Scars of the Golden Dancer, Chapter 2 - A Repeat Customer (Patreon)

I have some other content I want to post this month about the novel, but I've been head down on editing the novel. Thus, I'm going to put up Chapter 2, which is the second half of the novel preview.

The weight of the silver dinari feels good as I play with the coins in my hand. Three silver is an excellent night for me. Sometimes, in the middle of summer when the heat is at its hottest, I am lucky to make that in week. Making that in a single night? That is a blessing.

The coins are new too. They barely have any wear on them at all. Most of the money we see out here is old and worn. You only get coins this new if you trade in the markets of Aksu, but most of the caravans headed for Aksu pass south of us, traversing a low pass in the mountains to get to the great city. Some of them do stop here first to trade, but most of the traffic we see is from caravans heading north that wish to bypass the Sultanate of Khalin. I’ve always wondered what Aksu is like, but these coins will be the closest to this great city I ever get.

I close my eyes as I lay on my bed, head dangling off the side. I am immediately transported back to last night. I can remember clearly the concern on the hyena's face as he traced his hands across my scars. Few of my clients notice them. Even fewer care. It's nice to occasionally have one that does.

I can also remember the feeling of his hard cock pressing into me, the heat of his need warm inside me. Even more the feeling of his paw pads against my shaft makes me quiver. The fact he actually made me cum? It's touching. Almost no one cares if the sex is pleasurable for the whore.

I open my eyes, and I'm back in the present. My shaft is peaking out of its sheath, and I'm lying on the bed I often conduct business on. The light coming through the opened shutters is soft, and fills the barren room. The bed is the centerpiece of the room, and I don't let anything else clutter that view up. The bedroom opens onto the other room of my house, the majlis. I also use that space with its divan to entertain guests.

I roll over on the broad bed, sinking back against the pillows. The faded scent of encounters past filters to my nose. The rich fabrics are perfumed with jasmine and amber to hide any lingering smells, but I can still sort out the scents if I concentrate.

I make my living servicing the needs of men like Naji, but it can be hard to always have enough money to buy food. While Naji was a good customer, I doubt very much I will ever see him again. I will need to dance again in a few days. I do have some regular customers I see when they pass through town, but I can tell the hyena isn't going to be one of them. He's not a trader, so it's unlikely he'll come this way again. 

I put the coins back into my purse. I should be good for a while. I have enough right now, and I can actually treat myself to a day off. Standing up, I look myself over. I cleaned up when I came home, but I could use an actual bath. It's a luxury I rarely can afford, so this will be a real splurge.

The next dance won't be for a few days anyway, so unless a caravan passes through today, I won't have any customers. Usman, the cheetah who arranges the dances, will let me know if anyone needs my services. Tomorrow I will get back to plying my trade, but today is a day for just me.

#

The smell of meat grilling makes my muzzle water.

"How much for a kebab?" I ask Amare, the wolf who runs the stand. 

He looks up from the charcoal fire, finally noticing my presence. A small frown lights on his muzzle. We go back a few years, and it's not always been pleasant. We used to be friends once, before I started dancing. Since then, he’s has been distant to me, but sometimes he comes to my house at night, desperate for what I can offer him. As far as I know, he’s never ever visited any of the girls in town.

"Three copper," he grunts.

"Three? For what little you paid me last time, you expect me to pay two?"

He coughs. "If you want, I can charge you four."

"Amare..."

He shrugs. "No one has brought chickens to town this week. Kebabs are three coppers today."

"How about two for five?" I ask hopefully.

The wolf considers. "I can do that."

With a quick exchange of money, he hands me over two kebabs of seasoned chicken. I take them, thank Amare, and leave him where he is setup in the small square that acts as the center of our village.

While I walk over to the caravanserai, I nibble the tender meat carefully off of the first kebab. The seasoning is rich and flavorful, paprika and cumin play across my tongue.

At the gate, I wave to the guard. The wolf who is on duty only nods as I head through the narrow portal into the courtyard beyond. Zaptu is small, and everyone knows me here. Sadly, some of the villagers tend to shy away from me. There are no secrets here, but not everyone approves of what I do. A few of them do partake in my services, but most of my business comes from people passing through. 

On a day like today, it's quiet. Last night's travelers have already taken to the road, and without a major caravan in town trading, mid-morning at the caravanserai has lapsed into a sleepy daze. A few traders are out, hawking their wares under awnings above niches built into the courtyard’s walls. Most people seem bored, but in the back, an old female jackal is vigorously haggling for spices with a fennec.

The sun, still climbing into the sky, will keep down the traffic until the heat of the day starts to fade. I know after my bath, I plan to return to home to sleep away the afternoon heat.

The small hammam inside the caravanserai is located in the back. It’s deserted when I arrive. I pay the attendant a half a silver dinari for the treat. I have to wait while he draws water from the well and perfumes it for me. Finally, I get to slip into a small tub of warm water and let myself settle to the bottom. I'm told our small bath is nothing compared to the ornate baths in Aksu, but I appreciate I have the option to soak and scrub my fur when I can afford to. Not all of the caravan towns have baths.

Slowly and methodically I work my paws through my fur with the soap, flushing the dust and dirt out of it. I let no spot go untouched and when I finally get out the tub, the water has turned murky from the accumulated dust and sand that's come off of me. Afterward, I towel down and proceed to gently brush out my coarse fur. I have to push the comb through my tail repeatedly before I can get all of the tangles out of it. It has been a while since I've had the spare coin, but the tedious task of brushing myself makes me feel relaxed and puts some wag into my tail. I completely dry by the time I put my clothes back up, a large clump of sandy-colored fur the result of my efforts.

It's getting towards early afternoon when I leave the hammam. I buy a sweet pastry from one of the vendors and sit by the well in the corner of the courtyard to eat.

I hear footsteps approaching me. “I saw your dance last night Zayn,” says a familiar voice to me as I’m finishing the pastry. “You keep getting better.”

I look up and smile at Nawra. The jackal is wearing a long robe, and she has her six-month-old daughter in her arms. She’s one of the people who taught me to be a better dancer and she helped me learn to master the sword dance.

“I am still not as good as you.”

She shrugs and sits down next to me. With her is Fradia, Usman’s wife. She’s wearing a Kaftan of rich red fabric.

“I think you’ve mastered everything I could ever hope to teach you,” Nawra says. “Anyway, I won’t be dancing anymore.”

Farida laughs and she sits next to Nawra. “Not with a kit this rambunctious. You won’t have time,” She holds out a hand and the pup grabs at it her finger, cooing happily.

“Amal is well behaved.”

“This is the easy part,” says the cheetah. “Wait till she gets older.”

Nawra tilts her head. “Where are your two kits anyway, Fraida?”

The cheetah looks up and glances across the courtyard towards Usman’s stall. “I left them to terrorize Usman.” She squints. “It looks like it’s working.”

I laugh. “He loves those two.”

“Not when he’s trying to sell, but I get tired of chasing them.”

Nawra bounces her daughter on the knee. The baby squeals in delight. “I appreciate you making the blank for Amal, Fraida.”

“Oh don’t think anything of it,” says Fradia. “You would have done the same for me.”

“Still, you didn’t have to. I could have gotten some wool and homespun some cloth.”

The cheetah shakes her head. “Cotton is better when they’re young. She’s a growing pup anyway. You’ll have plenty of other garments to make for Amal.”

“Speaking of sheep. How do you like being a shepherd instead of one of the dancers?” I ask Nawra.

She frowns and glances toward the stage area in the courtyard. “I miss the dancing, but I don’t miss the men. Sina and I aren’t rich, but I think we’re doing okay.” She shrugs. “I made what I could from it,” she says, rubbing one of the silver bangles she’s wearing. “You can’t do it forever.”

“That’s true,” says Fraida. “Someday you will stop dancing yourself, Zayn. It’s not an easy path.”

“No it’s not,” I say. The scars on my back prove that.

“Speaking of the dances, Usman still has your sword,” the cheetah adds.

“Yes, and I need to settle up with him for last night,” I get up. “I will see you both later.

“Have a good day,” says Nawra.

“Make sure the kids aren’t driving Usman crazy,” says Fraida, before she turns back to Amal to coo at her. The puppy smiles big.

I make my way across the courtyard, to the far side where Usman’s stall is. The cheetah always holds my sword for me when I go off with a client after the dances, and I need to give him his cut for last night’s work. He's sitting in the shade of his stall, going over some records on paper when I walk over.

“Where are your kids?” I ask them. “Fraida said she left them over here to drive you crazy.”

“Ha!” He says pointing to the two of them as they run past playing tag. “You can see how well telling them to sit still is going,” says Usman.

I chuckle. “They’re only four.”

“I know, but sometimes it feels almost like only yesterday that they were born.”

“I guess. The passage of time has been much slower for me.” I’ve been working the dances for three and a half years now, and it’s hard to remember sometimes what my life was like before I did that. Usman’s kids were still babies when I started. I decide to change the subject. “How's business going since you are stuck watching the kids?” I ask.

He shrugs. “The usual. There was a little business in the morning, but mostly it's quiet in afternoon. That said, you look quite happy today I see."

"I treated myself to a bath," I say, pulling out a quarter dinari coin and hand it to Usman. "Also, your share from last night."

He takes the coin and pulls out my scimitar from where it is tucked in the back of his stand. The scarab that protects the sword glints as he hands me the sword. "You're always the most reliable of my girls."

"Of course," I say, with a wink. When I was still growing up, I used to run errands for him picking up his fees from the dancers. Now that I dance myself, I always make sure he gets his cut. Being one of the few friends I have, I make sure we're always on good footing. "I just wish I could earn more."

He smiles a little sadly. "Not everyone appreciates what you have to offer, but you are the most skilled of my dancers."

"Coming from you, that means a lot. Are there any caravans expected?"

"I have a reliable tip from one of the traders who passed through last night that one should be one along in two or three days. That should bring you some business."

I grin. "Send any looking for the other side my way."

"Always," says the cheetah. "I should let you know," he adds, "that Sarda is passing through town. He said he has to head south quickly, but was hoping you'd be available for a bit."

I feel my tail go still. Sarda is my most important client, and he pays me better than anyone. While I appreciate the money, sessions with him are always intense.

"He came in last night?"

The cheetah nods. "He got in very late, well after midnight. He slept in so he can travel in the cooling evening air. He left thirty minutes ago to see if you were available."

"I see. I had best go and make myself available to him," I say with apprehension.

Usman looks at me for a moment before he nods. I can tell he wants to say something, but he's not sure what he should say. Usman doesn't know exactly what Sarda does to me, but he knows I don't take other clients immediately after the lion visits, sometimes for up to two weeks. If he actually knew what Sarda did, he would try and stop our sessions. I've debating telling him, but that much coin is hard to walk away from when you sometimes go hungry. Since Sarda arranges his sessions directly with me, I haven't had to tell Usman what I'm paid.

I start to walk off and finally Usman speaks. "Will you be by tomorrow?"

I pause and look back. "Probably not."

The cheetah purses his lips. "I know he can be demanding, but if you are not too tired, perhaps we can have tea in the evening. I bought some fresh tea from the east yesterday you might like to try."

I smile hollowly. "Yeah, that would be a great."

"Tomorrow, at dusk then?"

"I'll try and be there."

Usman knows I'm lying as I speak, because he squints at me. "Tomorrow then. Take care of yourself Zayn."

I wave and turn away, quietly padding out of the caravanserai. It is time to see my patron.

 

#

I spot the lion before he sees me. He's sitting in the shade of my house, waiting patiently for me to return. His loose traveling clothes are dusty, but his mane is brushed out, glass beads woven into it. Sarda has broad shoulders, but has developed a pudge as he's aged. Bits of gray have started to creep into his mane, and even though it's been less than two months since he last visited, I swear he is looking older.

He flashes his fangs when he catches sight of me. "I was worried you would be out for the rest of the afternoon," he rumbles, pleased to see me.

"You’re back," I say to him. "I had not expected to see you so soon." I never know when he's going to pass through town, only that he does every few months.

"Indeed," Sarda says, tail lashing in anticipation. "I did not expect to be back so soon, but I have business to attend to in Akara. Naturally, I couldn't miss an opportunity to see my favorite."

I don't know if favorite is the right term for what we do, but he is my patron. I don't want to think of where I would be without him.

I pulled out my wooden key and insert it into the lock and lift so I can draw back the bolt holding the door closed. Retrieving the key, I let him inside before I close and secure the door. I set my sword on down by the door, and hang the key on a hook.

I feel Sarda's breath on my neck now that we are alone. He rumbles into my ear. "You look well." Paws wrap around my shoulders.

I bob my head. "Money has been tight, but I've done well recently."

He ruffles the fur under my neck as he breathes into my ear. "I trust you don't have any other appointments today?"

I shiver, both in apprehension and uncertainty. Sarda is always the dominant male when he's around me, but it isn't submission that makes me shiver. It's Sarda himself.

"I don’t," I whisper.

A claw traces around one of my nipples. "Good." He slowly turns me around. "You never disappoint me," he says, hot breath on my face, as he holds up two gold dinari. "I hope you won't mind if I indulge tonight. Last time, I was too worn out to enjoy all that you offer."

I take the money. The coins are heavy in my paw, as I force a grin. "Of course not." Two gold dinari is a lot, even for Sarda. There is no mistaking what he wants form me now. I already know Usman will be disappointed when I don’t have tea with him tomorrow, but he can’t know. He must never know. If he complains, I will I tell him the money was too good. Maybe he'll believe that half-truth.

Sarda smiles then, and it is not a kind smile, but the smile of one about to commit a sin for which no amount of prayer can ever pay for.

"Good," he says.

"Did you want some wine?" I ask him.

"Just a small glass if you don't mind. I find it dulls the sensations if I have too much."

I bob my head in submissive acknowledgment. "Of course," I say. When he releases me, I walk over to the chest where I keep a few bottles for my discerning clients. I pull out one of the better bottles and a clay cup. I uncork it, letting the pleasant smell drift to my nose, as I pour some into the clay goblet. I can hear the lion moving around the room as I do this, and when I turn around, he's taken up residence on the divan. I walk over and bow eloquently handing him the goblet.

"Your wine, sir." I say.

He rumbles in thanks as he takes the goblet and brings it to his lips to sip. Afterward, he sets it down on the low table in front of my divan, his eyes looking at me hungrily.

I know the routine, and start undressing without him asking. Any clothing I have on Sarda will destroy. Once I'm naked. I stand there, paws clasped behind my back, looking down at the floor.

Sarda gets up and walks around me, circling his prey. "You look so broken Zayn. Is it because you know your place is under me?"

"I am just tired. I had work to conduct last night." I have limits on how far I'm willing to take Sarda talking down to me, and on this point, I am not willing to compromise.

"Always the industrious one," he says from behind me. I can hear the rustling of fabric as he pulls something out of his robes. He gets closer to whisper into my ear. "I like that about you," he says as he begins to bind my hands together with rope. A paw traces my side and squeezes my rump roughly. "Shall we proceed? I do need to make good time today."

I steel myself for what is about to happen. "Of course, sir."

He leads me into my bedroom where he pushes me down onto the floor. I can hear him whistling as he exits the room and takes his time getting ready. At least once I hear the telltale sound of the wine glass being placed back on the table. I know he delays so as to try and make me nervous, but I already know what he wants. 

In a few minutes I hear his heavy footsteps on my floor as he walks back in. I could turn to see him, but I don't bother. I know he doesn't want me looking back.

"As ripe for the taking as always," he says with a throaty growl. He cracks his whip, and my ears instinctively go flat. The beating he paid me to take is about to begin.

As the first crack of the whip falls across my back, I close my eyes. Sarda's money means I'll eat well for a month. It will take a week before these wounds fully heal. When he's done savaging me, he'll fuck me, and then leave me here alone to lick my wounds. I grimace as another crack falls across my back. I wish I didn't have to do this, but Sarda is my bread and butter. He is my patron, and he gets what he wants.

As another stroke of the lash falls across my back, I cry in pain and pull against my bindings. Even though the money is good, I never gotten used to doing this. It will be over soon. I just need to grin and bear it.

#

I'm sitting on the floor of my bedroom, gingerly leaning a shoulder against the wall. My back stings from multiple open wounds, and my rear feels like it's been savaged after a long night of work. Now that Sarda is done, I just want to lie down on my bed, but my wounds are still bleeding. Instead, I will just lean for a bit.

"I must be off now," the lion says walking back up to me after dressing

"Of course," I groan. "Safe travels."

He kneels down in front of me. "When I finish, perhaps I can see you on the return."

I look up at him, eyes misting from the pain.

He reads my expression and laughs. "We can do something less exotic then. I have some new rope techniques I wouldn't mind trying on you." He fishes something out of his coin purse and removes another gold dinari. "For being such a good companion. I know I pushed you hard today." he says holding it up.

I reach up and take the coin. Sarda leans forward to lick my nose, and he gets up. Without another word, he lets himself out of the house, leaving me alone.

I stay there for a while, clutching the gold coin in my paw. This is what my life is; an endless struggle to survive. Even when the times are good, I'm nursing myself back to health, always making sure I keep something aside for when times are lean.

Sarda was rough this time, and my body aches so badly right now it's unbearable. The extra gold dinari is to cover any lost wages, extra income to cover the deep cuts in my flesh. I growl, and fling the coin across the room. It hits the wall with a dull thwack, knocking loose plaster, and rolls under the bed. It might be dented now, but nobody will care when I go to spend it.

Slumping back against the wall, I rest, trying to get my strength up. I should get up and clean myself up, but I don't have the energy. The bath I took earlier today is now wasted. A few tears stain the fur by my eyes, but I wipe them away. I'm not going to feel sorry for myself.

My whole back itches and burns from all the little cuts on it. The whip Sarda uses doesn't maim my fur, but it cuts right through it to the skin. The poultice I have will help it heal once I get the energy together to use it. The scarring? Well it comes with the line of work I guess. Now that I know how to treat it, it doesn't seem to be getting worse, but inevitably after a session like this, I'll have some more.

The money will last for a while though, and I'll get through this. I always do.