The Prince and the Beg: Prologue
#1 of The Prince and the Beg
This is my first story to sofurry. I used to be here when it was yiffstar, but never submitted anything. This is just to test the waters. If people seem to like it, or I like it, I'll continue on. The foxes are Arab-inspired (because the old Arab word for a fox is fanak, which is the root of the name of the fennec fox) and the wolves are Turk-inspired, because the wolf is a sacred animal to the Turkish people.
Some words to consider:
diyaab - its Arabic for wolves, but carries a negative connotation since all wolves and dogs are considered dirty.
sheik - the closest equivalent would be like a European count or earl; essentially a local feudal lord
beylik - its a turkish tribe so to speak
raki - its an alcohol made from rice
corsairs - just another word for a pirate
-oglu - turkish suffix which means "son of", so Davut Begoglu means David son of the Beg
beg/bey - its a turkish chieftain
Ah, it is good you have come, my friend. It is not often I get furs to come to visit, at least not anymore. It has been many a year, in fact. Please, take a seat. I shall bring tea and boreks. Please, I enjoy company. Here, let me share an old tale with you.
It is an ancient tale of the prince of Al'fanak and the Bey of Isaye.
"My Lord, I have brought my newest merchandise; it is ready to be presented." The delicately robed fox stood with the utmost reverence, his eyes darting between the rich carpets beneath him and the fox on the divan before him. The standing fox was a merchantman from Al'wada, bearing groomed whiskers and fine silks and satins and frilly things. His eyes were aged and blackened by years of travel, opportunity, deceit and hope. But mostly deceit. Before him lay the sheik of this region, Ali-Sa'aad, the fox overlord of Al'karam, whose large, fat body slumped over the side of his couch.
"Bring them forth," the sheik commanded, feasting over a pile of fresh white mulberries. The merchantman left for a moment, returning with three young wolves in chains, whose chains clinked and clanged and all about caused a ruckus. They trailed in dirt, having been naked, barefoot and unwashed for perhaps 3 months. Their were nasty things; mud-encrusted, sand-jarred, and blood-caked. Their eyes seemed to have been shut close with sleep, though they weren't allowed to open their eyes to begin with. The lips of their muzzles quivered, badly blistered. The one closest to the window to the sea, the charcoal gray one who had entered the sheik's tent first, was the smallest; he was barely the size of a fox, obviously the youngest. The second one, who stood the most proudly before the sheik, was the medium sized one; his fur was of dark, earthy crimson. Built about average size for a wolf, his pretensions were evident, even humbled by time, enslavement and six months of cruelty. The third, however, is the interest of this story I tell to you, so please sip at your tea and listen.
This third stood above both fox and wolf by at least a foot; so massive was this wolf that his head must have been well worth its weight in gold. His fur was of the blackest shade imaginable, and even through all the mud and blood and piss that was pasted upon, you could easily see the silky quality of this fur. His body was "made of diamond" as his pack would say, his large torso intimidating even the most cunning, most war-hardy of foxes. His hands, his feet, his chest; all testaments of his strength. Oh, yes, and even his shapely ass was of legend. He was a pretty one; his eyes were icy blue and his muzzle was slightly shorter than most wolves. You see, for as massive and mighty he was, the wolf was no older than 18 years old; indeed, his features were exemplar of fair and youthful, his tail long and tempting.
"Present yourselves, Turk mutts!" the merchantman commanded. Beaten and complacent, each wolf youth stepped up, proclaimed his name, bent down to kiss the floor and then returned to his place. The first one's name, "Ismail Itoglu" (Ismail, son of It), elicited no response from the sheik. The second's, "Luka Devonoglu" (Luke, son of Devon), inspired a small yop of laughter from the fat sheik. Ah but the third, yes he startled and inspired and aroused this sheik. Stepping forward, he proclaimed proudly "Davut Begoglu" (David, son of the Beg).
The sheik jumped up from his couch and gave a long and hardy gaze at Davut. Without turning from the fur, he calmly said to the merchant fox, "You startled my day with this tribute, Zakaria, and I will admit to Allah that I intended to have you thrown in jail." The sheik turned away from Davut and continued to inspect the smaller two wolves. He went on, "And despite you bringing filthy diyaab into my tent, you have surely brought the greatest gift to the sultanate ever!" He laughed at Ismail, the small one, and his undeveloped penis. His poked his fat finger in the ass of the middle one, Luka, who yelped with surprise, and if it were not for the chains barring him, would have punched the fat sheik. But surprisingly, Luka enjoyed it more than he realized, for he felt an emptiness as the finger escaped him; Luka's tail began wagging in desire for more.
"Three virgins," the sheik said, smiling at Zakaria ibn Yahya the merchant fox, "and the son of a Turk beg. Yes, this is great for the Sultan."
Zakaria nodded his head in agreement, stating, "My corsairs plucked them off near Denizli. The 'prince' killed 15 of my corsairs before being subdued. Such is that I charge for every soul killed."
"How much?" the sheik asked, joyous now seized.
"Ten thousand dinars for the 'prince' alone. 12 for the three," Zakaria replied.
The sheik shook his head and returned to the divan, saying, "12? It's not outrageous but I'm not sure I can afford this."
"What was your intention?" the smaller fox asked.
"I'm not sure. A bit of me wishes to taste them myself, though I also know that if I offered them in pure states to the Sultan, I would be rewarded most greatly. I was thinking they could become my bartering chip for the Emirate of Fadina."
"And why can't I just take them to the Sultan myself?
"If you have the connections to meet the Sultan, then go ahead. But I do not think you will get very far in these parts. You are lucky to meet me, being that I am a coastal sheik. But my inland brothers would make short work of a cute fox such as yourself, his weakened retinue, and three wolf virgins."
Suddenly, Ismail, the small one, spoke up and asked, "Why do you keep referring to us as virgins? How could you possibly know that?!"
The fat sheik reacted swiftly, jumping up and slapping Ismail across the muzzle without missing a beat. Calming himself, adjusting his turban, he answered, "Little wolf, how old are you?" To which the answer was 14. The sheik continued, "For you, I can tell on youth alone. For you friend, Luka, his asshole is tighter than all of my wives' vaginas when they were virgins. Oh yes, your friend Luka is in truly need of a cock." Hearing this, Luka was angered, but undeniably aroused, his penis escaping its sheath for all to see. The fat sheik finally said, turning his gaze to Davut, "And your friend Davut, though I will not defile his ass to check, is very silent, strong and reserved. He has not laid with a man or woman as he has yet to find one that would satiate his lost soul." The fatsheik turned away and lay back down on his divan, his long vulpine muzzle sniffing for food and finding the pile of white mulberries again. "Yes, I know your kind all too well; I can read you like tea leaves."
Turning to Zakaria the merchant, he said "I am undecided of how I would use them, for I am very tempted to make the small one mine, but I will pay in whole for them. I will pay 15 for a box of that excellent raki that you usually bring me, as well." The merchant nodded and hurried away, making all necessary preparations.
The sheik's caravan finally made it to the lush oasis capital of Al'fanak after two weeks of trekking across the dunes of Farak and the palm-forest of Al'kayihah. Tired and spent, the sheik, who had travelled not on horseback or on camel but in a wagon pulled by even more tired horses, went to the local cafe for the night to fraternize. The wolves, however, were kept up by the sheik's maidservants, who attempted their best to wash and care for the Turks. Though Ismail and Luka sported attractive coats, it was the coat of Davut which caught the maidservants' eyes, who said "Ay', this is by far the most gorgeous coat of any fur." To this, Ismail and Luka responded, "This fur descends from the highest Turk and Hellene stock; he is a prince blest by Allah." Davut, however, stayed in silence, unsure of the world around him, falling quickly into despair. Normally, he would been humbled by such flattery, he was oblivious to everything.
Washed, petted and groomed, the three pups were put to sleep on a spare divan, the first sense of luxury they had felt in half a year. As back in their beylik, and all through captivity, Luka and Ismail cuddled up against their larger pack brother for warmth through the night. They knew that tomorrow would break them.