Scars of the Golden Dancer, Chapter 1 - The Caravanserai (Patreon)

As promised, the first chapter of my in progress novel.

The desert moon shines like a jewel in the night sky, full and bright, watching over the caravan town. Now that the sun has set, the dry air is cool, and the wind shifts lazily over the dunes, ruffling my fur. With the stifling heat of the day fading away, it's refreshing to be outside now.

I've never been here before, so I didn't know what to expect. This village is off the main caravan routes through the desert, so it's little more than a cluster of mudbrick houses on the road leading to the local caravanserai. A small square in the center of the houses contains the only lodgings here not located at the caravanserai. This inn is cheap, and I opt to stay there. I've been to more remote places in my travels, but this place is definitely one of the smallest caravan towns I’ve seen. If the shortcut through the mountains doesn't prove useful, I won't come back through here.

The innkeeper suggested I go to the caravanserai since they're having a festival tonight. While I want to sleep, I can use some contact with others. After traveling straight across the desert for five days alone, camping out in the open, I've been missing the company of other people. My body is worn from hours of climbing over sand dunes and my paws ache from stepping over jagged rocks, but I have been alone with my thoughts too much, and the past keeps coming back to me. Even if I just stand quietly off by myself, it will be a nice distraction. I will feel relieved to be a part of society again.

As I approach the caravanserai, I can feel the weight of its presence; it's a large stone compound with a single gate. The structure is imposing in a village like this. The walls are nondescript, but the archway of the gate is eloquently carved with inscriptions and ornamentation as a sign of the town's wealth. The gate is open, but a lone caracal stands guard outside. He waves me over as I approach.

He takes a moment to appraise me, before he speaks. "Have you come to see the dances tonight traveler?" he asks. "You have come far I imagine."

Spotted hyenas like me aren't from these lands, or the Sultanate of Khalin on the other side of the mountains where I'm headed. My people are from the south, although Aksu, the capital of Khalin, is my adopted home now.

"Yes," I say casually. The innkeeper didn't say exactly what was going on tonight, but I assume this is what he meant.

The caracal nods. "Things have already started, but there is still some entertainment left for the night. What's your name by chance traveler?"

"Naji" I say.

He smiles and spreads his paws out. "Welcome to the caravanserai of Zaptu, Naji."

I smile back and head through the gate. While the outside is very plain, the inside has everything a traveler or caravan would need in one building. The narrow tunnel from the gate opens to a large courtyard in the center of the complex. Small shops and store fronts are set in the courtyard's walls. The high exterior wall protects the complex from raiders and acts as the town's heart and soul. If anyone attacks this village, the townsfolk will come here for protection. There are rooms for rent, and booths for passing merchants wishing to sell some of their wares. I had considered staying here, but decided on the quieter inn on the other side of town. Any room with a clean bed beats sleeping on the ground.

On one side of the courtyard, a small crowd has gathered and music is playing. People are standing in groups or sitting on carpets watching. Getting closer, I catch sight of a female striped hyena dancing alone in the center of the crowd, and my attention is immediately drawn to her. A long piece of fabric is fluttering around her body clasped in her paws. Other performers are waiting their turn off to one side, but the hyena is captivating the audience with her performance.

She's comes out of a twist and drops the fabric in front of her self. As the music begins its crescendo, she plants both feet and starts undulating her body like a belly dancer. The muscles under her fur causes her midsection to ripple back and forth. The drum beat quickens as her dance comes to an end. Suddenly, she reaches down to the shift she's wearing and pulls a latch and lifts it. The next moment, she's only wearing her top, a bra trimmed with glass beads. The shift flies up and as the last notes of the music settles, she bows to the audience daintily, holding the shift away from her body.

The audience explodes with hooting and catcalls. I clap myself, appreciating her form and moves, but surprised at the boldness of the dance. A cheetah comes forward, wearing a long kaftan, to stand next to the woman, and waits for the applause to die down before he speaks. "Thank you, Sahar, for your beautiful dance," he says, pausing to chuckle, "and the wonderful flourish at the end. If you liked Sahar's dancing, please don't be stingy now." He pauses and the crowd applauds again. "Who wishes to buy the lady's attentions for the night? She's as good between the sheets as she is at dancing."

"A silver dinari!" someone shouts.

"A silver and ten copper dinari" comes another call from the crowd.

The shock hits me then, and my mouth hangs open. In Aksu, when you see dancers on the street, they always belong to an acrobat troupe. I have never before seen whores dancing to advertise their wares in public, even in Aksu's back alleys. It is not that the people of Aksu are so much more rigid in their morals toward prostitution, they are just more reserved where they let it reside.

Everyone here seems to be enjoying the spectacle, since the bidding is very lively. Many of those bidding appear to be travelers, still wearing their dusty robes like I am, but a few people were wearing finer clothing. The bidding ends quickly, and the hyena's attentions go for four silver dinari to a pudgy wolf wearing a worn shawl over his shoulders. I feel out of place standing here by myself but the next dancer is stepping forward. I'm about ready to turn to leave when the glint of steel catches my eye.

Another woman, a golden jackal, is stepping forward. My eyes are drawn to the scimitar she carries as she walks forward with a swish. She doesn't fill at the top at all, and it's that fact that makes me realize this dancer is actually a boy dressed as a harem girl. Loose sheer fabric hangs off his hips, with a sheer shawl hanging off his back with a fringe of coins on it. His top isn't a bra, but the fabric is cut to resemble one and to show off his stomach fur. Like the woman before him, he's wearing a shift around his waist. He looks focused and determined as he stands in the middle of the audience and then kneels holding the sword out in front of him, the tip in the dirt. He focuses on the tip of the sword in the ground waiting for the music begin.

"And now, Zayn," calls the cheetah. The applause is muted as he steps back to the stand next to the musicians.

The music starts slow with a flute. At first the jackal lets it drift, staying still, but when the strings join, he comes to life. Zayn swings the blade out slowly before him and then twists his body as he brings it to his side. He moves gracefully, stepping and sweeping the sword in long graceful moves. He catches the sword with his free paw and lets it go as he swings it out again. Slowly the music builds up pace and Zayn moves quicker.

When the drums begin, he really pushes his body into the dance. He gyrates his body suggestively to the beat, while holding the sword above his head. I can feel my eyes being drawn down the jackal's stomach as he drops to his knees, balancing the sword on top of his head. The gyration of his stomach is something even the best female belly dancers can be jealous of. He leans back, holding the sword on the ground, till his head is touching the ground, twisting his belly and body to the beat. Then in a flash, he is back on his feet swinging the scimitar again.

His movements are graceful and intoxicating. I've always been partial to boys and he is beautiful unlike any I have seen before. As I'm watching him perform, I find myself wondering what he would feel like under my paws. His performance is powerful and seductive, and it leaves me feeling breathless. With the music at its crescendo, he spins around holding the sword. He steps to the left and the blade is almost a blur as he swings it wide, he spins again and then steps back to the right, the blade slicing through the air with precision where he stood a moment before.

He finishes his dance with his feet close together, chest heaving from exertion. He has put his heart and soul into this, and while the audience applauds his efforts, they are not fired up like they were with the girl who danced previously.

The cheetah comes up smiling though and pats Zayn on the back and shakes his shoulder. "Passionate as always," he declares to the audience. "Who wishes his attentions for the night?"

There is no response from the audience, only a gentle mumble.

"No one wishes for his attentions this night?" asks the cheetah.

"Two coppers for his muzzle," says someone in the audience. The jackal looks toward the speaker, his ears dropping instinctively.

Someone else laughs at the ridiculously low offer.

"Four coppers for his tail," someone else calls out. The jackal huffs not amused.

"He won't even give you a hand job for four coppers," says the cheetah to the audience. "Has not his dance earned him at least a silver dinari?"

The crowd mumbles among themselves, but nobody speaks up. I hear a whispered comment of "not buying in public" from someone near me in the audience. The jackal looks away from the crowd dejected. His lively ears and tail are drooping. He is still panting heavily from the exertion of the dance. He's a great dancer, I can tell that, but this is not the place for him. He's belongs in an acrobat troupe, and not be out here selling himself to travelers. Glancing around the audience I can see many of them want him with the hunger in their eyes but are too shy to speak up. A few are licking their fangs.

He's walking away from center of the dancing area now, tail dragging behind. All that passion and determination he showed dancing is gone, replaced by despondence. I can't deny I wonder what touching him feels like, but I feel a connection to him also. Being attracted to other men was hard growing up in the savanna. Living out here can't have been any easier. I know what being alone is like, and I want to know who this jackal is and what makes him tick just as much I want to feel the lithe frame, with its powerful muscles, under my paws.

"Three silver dinari!" I call out, going high. There is a palpable gasp from the crowd as many of them turn to gawk at me. A few give me jealous looks. I don't care what any of these people think of my tastes. I stand up straight, letting them stare. The jackal has frozen in mid step and isn't moving. Even though I'm paid for my skills with the sword, I can feel all the eyes on me and it's a little frightening.

And then in the back of my mind, I hear a voice asking me did I just buy the attentions of a male whore for the night? Have I been alone for so long I’m willing to pay and pay well for companionship? It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that needy.

"Three it is," calls out the cheetah.

Why yes, I did. The job that sent me across the desert only paid twenty silver dinari, so I'm giving him a fair chunk of what I earned for three weeks work.

#

The jackal is standing off to the side next to the musicians as I approach him, money already in my paw. He's leaning against the wall of the courtyard waiting for me. His ears perk when he sees me. There is already another dancer entertaining the crowd, so no one is paying any attention to us now. He's still wearing his dancing clothes, but he doesn't have the sword now.

"Three silvers is most kind of you sir," he says meekly looking down.

This submissive action surprises me, it's different from how I thought he'd act. I much prefer the determination he showed dancing and the fiery personality I suspect lies within, so I reach down and gently tilt the jackal's muzzle up so he is looking at me. “You are an amazing dancer. Are you not worth three silver dinari?" I ask him. 

“Oh yes, but some nights the crowd is shy. Not everyone is as discerning as you are,” he says and then grins, tongue rolling out.

“I appreciate a man who can swing a sword like that.”

That gets me a small chuckle in return, probably having noticed I have a sword strapped to my hip. He puffs up his chest. "I will not disappoint you."

His scent is strong from the exertion of dancing, and enticing. I'm forced to chuckle at his enthusiasm. "I don’t think you will," I say, slipping the money into one of his paws.

He looks down to check the money before he sequesters it away into a small pouch. Pleased, he asks me, "You are staying here in the caravanserai?"

He's very down to business. I guess in his line of work people don't really pay you to talk. I can't deny I'm already thinking of ravishing him, but I want to know more about him too. I want to know what makes this lanky canine tick. He doesn't know that though, he thinks I'm just paying for his body, and that is what I just did.

"I'm staying at the inn on the other side of town."

"Ah, that’s fine. The rooms there are nicer," he says with a smile, flashing a little fang. "Shall we sojourn?"

I do want to go, to explore his lithe frame, but first I want to introduce us formally, even though I already know his name. “What is your name?”

"Zayn," he says bobbing his head softly. He pauses apparently considering for a moment my intention of the question. "What is yours?" he asks after a minute.

"Naji." I say, then add, "I'm on my way back to Aksu."

The jackal nods and wags his tail softly and doesn't say anything else. I want to ask him something to keep him talking, but he's waiting on me to take him back to my room. I turn to lead him out and he wraps an arm around mine. I know we get some looks as we walk out of the caravanserai, and I'm struck by how casual this feels as we head out of the into the night. The caracal guarding the gate waves and smiles.

“Glad to see you found something of interest to do with your time here,” he says.

I just mumble a thanks, and walk down the road, the jackal holding onto my arm. The air doesn't feel oppressive in the cool night, but the anticipation of what's to come makes my fur tingle.

#

The innkeeper barely looks up from his reading, when I return with Zayn. This inn is a small building, and the entranceway opens into a modest tiled courtyard. I pause in the courtyard to light a lantern, and then lead Zayn to my room. There are a few lamps set up in the inn, but entering my room, it's dark. Halfway up the wall, there is a large metal hook, and I hang the lantern on that.

The room itself is simple. It contains, a small low wooden table on one side with a washbasin on it, and a narrow wood frame bed. The accommodations are basic, but there is decorative stone latticework high in the wall that opens up onto the courtyard to bring in fresh air.

Even as I'm closing the heavy wooden door behind us, Zayn is stepping into his role. He's steps up behind me to press himself against me from behind, running his paws across my stomach. His touch is gentle as he ruffles my fur. I turn around.

"You waste no time," I say to him. 

He laughs, lightly toying, with my pants. "I want to get you comfortable."

I smile at that comment. I'm not sure comfortable is the right way to describe what I'm feeling. I already feel a little flush being in this little room alone with him. I wonder if he's really as excited as he seems, or just good at this. The vest I'm wearing is buttoned up the front and the moment I go to start undoing them, Zayn starts to loosen my pants. He deftly has them down at my ankles before I undo the last button. Here he looks up at me obviously trying to guess what I want to do first. The look in his eyes is plain: do I want to have him get on his knees or do I plan to lead? Before he can take some action, I step away from the door leaving my pants on the floor and brush past him.

"Come," I say going over to the bed, trailing a paw across his chest. I slip the vest off, and I pull off the shirt I am wearing under the vest, tossing it aside. The bed is small, but the inn at least provided me with some pillows for it. I recline myself on the pillows and Zayn comes over and gets on top of me to straddle me. I'm already aroused, but I can feel myself stiffen at that.

Slowly he undresses on top of me. His body is beautiful and his shaft is already starting to peek out of its sheath. I stroke my large paws through his fur. My need aches with him sitting on my hips, and the jackal quivers at my touch. Yet, the moment I put my paws on him, things feel wrong. The jackal's fur is coarse, and yet underneath it, I can feel the tracing of scars against the flesh. Old scars and wounds cover his body on his back and sides. I frowned to myself as I ruffle his fur.

"Are my attentions not to your liking?" Zayn asks, noticing my expression has changed.

"They are very much to my liking" I say. I run my paw through his fur, feeling the subtle way the skin has been ripped up and healed, hidden by the course fur. "You have been whipped before?"

Zayn looks away the moment I ask the question, and I can feel his tail flick quickly before he looks back at me. "Once, yes."

I stroke my paw carefully through the fur. "Why?"

Zayn tickles through my tummy fur, trying to distract me. "It was a long time ago; I had a rough time growing up."

I close my eyes and rub up and down the jackal's side making Zayn squirm. I trace over the scars again before letting go. "You had such a rough time growing up so that you were whipped multiple times?" I say when I open my eyes and look straight up at Zayn. There are too many scars for this to be a single occurrence.

Zayn growls at me. "I don't have to be here. If my body does not please you, I can give you your money back."

"As much as I love a warm place to stick my dick," I respond sarcastically, "I still have compassion."

Zayn sighs and looks away again thinking before he looks back at me. "It was a long time ago and not something I want to talk about." The jackal leans down to breath in my face. "Now, will you stop asking questions and let us continue this? You're going soft on me."

I feel weird about this whole situation now, like there is something more to him I don't know. I'm not thinking sexually now. I'm again thinking about who he really is. "You don't have to do this," I whisper. I’ve been with a whore before, and it tends to be very hot and quick. They do what you paid them to do, and when they’re done, you both go your separate ways. You don’t ask many questions, but this time, my mind is filled with a burning curiosity. The scars tell a story I want to know.

Zayn chuckles. "I want to." He leaned down to lick my nose. I wonder if his reassurance is real, or part of the job. He doesn't give me long though to question that, because he quickly draws me into a kiss. When I press my tongue up against him, he deepens the kiss and lets me invade his muzzle. I can feel his fingers starting to wrap around my cock, running up and down it. I shift my weight underneath him and when he breaks off the kiss I reach up to trace the line of his muzzle.

He smiles down at me before he sits up in my lap, leaving my hardening cock pressed up against the cleft of his ass. He's beautiful sitting in my lap. Lithe, powerful, and seductive. Looking over the jackal's beautiful pelt, I can almost forget what lies underneath it. I gently trace my hand down his thigh and wrap it around his cock. He chuckles and presses himself back harder, hands going up behind his head, to show off his stomach. I squeeze his cock a little to see what type of response I get out of him.

He shivers, letting his stomach muscles roll. "See isn't this better?" he murmurs, tongue rolling out of his muzzle. He lifts himself up a little and then sits down, forcing my hardness to trace the cleft of his ass. I'm not sure what the expression on my face is, but this is driving me crazy. I want to feel him wrapped around my cock now. He senses that, because as if on cue he's reaching back behind himself. I don't even see where he gets the oil from with him balanced on my chest, but I can smell it. the next time his paw touches me, he's stroking my shaft with the lubricating oil. I blush a little then, but that only causes him to start smirking.

The jackal pushes up and positions himself, so that I feel myself pressed up against his insides, A split second later, I'm sinking into him as he sits down. He consumes all of me with no questions, and then pulls himself up to start a riding rhythm. All I can do is grab his hips and hold onto him as he starts bouncing on my slickened member. I close my eyes and just feel him work me. It's everything I thought he would be. The sensation is wonderful. He moans a little, but mostly he pants silently.

Each stroke is like heaven, and the room fades out of my perception. All I can feel is Zayn, and I don't want to let this moment go. The bed is groaning loudly in protest, but I barely notice. I find myself panting hard, as I rise up to meet his bucking body. He's hot against me. Each stroke pushes me closer to the edge of release. It stretches on seemingly forever, but finally I feel a quickening in my own pulse and his rhythms. I press myself into him as hard and deep as I can, and I feel myself explode. He stiffens at first and then lets his body relax as I settle back on the bed.

As I lie back, I realize he hasn't come yet, so I wrap my fingers around his cock again. He squirms a little and looks like he wants to protest, but I just ignore him. With one paw holding his thighs down, I work his cock, feeling his hard canine knot, grinding my spent shaft against his reart.

He barks a little, and screws his eyes shut. It doesn't take much effort on my part, until he is panting harder. With a yip, the jackal shoots onto my stomach almost hitting in me in the face.

"Someone enjoyed that," I say, tongue hanging out.

He pants out of breath. "Yes."

We stay this way for a few minutes, sharing the afterglow before he gets off of me. Cleaning up with the a towel and a small jug of water Zayn fetched for us, I wonder if he's going to leave now, but he doesn't make any effort to. Afterward, we lie on the bed with him on top of me. I run my claws through his fur as I breath in his scent. He's warm, and I have my muzzle buried between his ears. We're both tired, but I still have questions. Idly I’ve been tracing the scars across his back.

"Really, how did you get these scars?" I ask him.

He doesn't say anything at first. I wonder if he has fallen asleep but then he speaks.

"I was paid well by a traveler passing through town who enjoyed using the whip. He beat me pretty badly, and at the end of the night handed me a purse full of gold. I spent the next few weeks recuperating."

I shake my head rubbing my nose against his head. "That's a stupid thing to let someone do to you." I think there’s more to this story, but he will not tell me.

"Perhaps," he responds coolly, "But I'm not the only one with scars under their fur either. How did you acquire a jagged scar like the one on your flank."

I'm a little surprised he noticed that, but I tell him the story. "Knife fight. I got ambushed while working as a guard back in Aksu. My assailant was quick and managed to slice me open good, but he wasn't quick enough once I pulled my sword. He ended up dead."

I feel him stiffen. "What is it you exactly do?" he asks me.

"Whatever they pay me to do. I'm a hired swordsman. I generally do guard work, but I've at times had to do things that involve a certain amount of stealth. I am no assassin though. I try to be discerning about who I work for."

I feel him relax a little. I want to ask him more about the scars, but I'm tired, worn from traveling worn from what we just did. Instead, I just hold him. We drift off to sleep together shortly after that.

#

The morning light is filling the room, as I recheck the pack. It's already getting toward mid-morning as I finish getting my gear together. Zayn left at dawn, whishing me well on my journey, and since then, I have been alone with my thoughts as I’ve gone about buying supplies for the last leg of my journey. I am trying not to dwell on the jackal, but my mind keeps drifting back to him. The old road up to the pass will take me away from here and back to Khalin on the other side of the mountains. I may never come back through this town again. I could never see Zayn again, and for some reason, that bothers me. 

Absently, I stroke my left flank, feeling the scar there. It was a very deep cut, and the fur has a subtle way of not growing right over the wound that slightly mars my pelt. I can still mentally feel the scars under his fur as I think back to touching him. Zayn has been whipped so that his fur wouldn't bear the marks of the beatings, yet the skin underneath carries the wounds. Whoever did that was careful not to ruin the jackal's looks. I shake my head. If the jackal doesn’t seem concerned why should I? I've always made it a goal not to get involved in the affairs of others unless paid to do so.

"You're growing soft Naji," I mutter as I stand looking over the pack. Years of working as a hired blade, and you think something like this wouldn't bother me. I've killed people before, but I try to maintain a sense of honor about my work. Some of the jobs I had to take when I first started out made that impossible to do. Now that I've established a good reputation, I no longer do that kind of work.

So why does one golden jackal in a poor caravan town have my attention like this? I sigh to myself. I won't feel happy till I've figured out what it is about him that has caught my attention. Crossing the desert without a camel has been very draining. I can just leave tomorrow; there's no pressing reasons for me to be back in Aksu immediately.

And just maybe, I can see Zayn again.