An erotic fantasy story about a cursed djinn and a belly dancer who gets caught trying to steal his treasure.
Photo Set
“He he he… They all do…”
“Now, now, now… Thieves don’t get to decide when their punishment is over…”
“Now what did I say about begging?!”
*Oh! Wait, what are you doing?!*
*Hrrmph!*
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Story
I should have known the open door was a trap, but I was blinded by my own greed.
The climb had taken forever—my bare feet silent on the cold marble steps, my hips still swaying with the muscle memory of the dance I had performed hours below for the sultan’s leering court. The tower was supposed to be guarded. The treasure chamber was supposed to be locked. But when I reached the top and saw that heavy door standing ajar, spilling amber light across the floor like a pool of honey, I told myself the gods had finally favored Fatima.
I slipped inside, my heart hammering against my ribs. The treasure chamber was marvellous, the floors covered in gold as far as my eyes could see. Emeralds the size of quail eggs. Rubies like drops of frozen blood. I had my satchel open before I could think, my fingers greedy, stuffing it with anything that glinted. “Never again will I need to belly dance for the sultan! I will have the life of a queen!”
That was when the air grew heavy.
“How long has it been?” The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, resonating through the stone like a struck gong. “Seven years? Ten? Since a thief came looking for my gold?”
I spun around. The torches flared, and there he was. A djinn. His body made out of gold, fat and powerful and terrible. His eyes were like gems. His smile showed teeth like ivory daggers.
“I didn’t know this belonged to you,” I stammered, backing toward the door. “Please, I thought—”
“That it was unguarded?” He laughed, and the sound shook dust from the ceiling. “Oh, little thief. I am the guard. I am the lock. I am the trap.”
He raised his hands upwards—fingers thick as sausages, gleaming—and the door slammed shut with a thunderclap that made my ears ring. I heard the grind of metal, the click of mechanisms sealing. No escape.
“Please,” I whispered, falling to my knees. “I have nothing. I am nothing. I beg for your forgiveness!”
“Heh heh heh… They all do.” He moved toward me, his bulk making the floor tremble, his belly round and shining like a gilded moon.
He settled onto a golden throne. “Now, I believe I overheard you saying you’re a belly dancer? Why don’t you give me a little performance? Put me in a good mood, little thief, and perhaps I will be merciful. Perhaps.”
My body for my life. It was not a choice, not truly, but in that chamber of gold and shadows, it was the only currency I had.
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Money has a strange power over people. It blinds us and can make us irrational. It can make us take risks we would normally never consider. Take the belly dancer in this story, for example. The treasure chamber was unlocked. No guards. No traps. All that gold seemingly there for the taking.
She should’ve known she’d be walking straight into a trap! 😏
There is something darkly ironic about the final image: the thief who entered the chamber hoping to leave with gold is now permanently part of the hoard herself. Perhaps that’s the funny thing about money. We think we’re the ones possessing it. Sometimes, it possesses us instead! ✨💰
