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

I thought I should post the updated version of Chapter 2 and Chapter 3 since I did Chapter 1. I don't think I revised as much major stuff here in Chapter 2,. so I'll have Chapter 3 up in a tomorrow. Also, I've got a surprise for you coming in a few days.

The weight of the silver dirhams 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 a 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 do stop here first to trade, but the majority 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 that great city I ever get.

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

I can also remember the feeling of his hard cock pressing into me, the heat of his need warm inside me. I vividly recall the way his paw pads against my shaft made 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 peeking 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 space. The majlis the bedroom opens onto is just a place for me to entertain my guests before things get serious. Their comfort is what matters, not mine.

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 the hyena was a good customer, I doubt very much I will ever see him again. 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 okay for a bit. I have enough right now, and I can actually give myself 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 treat.

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, but it’s not always been pleasant. We used to be friends once, before I started dancing. Since then, he’s 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 even 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 set up in the small square at the center of our village.

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

At the gate, I wave to the guard. The jackal who is on duty nods as I head through the narrow gate 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. They think it makes me less of a man. 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 merchants are out, hawking their wares under awnings above niches built into the courtyard’s walls. Most seem bored, but in the back, an old, female golden jackal is vigorously haggling for spices with a fennec.

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

The small hammam inside the caravanserai is located in the back of structure. It’s deserted when I arrive. I pay the attendant half a silver dirham for the treat and then 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 greatly appreciate that I have the option to soak and scrub my fur when I can afford to.

Slowly and methodically, I work my paws through my pelt 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 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 am completely dry by the time I put my clothes back on, a large clump of sandy-colored fur on the ground 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, as I’m finishing the pastry. “You keep getting better.”

I look up and smile at Nawra. The jackal is wearing a long robe of rough wool cloth with her dark tan tail wagging behind her. She has her six-month-old daughter in her arms, a spitting image of her mother.

“I am still not as good as you.”

She shrugs and sits down next to me. With her is Farida the cheetah, Usman’s wife. She’s wearing a kaftan of rich red fabric. She always has first choice of the fabrics her husband purchases, and she makes good use of that selection to dress well.

“I think you’ve mastered everything I could ever hope to teach you,” Nawra says. “You even have learned some things I don’t know. I am increasingly impressed with what you can do with that sword.”

“Only under your tutelage have I been able to get this good.”

She smiles. “You flatter me, but I won’t be dancing anymore.”

Farida laughs and 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 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 cubs anyway, Farida?”

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 her knee. The pup squeals in delight. “I appreciate you making the blanket for Amal, Farida.”

“Oh, don’t think anything of it,” she replies. “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 her.”

“Speaking of sheep, how do you like the life of a shepherd instead of the one of a dancer?” I ask Nawra.

She frowns and glances toward the stage area in the courtyard. “The flock is doing well, although we’ll need to move them soon to find better grazing. 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 Farida. “Someday you will stop dancing yourself, Zayn. It is 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 Farida, 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. He 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 when I walk over.

“Where are your cubs?” I ask him. “Farida said she left them over here for you to watch.”

“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.”

I chuckle. “They’re only four.”

“I know, but sometimes it feels 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. Usman’s kids were still infants when I started. I decide to change the subject. “How’s business going since you are stuck watching the cubs?” I ask.

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

“I treated myself to a bath,” I say, pulling out a half silver coin and handing it to Usman. “Also, your share from last night.”

He takes the coin and pulls out my kilij from where it is tucked in the back of his stand. The scabbard that protects the sword glints as he hands it to me. “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. With him 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 the group.”

“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 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, “your friend, 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 difficult for me.

“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 night air. He went to see if you were available about half an hour ago.”

“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 debated 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. The cheetah only asks for a cut for what people earn at the dances since he arranges them.

I start to walk off, but Usman finally speaks up. “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. “That would be great.”

“Tomorrow, at dusk then?”

“I’ll try and be there.”

Usman knows I’m lying as I speak, because he squints at me. “You know—”

“Thank you, Usman. I’ll be fine.”

The look he gives me tells me he has begun to suspect what happens, but he won’t stop me. “Tomorrow then,” he says finally. “Take care of yourself, Zayn.”

I nod and turn away, quietly padding out of the caravanserai. It is time to see my best client.

#

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 he 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 and more worn.

He flashes his fangs though when he catches sight of me. He appears eager to see me, and I know what that means. Sarda outweighs me and is taller than me, and he uses that to his advantage in our encounters. “I was worried you would be out for the rest of the afternoon,” he rumbles, pleased.

“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 for what is to come. “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 dancer.”

I don’t know if favorite is the right term for what we do, but he pays me more than anyone. I don’t want to think of where I would be without him.

I pull out my wooden key, insert it into the lock, and lift the key 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 down, hang the key on a hook, and light the lantern in the main room.

I feel Sarda’s breath on my neck now that we are alone. He whispers 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 murmurs into my ear. “I trust you don’t have any other appointments today?”

I shiver in apprehension and uncertainty. Sarda is always the dominant male when he’s around me, but it isn’t submission that makes me nervous. It’s the lion himself and how he tries to break me.

“I don’t.”

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 dinars. “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 dinars is a lot, even for Sarda. That’s eight times what Naji paid me. There is no mistaking what he wants from 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 for sure. If he complains, I will 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 do something that he knows is wrong. “Good.”

“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 nod 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, handing him the goblet.

“Your wine,” I say.

He rumbles in thanks as he takes the goblet and brings it to his muzzle to lap at it. 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.”

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. I wait for Sarda. I can hear the sound of the cup being picked up and set back down 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 padded 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, even though it will take a week for the wounds to 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 have 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 through 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 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, trying to blink away the tears in my eyes 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 dinar. “For being such a good companion. I know I pushed you hard today,” he says, holding it up.

I reach up and take the dinar. Sarda leans forward to lick my nose and 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 almost unbearable. The extra gold dinar is to cover any lost wages, and 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 back. 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. 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 after a session like this, I’ll likely have some more.

The money will last for a month, and if I’m careful, I can stretch it out even longer. Nawra and Farida are right though. I can’t dance forever. I know one day these scars aren’t going to heal, and I’m going to be unable to work. What I’m going to do then, I don’t know. Until then, I will survive.