Untying the Camel (verse)

Editor's note: this fictional work contains scenes of fictional rough, reluctant, dubiously consensual, consensually non-consensual (CNC), or non-consensual sex or scenarios.

* * * * * * * * * *

This is an epic-poem I came across some years ago in the uplands of Harbalistan. It is a tale with historic roots, based in the Tashli culture of Central Asia (an episode, in fact, from the sprawling Tashli poetic saga Sarambai, which I have rendered into English). Following the text, for those who are interested, I have added a few words on how I first encountered the poem, and came to transcribe and translate it.

I will be posting an audio version, in installments. Also, if poetry is not your thing, I have published a prose version here: https://literotica.com/s/untying-the-camel

Be advised that this poem engages with themes of non-consensual sex.

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UNTYING THE CAMEL
[AN EPISODE FROM THE TASHLI EPIC SARAMBAI]

- Part I: Kanikay gets snared -

Kanikay stood before the crowd,
haughty and defiant, though loud
across the circle came men’s jeers,
raining bitter on her ears.
She suffered silent, shed no tears—
but could not flee, constrained to stand
by two bleak guards of Nurbek’s band.

Her raven tresses all could see
(how strange to feel them floating free).
The cause of it was no mystery—
by hair unveiling, captors tried,
to shame her modest maiden pride.
Sweet Kanikay was modest, true;
but, as daughter of a khan, knew
sufficient strength and confidence to
set aside unearned reproof,
and hold herself strong, aloof.

Dreadful hard that moment was—
for tears she had sufficient cause.
Just days before, against all laws,
Nurbek assaulted father’s camp.
Now, extinguished was the lamp
of old khan’s light, crushed ‘neath stamp
of usurper’s heel. But daughter
did not wail about the slaughter.
Just looked to what came after.

Her eyes spied Nurbek, that toad,
who styled himself ‘emir.’ He strode
forth, and on the folk bestowed
a calming gesture. Maiden showed
a sneer, like to convey that one
such as this seventh-seventh-son—
this upstart knave!—could never steal
her kingly birthright, or conceal
the mettle of her noble steel.

Like onyx flashed Nurbek’s cold eyes.
Black, too, peaked beard; and in the guise
of smile showed his ivory fangs.
Then spoke to the assembled gang:
“Week since, we had brave victory!
And now, for two days or three,
you’ve wallowed here in revelry—
all furnished by the courtesy
of my rich hospitality!
By right, I’ve earned your loyalty:
as general who, at your head,
upon the battlefield will shed
the blood of even khan most dread—
then gorge you at my banquet spread.”

“So now, we’ve feasted, guzzled, gamed.
At wrestling each of you was tamed
by my son Ermek, much acclaimed.”
And here he cast proud father’s hand
toward spot where (midst the rowdy band)
a strapping hero bold did stand.
“But light diversions still remain.
While menfolk watch, men’s mates would fain
to take their chance to entertain.
So: what women would audition
for this fair-sexed competition?
‘Twill be rewarding commission—
fat prize I offer she who dares!
The lady with victorious flair
will freedom earn, from bond or snare,
plus wealth to cancel every care—
a pure-white stallion and nine mares!”

On cue, Kanikay spied motion:
some girl swam through the ocean
of men, possessed of notion
to win the loot. Her rough-spun dress
to lowly servant’s role confessed—
tolengut scum, sore oppressed
in bondage to Nurbek. And though
reached marriage age not long ago
(youth, thus, some beauty to bestow),
still, downcast eyes, faint shade of woe,
and plainish looks did mar the show.

The despot gave a mighty laugh:
“Gulsana, my maidservant chaff,
I thought you not so brash by half
as to hazard my enchanting game.
Yet, you may play it all the same
(even lacking wealth and name),
as any of your sex may claim.”

Then, at all the folk he glanced,
till eye upon the princess chanced,
“But will no other be entranced
to venture for these winnings?
Contest the female innings
‘gainst this tolengut lackey?
Is she to claim the prize scot-free?”
Thus he goaded, cunningly.
To Kanikay, ‘twas plain to see
that Nurbek hoped to guarantee,
to make her part of the affray
(though knew not yet what game they’d play).
It’s why he’d put her on display.

Still, princess wasn’t one to fly.
In any noble sport they tried—
whether bows, swords, or fists they plied—
sure Nurbek (coaching on the sly),
Gulsana could have fortified.
But no mind: Kanikay would vie,
and sufficient skills supply!
Then, when she’d won, emir would cave;
honoring pledge he public gave.
“I, Kanikay, am no one’s slave!
Offshoot of khan, strong and brave—
right ruler of the steppe. I aim
to compete, to win the game,
and precious freedom thus reclaim!”

Smug, her captor had a sheen
of satisfaction on his mien.
“As you wish.” Then, changing pitch,
he barked to guards: “unbind the bitch!”

One of the pair (there on the pitch),
behind her back, to bound wrists hitched
his blade, and sliced apart the stitch.
But—free her thus’d been a blunder.
Kanikay, like bolt of thunder,
snatched knife from the other’s waist;
and, toward Nurbek, murderous raced.

Emir was startled, but still braced
by war-honed reflex. Hence, with haste,
he dodged and raised a gauntlet hand.
Weak her downswept blow did land
(tho’ left his forearm marked by brand
of scarlet). Then, while she staggered,
he kicked her legs, thus to snag her.
Flat on face, the dust did gag her—
and so, ere she found her swagger,
Ermek shed her of the dagger.

Awkward rising, with a frown,
she brushed down her beldemchi gown.
But Nurbek, too, felt like a clown.
To be upstaged? Left him flustered.
So, he raged with ugly bluster:
“Filly thinks to be ball-buster?
I’m her attitude adjuster!
After Gulsana’s whipped her hide,
Ermek will have her for a ride
(his cum-drenched whore, mind, never bride).
And when by cock she’s been well plied,
she'll ever after thighs spread wide—
a broken beast, right certified.“

Her keen eyes flashed: bold, defiant.
To this fiend she’d ne’er be pliant.
No froward spawn from Nurbek bred,
would ever pierce her maidenhead—
ere that befell, she’d sure be dead!

Girl did not foresee to perish,
though—‘cause in her heart, she cherished
hope of revenge, gory, garish.
But to achieve such vengeful deed,
she must in coming test succeed
(whatever form it took). Indeed,
defeat was unacceptable.
So, with poise perceptible,
she gritted teeth, and swore—that day,
low Gulsana would surely pay
for crossing her. As much to say
that if need be, that wretch she’d slay
with fingers bare! (Though she did pray
she’d triumph in some other way.)

To captive’s glare, Nurbek chose pay
no heed; but loud to mob did say:
“Fighters, time for talk is spent—
I promised you a grand event!”
Then, clapping hands, toward women bent
attention: “Come now, don’t be shy.
‘Tis time now, sluts, to let it fly.
Which of you two—we must espy—
can first the camel’s knot untie!”

As Kanikay mulled o’er this speech,
hot pinpricks into cheeks did leach.
A panicked breath, and quick beseech
blessed Khidr for salvation.
Asked herself, in agitation:
could there be miscalculation?
No, she’d correctly caught the ask—
‘untie the camel’ was their task.

* * * * *

She’d heard, in soft-toned narration,
tale of this abomination.
‘Twas mere lowbrow fascination,
not fit for maiden delectation.
Yet, the servants loved to natter;
and through tent walls, idle chatter
taught Kanikay of the matter.
Long ere father’s father’s days,
great lords had dabbled in the craze
to entertain with vile soirees.
‘Untie the camel’ was their sport—
thus, lewd made women to cavort.
Two females of the basest sort
were pressed, before entire court,
to strip off clothes—every jot!
Then bare, on hands-and-knees they got,
competing to untie the knot
of camel’s lead-rope, using naught
but gnashing teeth. Hard they fought—
since beast, to victor, was allot;
whilst loser left with diddly-squat.

Sick practice died when people claimed
the Prophet’s law, in Allah’s name.
Of such old games they were ashamed!
Yet… given what he’d just proclaimed,
to bring it back seemed Nurbek’s aim.

To princess, this declaration
prompted roiling agitation—
but she spied no reservation
in Gulsana. Information
‘bout emir’s odd stipulation
wench must have had. For, meek, that tart
just launched into her assigned part—
raising hands to make a start
on working clasp of belt apart!

The yells and catcalls of the horde
started low, but quickly soared.
Girl’s fingers fumbled with the cord,
then… Oh! Her belt fell to the sward.
Next, without pause, she moved along
to strings that held her garment on.
Scorn and derision of the throng
kept mounting—till one almost thought
Gulsana’d crack ‘neath cruel onslaught.
But though oppressed, she kept to plot,
and persevered. Yes, long it took…
but then at last (as clamor shook
the ground), she got her gown unhooked—
and let it fall, with downcast look.

Kanikay (midst smirking gaze),
her rival, candid, did appraise.
Gulsana stood there, ‘lone and dazed;
scorched by tumult’s fiery blaze—
head bent, naked, eyes in a glaze.
Scrawny thing: hips narrow, ribs plain,
brown skin tinged with jaundice stain.
‘Twas clear to see Nurbek’s vile reign
could offer up no gravy train,
for servants bonded by his chain.

She knew nude slag was ‘neath her grade—
best to disregard the jade.
Yet, Kanikay’s rapt eyes still played
upon her. Was one thing to wade
in stream with other village maids.
But see a female stripped like meat,
dropped at these wild hyenas’ feet?
Impossible to be discreet!

Modest were the girl’s two teats—
little more than hillock ripples,
tipped with small, pert rust-brown nipples.
The size of a dinar, yet triple
length they’d hardened—brazen out-thrust,
as if aimed to stoke the raw lust
of the mob. Further down, at twat
(where shave a well-bred Muslim ought),
lush pubic hair, hard not to spot,
in form of dark, triangle plot.

Not that waif was foul, distorted—
just, in all ways, low comported,
reft of things that might transported
her above servile birth. Short a
dowry, homely-looks thwarted,
ne’er by even goatherd courted…
Thus, she’d chose to be pariah,
with Nurbek her sick messiah,
hoping prize would let her try to
climb mount marriage-Himalaya.

Kanikay had a different take.
Not for wealth’s, nor freedom’s sake,
would dare her naked body stake
in game of emir-rattlesnake.
His depraved plan was now full clear.
With khan erased, he next would steer
to have princess’s image smeared,
parading her to taunts and leers.
And thus, whole royal line cashier
with crude slander. Well, never fear:
she’d grant Nurbek no speck of cheer.

* * * * * * * * * *

- Part II: Kanikay gets stripped -

Once more, Nurbek addressed khan’s child,
false-jocular he coaxed and smiled:
“Slut, you know how game is styled—
clothes must be ‘round your ankles piled!
Gulsana did it, meek and mild.
So show now, ‘neath your maiden dress,
the treasures we all crave assess.”

Folding arms across her chest,
she challenged man who would transgress.
Grim locking eyes, her stance expressed:
‘I’d rather die than tell you yes.’

Frustrated by her proud noblesse,
his voice more menace did profess.
“Whore! From this bout you can’t egress—
to taking part you acquiesced.
‘Twould be a slur if you back out.”
Thus saying, beckoned to his louts,
to put their calloused hands about
her upper arms, and hold her stout.

Such force, Kanikay could not flout;
yet: hoped outrage would kindle doubts
amongst onlookers. Peering
round, she spied scores once khan-fearing—
or, with khan, erst buccaneering.
Her eyes, proud and persevering,
silent asked: ‘why go on cheering
this vile scheme of me-besmearing?

But their looks gave her no hearing:
some stayed blank-faced, others sneering,
some with shameless lust a-leering.
And all, it seemed, backed emir’s say:
that earlier pledge to play
was binding (in spite of the way
the seamy nature of the fray
had been concealed from Kanikay).

Satisfied with mob’s support,
Nurbek reached down and swift drew forth
a wicked knife, Damascus sort.
Steel of this couteau de la mort
did in the noonday sun flash blue.
Thus, bleak visaged, he closer drew,
eyed her intensely, view to view…
and brandished dagger up to
her chest—as if to fear imbue.

But Kanikay was not subdued.
Far from it: lunging quick, she threw
herself forward, to be run through—
and so, in death, to end charade.
Yet… Nurbek’s men had more heed paid
to princess, since she’d grabbed one’s blade.
They gripped on tight, her plunge was stayed—
she thrashed, but failed to break blockade.

Villain looked amused, carefree,
his mouth upturned in mockery.
Twixt neck-line of her beldemchi,
flicked knife-tip in alarmingly.
Then, without more ceremony
than gutting fish, he cut a slash
down through wine-red felt. Grating gnash
of rent cloth sounded—harsh, like thrash
and scream of horse, when leg bone’s smashed.

The ruined garment fell away,
leaving poor, noble Kanikay
in just her long white shift. Arrayed
thus, she guessed where men’s keen eyes played,
bristled to think what they surveyed—
a bud about to turn bouquet.
Jut of nipples, shadowy sway
of curves, all on gauze-teased display…
she felt more bare than naked jay!
Yet, princess wasn’t docile prey—
to Nurbek, she’d no distress betray.
Jaw set, she feigned cool undismay.

Still… soon (both knew), she’d be picked clean,
weaned of clothes, as Gulsana’d been.
Last ticks of modesty lapsed in scene,
much like she faced the guillotine—
all frozen, anxious maiden spleen.
Almost a relief to glimpse mean-
spirit smile on Nurbek’s lips.
Sheathing steel, he grasped her slip,
and with both hands gave easy rip.
The fine silk tore in tattered strips,
tossed away with jaunty flip.

The spectators had freely aired
their glee to see Gulsana bared.
And yet (if truth be crude declared),
such trash held not much novelty.
There were always girls in poverty,
tolengut-slut commodities,
who'd quick their female goods unseal—
give it up to any schlemiel—
for meagre mare’s-milk kumis deal.
No, when it came to serving-maid,
what really earned their accolades
was public way she was purveyed.

Princess, though, was a different thing—
to view her nude made men’s hearts sing.
First, her noble form, her gender,
in all its natural splendor.
Then: a high-born, so low rendered?
Rapturous cheers the sight engendered.

To be, by such roars, buffeted,
made Kanikay feel small, wretched.
Gazed up, at azure overhead,
lip trembling with concerns unsaid,
she tried to tamp down looming dread.
Tried think herself elsewhere instead,
in some far-off steppe reach—safe fled.

* * * * *

Princess was for beauty known.
Dainty chin, coy grin, high cheek bones—
quick hazel eyes, the wry capstone.
Now, with each square-inch of her shown,
men learned, from first-hand inspection,
that her bodily complexion
displayed that self-same perfection.
Indeed, they’d no recollection
to see such flawless confection.
In all societies, it’s true:
less burdens will fall to girls who,
from khan’s royal line, ensue.
So, when her disrobing was through,
men gorged on the choicest of views:
the fruits high privilege accrues.

That’s not to say (I dare butt in)
that Kanikay was some glutton,
or idle shirk. No, she put in
the work; like a good steppe lass toiled—
sewed clothes and tents; mutton boiled;
fixed tack and tools; saved meat unspoiled;
and with fond care, beasts’ ailments foiled.
Yet: work, and deprivation’s sting,
are two entirely different things.
And Kanikay, as child of kings,
dodged the woes that normal life brings.
Missed famine, exhaustion, dire frost
(else freshness, beauty would been lost).
And absent these, she was embossed
as lustrous gem—pearl without cost.

Stood revealed now, in noon sun’s heat—
golden hued, like ripe summer wheat—
princess shone, a sensual treat.
Clear, smooth glow of skin conveyed
the finest silks wrought in Cathay.
And though they say, men come from clay,
this hardly fit to Kanikay.
A life of motion, every day,
shaped figure in a lithe, strong way,
limbs arced in long, graceful array.
Yet, if willow form she preserved,
still: nothing stingy ‘bout the curves
and supple flesh the men observed.
Everything about her expressed
health, wealth, and abundant largesse.
With drooling lust, each man obsessed
a fantasy, to rude molest
khan’s daughter. To lewd aggress,
and gain ‘twixt legs unchaste access—
girl’s lifeforce, thereby, to possess.

Kanikay’s gaze remained held high,
stared off at some blank patch of sky,
face unmoved by probing eyes.
Yet, oh, her tongue was cotton-dry.
And inside, how the blood did fly—
a-thud in ears, like as to die!
Infused tan cheeks with blushing red;
a bonfire (embarrassment-fed),
that gave clear tell of all the dread
and turmoil running through her head.

At heart of this emotional gale,
shame and mortification hailed.
Yet though these pains did cruel assail,
at least they fit what scene entailed.
Stranger, more disturbing by far,
was the… other feeling—bizarre,
erotic rush, obscene firestar—
threatening to blow her lid ajar,
like over-heated samovar.

See, all folk knew of herd’s dumb lusts—
in such base stuff, they need put trust.
From bull’s potency, firm, robust,
and cow’s openness to his thrust,
sprung every beast they were entrust.

Thus princess, too, once viewed the mate:
in mere practical terms. Of late,
though, as she grew to woman’s state,
she started to appreciate
that these same instinctive mandates
formed part of her, profound, innate.

Month by month, she suffered the darts—
withheld by khan from marriage mart,
till rich alliance could compart.
Each time gorgeous lads came to stay,
returned from hunt, or raiding-fray…
oh, how stomach butterflies played,
and how loins ached to go astray!
Had to bite her lip, just to stay
the itch, to keep from giving way
(and so, her lofty rank betray).

Then later, when dark hid the day,
unsought fantasies lurking lay—
spilling out in pre-dawn grey,
guilty sin she couldn’t gainsay.
For nights on end, her body burned;
while sleepless, Kanikay’s mind churned…
fevered, shameful, she tossed and turned—
shocked by the acts for which she yearned.
Dreaming of that close campstead
where young, virile studs made their spread.
Wishing one would raid her bed,
and rut her like mare being bred.

Today, Kanikay—penned-in, nude—
felt these same base needs obtrude.
Sure, ‘twas awful to be so viewed,
stripped bare before the multitude,
yet… through it all, untamed and crude,
a throb of sex infused the mood,
urging her to servitude.
For skin to feel sun’s warmth, wind’s blow;
to sense her own young, fertile glow;
even ribald taunts, her way thrown…
every bit of this mad tableau
seemed primed to make her cravings flow.

She tried to bat these thoughts away,
that threatened honor to betray.
(And more, were downright déclassé!)
But every move to stamp that spark,
just stoked the flames to higher mark.
With lump in throat, and catch in chest,
she felt hard nipples—far out-pressed,
as if to beg the breeze caress.
Felt too, ‘tween legs (she must confess),
the stirrings of risqué wetness.

* * * * * * * * * *

- Part III: Kanikay gets humiliated -

Dogged effort Kanikay made,
to keep these longings un-displayed.
In desperation, even prayed:
‘Please, Allah, take my weak-willed sin.