too.

The sights beyond the forbidden door hadn’t disturbed me.  I’d felt lust and desire instead—feelings that no good mimọ would ever have, at least no mimọ who still had her wings.  I curled into a tight naked ball.  My intensity finally drained me, and I drifted off to sleep.

My confusion continued in the dream world.  I saw the brown-eyed boy.  We were together in a sunny place with a bright blue sky.  I saw marble surfaces and columns standing tall, and I was dressed all in white.

The brown-eyed boy still had his little wings, and so did I.  He grabbed my wrist and pleaded with me.  He said things, but I heard nothing.  I unfurled my ruffled pink umbrella and jumped.

Chapter 2.

An Affair Between Fledglings

When I awoke the following morning, I shed my covers and sat for a while in the warmth of the dim Haawiyah sunlight, which glowed into my bedchamber from the iron-barred window above the foot of my bed.  I sat up and gazed out through the wavy glass at the gritty puce haze and yellow clouds of Haawiyah—a distorted landscape so different than the clean blue that I’d seen in my dream.

I turned my thoughts to my dreams.  I tried to Bring up real memories of the brown-eyed boy.  I wanted to know who he was.  I wanted to know if I knew him, but I couldn’t ask Mistress Lydi-ah without confessing that I’d disobeyed.

The paddling scene from the prior night was like a weed in my head with roots that ran deep—roots that wouldn’t pull up no matter how hard I tugged.  My attempts to remember were blocked by the hollowness in