Go with Tarken

You travel to Tarkens lavish abode and he takes you into his central courtyard. “Sit,” Tarken says.

You sit down and Tarken claps his hands. A nubile young **** girl in matching outfit comprising sheer silk veil, halter and lap cloth slides into the room. Her eyes are demurely down cast, as though she were embarrassed to meet your gaze, and her supple body is tattooed in a wild and extravagantly colourful manner. To further enhance her beauty the girl is completely shaved - from head to toe she has not a hair on her body. Even her eyebrows are shaved. The svelte little **** girl is intoxicatingly exotic.

“Ah, I see you admire my ****. I like to decorate my pets,” he says as he traces a tattoo on her leg which disappears tantalizingly into her silk enshrouded nether regions. The girl closes her eyes in enjoyment at her master’s caress. “She was a good opponent,” he laughs and slaps her on her pert little bottom and her face reddens. She turns to you and seems about to say something, then looks down indignantly. You watch in appreciation the girls graceful departure.

“You have her shaved,” you note.

“Yes, as punishment at first, although I quite like her this way now. I have her bathed in a special elixir which prevents her hair from growing.”

You turn to the table and see a chess set there. “You wish to challenge me?” you ask with a grin. You are quite renowned as a chess player, and so is Tarken. Many times you have talked of playing and now it seems you shall.

“I usually play with one of my **** girls, but I tire of them. They so rarely challenge me. Then I started to think that perhaps you might like to play with me. This chess set is unique, unlike any in the land.”

You take a moment to admire the set. The workmanship is exquisitely detailed; and if you did not know better you would think that the pieces were miniature people. Yours are all female and dressed in black.

The pawns are cute little harem slaves, similar to the one that just served you, in black veils, halters and lap cloths, some shaved and tattooed others not.

The castles are girls atop miniature bondage sets, with a black leathered lash mistress, one with small breasts, the other medium.

The knights are pretty little pony girls with large breasts and bits in their teeth.

The bishops were fetching little woman in nuns habits and wasp waisted boned cinctures that pushed their breasts up high and compressed their waists substantially. Beneath these they wore frilly sheer negligeee and little else.

The queen was a beautiful Nubian with a tiara, tightly laced corset that accentuated her ample cleavage, ornate lace-trimmed petticoat, garter belt, black fishnets, six-inch black stiletto heels and lavish amounts of jewelry.

Tarken’s pieces were dressed in white and were all male with the exception of the modestly attired though very curvaceous queen. The pawns were Arab slavers, the castles Ethiopian **** trainers with their discipline machines, the knights Moorish Pony girl trainers, the bishops Stygian sorcerers with wizardly staffs.

“Where are the kings?” you ask, for where the kings should stand is empty.

“Touch the kings square and you shall see,” Tarken says.

You frown. You have known Tarken for a while and have grown to trust him.