AN: While the plot of this movie was rather cheesy, I love the characters, especially Tamina. So I wrote a one-shot to entertain my readers while I get ready for the next semester. Some of the Persian culture I was unsure about, but I used a blend of Judaic, Islamic, and Roman cultures that I remember from world civilization.

And I beg your indulgence since this is a movie made from a video game, a video game in which the Prince of Persia had blue eyes, tanned white skin, and an American accent.

Warning: Spanking and sex.


I had been living with the royal family for two months. I was not sure what prevented me from returning to my forbidden city, the place where I was Princess Tamina, revered and holy. But the king offered me a room in the royal chambers and invited me to stay as long as I wanted. I meant to stay the week, but one day turned into another. I sent all my servants home, promising I would return home soon.

Then Dastan asked to marry me, and I didn't say no. I said maybe, but my maybe was interpreted as a yes, and our engagement was announced to the city with several royal banquets. It unnerved me, having a family so close and personal. I had been alone so long, the untouched princess, that I didn't understand what it meant to have a family. All three of the princes were kind and considerate to me, and Tus's three wives and Garsiv's one wife spoke to me pleasantly.

I watched the four women, happy and acting like sisters for the most part. They were always together, whispering secrets and laughing. I had never had close interaction with women; my servant maids would talk to me when I initiated it, but I knew that they preferred to keep me in the role of the princess instead of realizing that I was human, a person with needs and wants and hopes, a woman who hurt and felt joy and sadness, someone real rather than just an ideal.

I wanted my future sisters-in-law to let me into their circle, to talk to me in the dark shadows late into the evening and joke like they did with each other. Dastan did not understand my need.

"They like you," he insisted. "Tus and Garsiv told them to be nice to you, and I'd raise hell if I thought they were being cruel to you."

"There is a great deal of difference between being nice to someone and being close to them," I pointed out. "I still cannot fathom how Tus can have three wives that are that close to each other."

"Many Persian men have multiple wives."

"And I was to be his fourth? Just another girl to add to the harem?"

"It's not like that. The first wife was to create peaceful relations with the south. When she couldn't have children, he married the second. She miscarried, so he brought in a third, but they're all still trying. Father wants a male heir from one of us."

"I can understand that but still –" I crossed my arms tight around my torso, glaring out at the setting sun.

"Still what?"

I whirled to face him. "If you ever marry another woman, I will poison you. And I will cut off your manhood and hang it from our bedroom window like the marriage bed sheet!"

He blanched, shocked, and I was struck with how young he looked. He really was barely more than a boy, and while I was younger than him, I had been the main ruling head of my kingdom. He was the adopted son of a king with two older sons. Dastan was free to be a hero, to go off on adventures and quests without endangering the royal blood line.

"I don't want to marry anyone else but you," he said. "Just you, Tamina. Then we can be together and have adventures and have each other."

He kissed me, and I didn't argue further, but I thought jealousy before the marriage was a bad sign. I wanted him to myself, and I didn't want to share him with a second wife.

I worried that his family might treat him unfairly and he might be completely unaware of the fact. Dastan had told me about growing up on the streets and being adopted by the king.

"The princes couldn't have been happy about that," I watched him closely. If Tus or Garsiv had ever mistreated him, I would have to hate them forever.

"They weren't sure about me at first, but I was the youngest and not much of a threat," Dastan admitted. "If anything, I took most of the negative attention off of them so they could do what they liked while everyone got after me. We had to have lessons where they made me learn to read and write and memorize history. I did everything I could to escape those lessons or distract the teachers so if Tus forgot to copy his lines or Garsiv read a scroll wrong, our teachers didn't have much time to scold them because I was climbing up the scroll shelves and jumping from top to top like a monkey."

I laughed, reassured.

"Father always treated me well though he didn't understand why a boy adopted as a prince should carry on with such shenanigans," Dastan wore a half-smile as he remembered his childhood. "I played pranks on people and interrupted special dinners and I would sneak out to wander the city. Father was furious whenever I ran away, and he sent Tus and Garsiv to find me."

"Why would you run away?"

"I wanted to find something more exciting than the palace. I liked high places and leaping and swinging on ropes. I once tried to make my way around the entire city with only jumping from roof to roof. Father lost his temper that time. When my brothers found me and brought me home, Father tossed me over his knee and spanked me until I promised I would never run away again."

"And did you keep that promise?"

"For about a month," Dastan grinned guiltily. "The next time I ran off, Father told Tus to spank me, and I didn't speak to my brother for two days until Tus threatened to dunk me in the rain barrels. Somehow that turned into a dare to see who could hold his breath under water the longest while Garsiv counted. But I swallowed too much water and started choking, and Father was all worried and called the royal physician who thought I had been half-drowned. We were all put under house arrest for a week for that."

I smiled, but I wondered how I would feel about a child doing half the things Dastan had done. If he gave me a son, I would not allow my baby to accompany his father on his wild adventures. Just because Dastan sought out excitement and danger did not mean I had to indulge his need for constant excitement.

But I did want to be accepted by his family, especially the princes' wives. They looked at me sometimes, and I knew they knew that Dastan and I were sharing a bed before our marriage. For our marriage bed sheet, we would have to pour animal blood on the sheet to prove my virginity.

I had been a virgin the first time he came to my chamber. I had been in the household only two weeks, and he crept in and woke me.

"Dastan?" I blinked at him in the dim light that the city cast on my balcony. "Is something wrong? Are we under attack?"

"No, no," he stood at the end of my bed in just his trousers, clearly having not gone to bed yet.

"If you want me to sneak around the city, I need warning. My new clothes aren't meant for climbing, and yours are too big for me."

"We're not sneaking out," he shifted awkwardly. "I just wanted to see you. "I wanted to . . . talk to you."

I looked at him, and even in the dim light, he was damp with sweat, and I felt fairly certain I could see the front of his trousers starting to tent. For a wild moment, I thought about screaming and getting him into trouble. Or making him perform one silly act after another with the promise that we would join after I humiliated him long enough. Or pretend to not know what he meant and make him stammer out exactly why he had come to my room so late.

But I pushed myself up to my knees and stretched a hand out to him. The moment his fingers closed over mine, I tossed caution to the wind. I kissed him hard, bruising my lips against his and fumbling to loosen his trousers while he clawed at my soft, billowing gown.

The feeling of sex itself surprised, and I gave a soft gasp as he gathered my legs over each of his arms and guided himself into me.

"Are you okay?" he looked worried.

"I'm good," I took in a deep breath. "You're just bigger than I expected."

I had never been with a man before so I didn't know quite what to expect, but my statement excited him more than I had thought. He began saying my name over and over again, and I reached up to grab his wrists as sensation exploded over me.

He crept to my chamber almost every other night. We would make love, and then he would hold me for a while, and then he would sneak back to his room. I hated seeing him leave, but I could not imagine getting caught with him in my bed. Somehow I thought that the princess of a majestic, holy kingdom should hold herself to higher standards and should restrict her pleasure, always keeping herself under control.

I felt certain the other wives knew, but they made no comment.

Two months after coming to live here, I was sitting with Tus's wives on a high plaza room where opposite sides of the room were open to catch the breeze that blew over the city.

I hadn't seen Dastan since the day before, but I thought he must have gone with his brothers.

The wives were sewing clothes, laughing over something a servant had said the day before. I was not good with a needle so I did not offer my skills, but I wanted to help thread needles or unspin the spools. I walked across the room to ask when Areta, Garsiv's wife, ran up the curving stairs.

"Garsiv found Dastan," she said between gasps.

I turned sharply. "Was he missing?"

"Yes, since this morning," Areta gasped and held a hand to her side. "Apparently our youngest prince decided to confront a swindler in the streets. Instead of waiting for the palace guards or even Bis and Dastan's rabble army, Dastan decided to fight the man himself. Only the swindler had men of his own and they overpowered him. Garsiv and his army found Dastan eight miles outside the city, tied hand and foot to a pole stretched between two horses."

"Is he alright?" I wanted to run down the stairs, but I needed more information.

"His clothes are all ripped and someone punched him, but other than that, he's fine. Father King is arranging to deal with him."

All of Tus's wives shared secret smirks. "Dastan, Dastan," one shook her head. "Never going to grow up, the scamp. Always needing adventure."

I fled the room, heading towards the throne room. I was not allowed to enter without request of the king, but I pushed the door open frantically. The room was empty, even of servants.

"King Sharaman!" I ran across the room to the ante-chamber where the king would retire after granting his subjects audience to hear their complaints or needs. "Dastan? Tus? Garsiv?"

The ante-chamber was bigger than one would expect, and my heart eased when I saw the king and the three princes in there. Tus and Garsiv stood near their father, but my own love was apart from them, ruefully looking at the ground.

He looked up when he heard me, and I felt another rush of relief that he was not as injured as I feared. His clothes were slightly ripped and dusty, and he had a bruise just under his left eye, but other than that, Dastan looked unhurt.

"You're alright," I meant to rush to hug him, but Tus caught my wrist.

"Please, princess, stand back a moment." Tus nodded to his father, and I froze, not understanding what I should do. Dastan belonged to me, he was mine, all mine – but at the same time, the look on the king's face made me hesitate.

"Future Father King," I said softly, "I'm not sure what –"

"One moment, princess," the king held up a hand. "I must first deliver a reprimand to my son. Dastan, what was it I told you last evening?"

Dastan glanced down at his feet before admitting, "Not to leave the palace. But Father, I knew the swindler was here, even after you banished him last year. He took so much of our gold last time, and I didn't want him to escape again and I didn't have time to find Bis. I only thought that –"

"And what did I tell you would happen if you disobeyed me again?" the king's voice was like thunder, cracking through the room. I couldn't imagine how Dastan felt; I would have crumbled to have a father speak to me like that.

"You said – please, Father, not with Tamina here."

"I'm not leaving," I said. "I'm sorry, my lord, but I cannot leave. Please do not ask me to leave."

"You may stay, my dear," the king looked at me with a gaze calmer than he had given his son, but still with enough sternness that I knew he meant what he said. "But I expected you to stand by your future brothers and not to speak on your future husband's behalf."

I gave Dastan a worried look as I stepped back in between Tus and Garsiv, but Dastan kept his eyes on his father, worried and anxious.

"Your fate is sealed," the king decreed. "May this help you remember to follow the edicts of the king."

"Father, please," Dastan began, but heavy footsteps sounded outside.

Everyone seemed to wait, tense and drawn. A huge, bearded man with arms as big as logs stepped into the room. Dastan groaned.

"Redvik," the king looked at him.

"King Sharaman," Redvik nodded in respect. "And Princes Tus, Garsiv, and of course Dastan." Redvik smiled slightly, and Dastan gave him a murderous look. "And Princess Tamina."

Another man stepped into the room, a wiry man holding a brass tray. A piece of wood lay on the tray, and a moment later I realized the wood was shined and tampered at one end: a paddle.

For a horrid moment, I had the impulse to laugh. My betrothed, my brave future husband who craved danger like others craved food in famine or water in the desert, the most fearless man I knew – he was cringing away from a paddling ordered by his father. I felt it was so ridiculous I wanted to burst into hysterical laughter, but I pressed my lips together and kept myself under control. So the king thought it was a fitting punishment to have one of his burly guards swat at his youngest son with a piece of wood.

I had heard of kings ordering whippings for errant subjects, but that was done with a leather whip that could rip chunks of flesh out of a bare back. I supposed King Sharaman did not have the stomach to punish his youngest so severely, so he chose this reprimand instead.

"Into position, Dastan," the king instructed, and his voice sounded more regretful than angry.

I expected Dastan to make excuses or even try to escape – there were three doors that he could make a mad dash for – but he dragged his feet over to the center table and leaned his torso over it with a dreading expression.

I lifted my hand to my face to cover my sudden smile. He was wearing his leather breastplate and his muscular arms looked incredibly strong and corded as he put them down on the table and lay his head between them. His hair, always a little too long, framed his face, but I could see his anxious blue eyes as he waited tensely.

"Begin," the king said to Redvik.

"Gladly," the huge man grabbed the paddle off the tray and swung it into Dastan's rear with considerable strength. The loud crack made me jump, but Tus held my hand and squeezed it comfortingly. My love grunted with a grimace, but he didn't move or cry out.

Redvik swung again and again – ten loud swats he delivered. Along the fifth, Dastan tightened his hands into fists and pulled his fists close to his face, bracing himself for the pain. The room fell quiet after those ten swats, and the only things I heard were the thudding of my heart and Dastan's heavy breathing.

"I don't appreciate my orders being ignored," the king said.

Redvik delivered another crack of the paddle. Dastan squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

"Just because you are a prince does not mean you get to do as you choose."

Another swat. Dastan gave a soft cry.

"You have certain privileges, but I am still your father and when I say no I mean no."

Redvik swung again, and Dastan gasped. Without even realizing it, I moved forward. Garsiv caught my other hand, and both princes held me firmly. I glanced at them, agonized, but they were calm and resolved. I waited.

"You will not disobey me," the king went on. "Another subject who acted against my orders would face imprisonment or death, and I would have to rule his fate for the good of Persia. But you are my son and you know better and I will not have you flaunting rules."

The king paused, and Redvik started paddling again, raising his hand as high as his shoulder before whacking that awful piece of wood down on my love's bottom. Dastan was not moving as much as I would have expected anyone bearing that sort of pain to move. He squirmed the tiniest bit, but he managed to hold himself still for the next swat.

"You are not a child," his father went on. "You are a young man now, with a future wife standing here. I expect you to act with decorum and reason. When you act like a child, I will treat you as such. It's been nearly a year since I had Redvik here to punish you. Why was he here last time?"

Before Dastan could answer, Redvik delivered three sharp swats.

"Ow, ow, ow," Dastan gritted his teeth together, struggling to breathe to answer his father. "He- he was here – um . . ."

"Why was he here?" the king repeated patiently.

"Because – because I snuck out without permission," Dastan's face was sweaty and red and his eyes were glassy. "You told me to – to leave the Egyptians alone, but I went after them, and I found the loot they had stolen."

"I told you to wait until we could get enough guards to go after them and stop them, but you went after them alone. And what happened?"

My love twisted on the table, clearly wanting to get up and leave. "They found me and we fought. But I tricked them and I defeated their leader."

"You broke your arm in the process. After it healed, what happened?"

"You had Redvik come and – and . . . Father, please."

"And you still haven't learned to obey me," the king motioned to Redvik.

The next swat of the paddle caught Dastan by surprise, and he cried out. "Please, Father, no more."

I felt a flush of heat rise within me. I did not understand why I felt it, but my arousal was like low heat burning through me. I drank in the sight of my beloved, soundly chastised and forcing himself to wait for more. I'm not sure how the picture might have been more stunning – even if they had held him down, I wouldn't have found that as exciting as watching him keep himself in position. I could see how his hands clenched and unclenched, and occasionally he would bite down on his bottom lip and worry it with his teeth. Each time he bit, my heat increased, and I felt dizzy with need for him.

I ended up squeezing Tus and Garsiv's hands tightly. They tucked their free hands over mine, patting each hand to reassure me that everything would be all right, but they mistook my squeezing for anxiety rather than recognizing it as pure lust.

The king started lecturing again, and Redvik swatted at the end of every sentence, but this time Dastan reacted more, squirming from side to side, hissing, and whispering, "Ow, ow, no, no – not there – please," over and over again. His eyes were red-rimmed, and he started sniffing loudly between yelps.

I felt torn between my need to comfort him and my desire to see how much more he could stand. My sadistic streak would have surprised me, but I was too enraptured with watching his distress to give much thought to my own morals. I could fling my arms over his chest and kiss his tears away, suck on his abused lip, and drive my hands though his sweaty hair while he clung to me. Or I could spur Redvik on – "Hit him harder, make him cry. Deliver the blows faster so he doesn't have time to recover."

Awful, beautiful thoughts.

Washed in heat, another thought occurred to me: our positions could be switched, and he would be watching me, thinking sordid thoughts about me as I writhed under the sharp pain of the paddle. I had steely resolve when I wanted, but could I control myself as well as Dastan did – that iron will to keep himself still and take whatever punishment his father deemed necessary. He would be watching me, noting my discomfort and the way my body trembled with every whack just like his did. That thought nearly pushed me over the edge, but I bit my own lip to keep myself from toppling over the brink of pleasure.

The king motioned to Redvik, and the disciplinarian paused to wait direction.

"Are you repentant, my son?"

"Yes, Father," Dastan's voice was shaky.

"Then I will hear your apology."

I didn't breathe, desperate to hear what he had to say. Would Dastan repeat a rote apology out of habit or did he have to craft a fresh one in the midst of his turmoil?

Dastan didn't move from the table, but he lifted teary eyes up to his adopted father. "I'm sorry, my king. I shouldn't have disobeyed you again. I shouldn't have been so reckless."

"And to your brothers."

Dastan looked at Tus and Garsiv. "I'm sorry you had to come find me. It was thoughtless for me to put you into danger."

"And to your future bride," the king motioned to me.

I froze, caught between the two princes and unable to move away. I wondered if my arousal was written all over my face, but I schooled my features, trying to look stern and disapproving.

"I'm sorry, Tamina," he said.

"Well," I heard myself say from somewhere far away, "I hope you've learned your lesson."

The king nodded his approval, and I brazenly went on, drunk with my own power and pleasure. "And in the future, if you attempt something so dangerous again, I'll save Redvik the trouble and punish you myself. How could you be so foolish, Dastan? You didn't even wait for your brothers or Bis or me? Selfish and impulsive."

He tried to speak, but two big tears rolled down his red cheeks. I felt so weak I had to lean on the princes to keep from falling over.

"Finish up," the king instructed.

Redvik proceeded to swing the paddle again, and my future husband cried out. Redvik kept swinging, and Dastan moved his hands to cover his face, an act I found endearing and heart-wrenching at the same time.

When Redvik finally stopped, the room felt eerily silent without the crack of the paddle. Dastan drew in a gasping sob, but he did not lift his head from the table. I was overcome by my lust and need for him, and my clothes felt unbearably tight and hot.

"You are forgiven," the king said.

Dastan did not move. Redvik and the servant with the tray both bowed and left, as seemed their custom. But my love stayed with his head down, his shoulders shaking slightly.

"Please, my king," I spoke, trying to keep my voice steady, "please let me help him. I beg you-"

The king held up a hand. "I will not have you beg for anything, princess. His punishment is over. Once he accepts comfort from his king and his brothers, you may take him back to his chambers and tend to him if you wish. If not, a servant maid may –"

"Over my dead body," I said sharply.

I realized I had interrupted the king, and I opened my mouth to apologize, but both Tus and Garsiv were smirking.

"I think Dastan will be in good hands with her," Tus said, almost playfully. "Though she may guard his door like a lioness with new cubs, and we will never see him again."

The king actually smiled. Then he walked over to his youngest son and put a hand on Dastan's shoulder. Obediently, Dastan stood up. His father put his hands high on his son's shoulders, at the sides of his neck, and pulled him in for a quick embrace.

Dastan's face was red and his lips were white, but he blinked back tears and swallowed his pain as any noble prince of Persia should. I was torn between admiring his strength and fortitude and wishing that he might cry a little longer. If his tears were gone by the time I got to comfort him, I would be insanely jealous of the king and princes.

Tus went to hug him next, and Dastan meekly accepted the embrace. I had never seen him so subdued and quiet – his expression chastised rather than animated and excited. I wanted to toss Garsiv out the window in order to get to him next, but I made myself stand still and wait my turn.

I knew women in Persia were never considered as important as or equal to their male counterparts, but I planned to barter with my future king father that I be allowed the same standing as the princes when it came to Dastan. I refused to wait in line for my future husband's attention. I had no idea how I would persuade the king to allow this, but I supposed some kind of threat about taking Dastan far away on a crazy adventure might change the king's mind.

I was so involved with plotting how to get first rights to Dastan that I missed Garsiv's hug, and then they were motioning for me to come forward.

When I reached my love, I didn't embrace him right away. Instead I put my fingers under his chin and gently lifted his face until he looked me straight in the eye. He blinked and then dropped his gaze to the floor, ashamed.

"It really is all right," I told him. "Just because you chose poorly and your king punished you doesn't mean I love you any less. There is nothing you could do that would make me love you less, nothing at all, my sweet sweet prince."

He looked at me and two more tears cascaded down his cheeks. Without realizing it, I leaned forward and brushed his tears away. Then I kissed him. I meant to have a soft, quiet kiss, but as our lips touched, he reached forward to grab me – one hand around my waist and the other around my shoulders – and he crushed himself against me. He was trembling and exhausted, and I felt him groan with lingering pain into my mouth, but he ravaged my mouth and pulled at my clothing.

"Dastan, please!" I tried in vain to pull away. "Your father and brothers."

Somewhere beyond my lusting love, Garsiv laughed out loud.

"Father," Tus said with mirth in his voice, "is it too late to ask for Tamina as my bride?"

Dastan pulled back long enough to snarl, "Sod off, you first-born bastard."

"Now, now," their father reproved, "no grudges and no stealing wives. Dastan, for goodness sake, let her breathe."

"I'm fine," I managed to disengage myself from Dastan though he kept both hands on my left arm as if he feared I would try to escape. "Come along, future husband, and do try to behave yourself."

We left with the king's and the princes' chuckles lingering behind us. The moment we were out of sight, Dastan tried to kiss me.

"Wait until we get to your chambers," I said sternly, pulling him along.

"But it hurts," he pouted. "And kissing you takes my mind off it."

"Kissing me takes your mind off everything," I said in the same prissy tone, but we kept moving.

"It's not my fault I like kissing beautiful women."

He was limping slightly and trying not to grimace, but I knew he would never admit his pain. I felt giddy with heat and love for him, and once we reached his chamber, I herded him to the bed.

"Take off your trousers and lay face down," I instructed. "I'll get some cream to rub on you."

I went to the shelves where bottles and plaster bowls lay, all medicines that the servants kept stocked for their most adventuresome prince. I knew Dastan would not willingly put anything on his cuts and bruises, wanting to keep the scars as some kind of proof of battle, and I knew the king must have ordered servants or slaves to tend to him.

Already jealous, I took the right bottle off the shelf and then impulsively grabbed the small jar at the end. I smelled the small jar to confirm it was what I thought it to be, and then I got a cloth and a jug of water. I put everything on a tray and carried it to his bed.

Dastan had stripped his trousers off and any underclothing he wore, but he kept his torso clothed. He lay on the bed, strong legs stretched out. His bottom was crimson against the beige covers over the bed, and I couldn't imagine the agony he felt sustaining that redness.

"You didn't tell me your father still had you punished or that he punished you this way," I sat on the bed beside him. I put one hand on his red bottom.

He jerked slightly. "It doesn't happen often," he said in a tight voice. "I thought Father wouldn't – I'm too old, but he doesn't listen."

I scooped up the mixture from the small jar and rubbed the stuff around on my palms. "Does he punish your brothers like that?"

No answer came. Dastan seemed to be squirming slightly away from me. My palms were heating up, a warm tingling that increased by each second.


He still didn't answer. I put both palms on his rear and began to rub deeply, massaging the mixture into swollen, red skin. Redvik had spanked down to mid-thigh, and I covered all abused skin with the mixture. At certain places, the paddle had overlapped, leaving deep red, almost purple marks.

Dastan sighed in relief when I started, but as the mixture began to heat up, he froze. Then he started shifting. I kept rubbing.

"T-Tamina?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yes?" cool and calm and pure evil.

"It's warm," he shifted on the bed, twisting his bottom under my hands as if that would help alleviate the heat. "It's starting to burn."

"A little," I said though my palms were very hot. "But it will help the muscles relax and keep you from bruising. Answer my question – does your father punish your brothers?"

"Agh!" Dastan clenched his hands into fists and dug his toes into the bed as he fought against the heat. "Please, it's too hot, I can't bear it. Tamina, can't you just –"

"Answer the question!"

"No, he doesn't," Dastan beat his fists down on the bed to try to distract himself. "But they don't disobey orders like I do. Please, Tamina – make it stop."

"One last question." The mixture was searing my hands, and I couldn't imagine how it hurt my poor love's spanked bottom. But it would help with the bruising. "If you know your father will punish you, why would you ever do something that would earn you such trouble?"

"I don't know," he squirmed back and forth. "I really don't. I'm not lying, I swear. I just want to go places and do things. I don't want to stay in this palace and be waited on. I want to be a hero, not a pampered pet. I want to lead armies and crush enemies, and I have the skills despite what my family thinks."

"I understand, but you better take me on your quest next time, or I'll rub this stuff in all your clothes. Next time, we'll both be in trouble together."

He turned to look at me, shocked and surprised, but I dipped the cloth in the basin of water and began bathing his reddened skin. He gasped in relief and he lowered his head to the bed while I wiped away all the heating mixture.

When I spread the cream on his skin, he closed his eyes and moaned softly deep in his throat. I began massaging it in, and he murmured, "You're so good to me."

I felt elated with my power over him, my ability to control his reactions and what came out of his mouth, the way I could make him say what I wanted. I loved the feeling and I loved him. I leaned up to kiss the side of his face. With one hand still rubbing in cream, I used the other to brush back his hair and gently bite his earlobe. He groaned, but didn't move. I sucked it gently; he tasted like sweat and sand and the warm Persian sun.

I stood up, digging a hand into his hair and whispering, "Don't move."

He didn't so much as twitch.

I went to get more cloths and water. I washed off his dusty limbs, drying them with an extra cloth before letting them fall back on the bed. I unbuckled the breastplate and got him to half roll over so I could take it off completely.

He was like putty in my hands, doing whatever I said as he lay half-asleep. I got him completely naked and I washed him clean before rolling him on his back.

He grimaced as his blue eyes flickered open. "Ow."

"Prince, do stop complaining," I pulled off my loose pants that clung around my hips and then I mounted him. I imagined what we looked like: me still wearing my top dress that fell to my hips and him entirely naked below me.

I started gyrating back and forth, and he tried, sweet sweet boy, to stay awake long enough to return my passion, but he was fighting a losing battle. As soon as I felt him climax, I climbed off him and tucked myself against him, covering both of us in the silky covers.

"Do you want to roll onto your stomach?" I whispered into his ear.

"No," his eyes were shut. He turned his head towards me, nestling into my hair. I felt him beginning to breathe deeply, and I pressed myself against his side.

I lay beside him, listening to him sleep and wondering how I could ever broach the subject of what had excited me so much. Another man would have called me depraved or mentally ill. But the man I lay beside would understand somehow. After all, he lived outside of rules, a determined spirit and a sweet heart. Selfless and impulsive, kind and stubborn, beautiful and fierce – he was a man like none other.

My own love, my sweet Dastan, my Prince of Persia.