FIC : Desert Bloom 1/2
Title: Desert Bloom
Author: takhallus
Rating: NC17
Word count: 8148
Prompt: Christopher Pine has been shanghaied into serving in the French Foreign Legion. He and his cohorts find themselves under attack by the mysterious Sheik who hold the whole territory in his fearsome grip. With their post overrun all the men captured or killed Chris waits to meet his own death, but he find himself being taken back to the Sheik's palace and face to face with the man himself. The Sheik is intrigued by Chris' beautiful eyes and before Chris knows it he finds himself as a concubine. . . Chris in harem pants. . . . Zach in sheik's robes
Warnings (if any): Bisexual Zach, consent issues
A/N: The nature of the prompt meant that I had to employ some old fashioned Arabic stereotypes. I apologise if this offends anyone. Beta was the amazing sylargrrrl
Sun beat down mercilessly on Chris’s back as he dug into a sand foxhole which offered scant protection against either the scorching rays of the Rub Al-Khali desert or the barbary pirates who roamed it. He was positioned with the rest of his unit as they attempted to scope out an area which was thought to be under the control of the sheikh Zakariyya al-Abdul Aziz, who since the death of his father three years ago had allowed his advisors to virtually run the region while he had laid around fucking and drinking. It wasn’t exactly the humanitarian heroics that Chris had imagined, but when you join the French Foreign Legion, you quickly realise that your romanticised notions of a crew of runaways and brigands saving the tribes from themselves are nonsense.
The Legion had been a shelter to Chris when his wealthy parents had attempted to have him down the aisle with the eldest daughter of the Beaumonts.When all other attempts had failed (and they numbered many, including bribery, begging and tantrums with added tears) he had joined the Legion where even the fiduciary might of the Pine clan could not buy his freedom from the oath he had sworn.
The Beaumont girl, Gabriella, had been pretty enough, and smart. Unfortunately she was female, and Chris knew that that would not be enough for him. He had known he liked men since he was six years old and he had seen one of their gardeners strip off his shirt in the hot sun and pour water over his toned chest. Chris wished he could do that right now as the heavy blue blazer stuck to him, not even a slight breeze could tickle the back of his neck while his kepi had its drape affixed.
When he got back to base he could stand under the cold shower with the other guys and wash away the sand and filth of the desert. It was a tantalising thought, and it was the last one he had before a cosh knocked him unconscious.
Three weeks later
Zak let his head fall back and reached for his wine glass. He felt like riding today, and then perhaps some swimming. After that he knew he would fall to boredom but he had books to read, and by then he would be hungry anyway. Perhaps later he would have some of the women dance for him. The prettiest one he would bring back to his bed and then tomorrow the whole rigmarole would begin again. He had a good life, a comfortable life where all his needs were met, but he lacked stimulation. And not the kind he was currently getting from the talented mouth of....Aini? Possibly Aini. Or her sister Luja.
“Ahem.”
Zak looked up to see his chief advisor stood in the doorway. Abdul-Basir had been the right hand man of his father so Zak allowed him free reign over the men and the running of the household. The household did not include Zak’s cock. He sighed and tapped the girl on the shoulder. “You can go.”
She bowed and left quickly as Abdul-Basir entered the room and ushered her out. “Zakariyya, do you know that girl’s name?”
Zak brightened as he tucked his cock away and re-filled his wine glass. “I do actually, I believe that’s Ania. Or Luja. Are they twins? They are very alike.”
Abdul-Basir shook his head. “And do you know the name Haydar al-Rafi?”
Zak snorted. “I do - the fool was just overthrown, by his own men! This is why I have you here my trusted friend. You would never let that happen.”
“I am but one man, sayyid. Do you know how many rose against al-Rafi? Close to two hundred. And do you know who led them?”
Zak rolled his eyes. “This politics lesson is very interesting Abdul but can we dispense with it in case my dick dries like a date left in the sun?”
“The man’s name was Rabah al-Haydar. al-Rafi’s bastard son. At eighteen he rose against his father and took everything.” Abdul-Basir placed a chair next to Zak and stared him down. “Bastard son. Do you understand me clearly?”
Zak looked away. “Any son I father has a long time to grow up and choose to try and overthrow me. Why speak of these things now?”
“You are thirty-two, Zakariyya. You have been whoring around with these harem girls for over seventeen years now, have you not? I remember your purity was lost when you were fifteen, to a woman from your father’s servants. How do you know there isn’t already a usurper out there plotting? If every girl you have laid with has had a son each time the bastard army will number five fucking thousand!”
Zak’s laugh had a tinge of nerves to it. “You are funny Abdul, maybe my balls are filled with sand, did you ever think that? I mean seventeen years and still no children. I must be truly blessed.”
Abdul-Basir stood. “I have sent the girls away, every one. All females in this house are either children or past the age of child-bearing by a clear ten years. I hope neither of these two group attracts your attention.”
He stalked away and Zak called after him desperately.“Abdul! You cannot do this, I forbid it!”
Abdul turned and gave him an incredulous look.
“Alright, I will not forbid you but..Abdul, think of my dick!”
The advisor smirked. “Stick it in something that can’t give you a child. Furnish your bed with men, and we reach compromise.”
Zak sank into his chair. Men. Of course, he liked men just as much as women, but his father had never had attractive men in the house. The men were working, or fighting.
“Kamal!” Zak yelled to his personal servant, who had no doubt heard everything. He was in his early sixties and shuffled in with a distinct look of trepidation on his face. “You heard Abdul, I need men to stick my dick in.”
Kamal began to shake his head and Zak laughed until there were tears in his eyes. “I don’t want to fuck you, you shrivelled old camel’s sphincter. I want young, attractive men. Beautiful ones. Bring me one so I can see if you’re a good judge of beauty. If he pleases me I’ll give you the rest of the day off while I amuse myself with him.”
Kamal gave a shallow bow and ducked out of the room. Zak sprawled out on his bed and gave his dick a cursory tug. His father always told him that within every hardship was opportunity. Auditioning beautiful boys for his new risk free male harem would stave off his boredom, for now.
__
“No, no, no!” Zak gave an exasperated sigh. “This boy is ordinary! I wanted something special.”
“But sayyid, he is a good Arabian boy, strong, black hair, brown eyes.” Kamal gestured towards the lithe young man who stood with a bored expression in the ante room of Zak’s chambers.
“Kamal, if I wanted to fuck boys like this I would just wank in front of a mirror!” He shooed the boy away and beckoned Kamal forward. “Where do the pirates sell their slaves?”
Kamal shook his head. “No sayyid, they are not to be trusted.”
“Where?” Zak stared into Kamal’s eyes and gripped his shoulders. “If I want something done right it seems I must do it myself.”
Kamal sighed, defeated. “In the old market sayyid, but we must take men with us.”
Zak nodded. “See to it, and come straight back for me. I must see this done by sunset or my prick will wither and fall off.”
He went to his closet and took out a long black robe and ghutra, then darkened his eyes with kohl. He did not want to risk being seen consorting with pirates but this task was beyond Kamal and his narrow view of beauty. Pirates attacked foreign ships, and brought new and exotic slaves to be sold for the right price. Perhaps a Spanish boy with brown hair and light eyes would be within his grasp, or even better an ebony skinned Eritrean. Anything but these common looking Arabians. True there were Arabs with lighter colouring, but not in this region. Here they all looked like him, and that was simply dull.
“Sayyid, we await your command. The horses are ready.”
“Very good Kamal. Let’s go and get my dick wet.” Zak swished the robe around him as Kamal gave him a weak smile.
--
The old market was busy, and Zak took pains to keep his face covered. He was something of a celebrity to the local people and they would beg for a touch of his hand or to take their children into service at the qasr if they spotted him among them. He walked with Kamal at his heel and two bodyguards, another two were also behind them in street clothes so as not to arouse suspicion. In the corner of the oldest part of the city Zak saw a man in bright green silks edge out of the entrance to a house. Kamal put a hand on Zak’s arm and nodded to indicate that this was the man they were to do business with.
The house was dark and musty, and crowded with pirates. Their bright clothes and turbans were out of place in the city, and so most of them wore white thobe. Their plaited beards and pierced ears were all that marked them out from any other men.
The man in the green silks, however, seemed to favour no such disguise. He wore billowing trousers which were tied tight at the waist, and a matching shirt with long voluminous sleeves. Over this he wore a tight fitting waistcoat decorated with sequins and gold thread, and on his head was a golden turban fastened with a brooch of bright sapphire.
“Good day sayyid - you bring money to pay with?” The sunlight reflected off a golden tooth as he grinned.
Zak nodded to Kamal, who stepped forward. “Sayyid brings money, he is looking for a man or a boy. Not Arab, a foreign boy.”
The pirate laughed. “Sayyid has particular tastes.” He clapped and called out a word in a foreign tongue. There was some commotion behind him and suddenly another pirate stepped forward, dragging behind him a white man. As he pulled the man into the light, Zak’s breath was stolen from his lungs. The foreigner was tall, slim but toned and slightly bronzed by the sun. His hair was light brown, and he had eyes the colour of the Laccadive Sea. Those eyes shone bright as diamonds in the dingy room, and Zak knew he must have him.
“Kam howa thamanoh?” Zak asked.
The pirate grinned again. “Two hundred thousand, sayyid.”
Kamal made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a gasp and began to haggle, but Zak held up his hand for silence.
“Is he intact?” Zak nodded to the boy’s groin.
The pirate laughed and reached down to the man’s loin cloth, pulling it from him. Zak saw the man flinch and hang his head, breathing hard as though holding back tears as he stood naked in front of the men. He felt a twinge of guilt and turned away. “Kamal, pay the man and bring my goods. Have him dressed.”
Zak walked straight to his horse and mounted him, only turning back once he was secure in the saddle. He watched as the two bodyguards brought the foreign boy out, now covered in a futah. He happened to glance down at a market stall where a man was selling brightly coloured sheer sirwal which had thick silk bands at the ankles and waist. “Kamal!” He yelled down from his horse. “Buy those sirwal for my boy, one in each colour.”
Kamal nodded and went to the stall, where the appreciative trader thanked him profusely and folded sirwal in red, pink, green, blue, gold and purple into a paper package. The things were for dancers, and foreigners wanting to buy ‘authentic’ Arabian dress to take home as gifts. Zak imagined the contrast of the colours against the boy’s skin and felt his cock twitch. He looked around to see his purchase sat atop the horse of one of the bodyguards. He looked weary and defeated which was not part of the fantasy. Zak determined to treat the boy like a prince back at the qasr, to put a regal spring in his step. There was no fun in an unresponsive partner after all.
…
Chris’s bruises pained him greatly as clung to the galloping horse. He thought that the man in black had paid a great deal for him, but the bodyguard charged with his carriage didn’t seem to be particularly concerned with his safety. They rode from the city into desert land which seemed to stretch on and on and Chris couldn’t imagine that there was anything out here for miles and miles. Suddenly they rose up over a hill, and Chris’s breath was taken as he saw their destination. It was what he would call a palace, a structure about 300 square metres fortified by high walls and enclosing gardens, animal pens and other buildings. Behind it was another square building, about a third the size, which had people milling about it.
“Your new home, little prince.” The bodyguard mocked. Then without warning he charged the horse down towards the palace leaving Chris to cling to him for dear life. They veered to the back of the building to the stables, and Chris found himself plucked from the horse as though he weighed nothing. The bodyguard left him and the old man who had accompanied them beckoned him towards a large gate beyond which Chris could see gardens. Inside the gate Chris gasped to see such greenery when they had just been galloping through desert. He looked at the old man and asked how this could be.
“Water comes underground. We do not all bathe in sand, little white man.” He said before beckoning him again. They walked through the lush green flower gardens to a raised and open air bath house which was decorated with tiles of white, blue and red. The bath itself was twelve feet square and four feet deep and sunk into the floor with a flower mural on its bottom. “Bathe and perfume yourself for the sayyid. He waits for you.” said the old man before leaving without a backward glance.
Chris leaned down to put his hand in the water. It was perfectly warmed by the sun and he wanted to dive straight in. He looked around, sheepishly shedding the futah despite the fact that no-one was paying him the slightest bit of attention. Naked, he climbed into the bath and sighed with relief at the warmth of the water and the soothing effect it had on his bruised and battered body. He let himself sink under the water and washed off the grime which had been sitting on his skin for almost four weeks. On the side of the bath was a basket of soap and perfumed oil. Chris took the soap and lathered it, first rubbing it into his filthy hair. He bobbed under the water over and over until his hair felt clean, before beginning to wash his body. Once he was satisfied he looked at the perfumed oils and pulled the cork from one, breathing in its scent. Jasmine oil. He rubbed it into his bruises and other sore patches until he felt some relief from the dull pain. Floating on his back he drifted off as he looked up at the clear blue sky. He was relaxed for the first time since his capture, but he could guess why he had been purchased. He wondered whether it would be the man in black who he would be expected to service, or whether there were other slaves he was to fuck for the man’s amusement.
“Dry yourself and wear this, the sayyid expects you now.” The old man barked before shuffling off again. Chris hadn’t even heard him arrive and wondered how long he’d been standing there looking at his nakedness. He ducked under water once more before emerging and wrapping himself in the huge white towel which had been left there. He looked down at the clothes he was expected to wear and swallowed hard. The pants were sheer and he would be virtually naked standing in front of the man. The sun dried him almost as quickly as the towel and he pulled on the pants, which were purple with bright blue satin cuffs at the ankles and waist. When he picked them up he saw a pot of black powder was underneath them, but he had no idea what it was for. He decided to do nothing with it in case he got it wrong and was beaten. Instead he carried it as the old man returned and led him to his new owner.
They walked through the pillared halls of the palace, each section of wall boasting its own intricate wall hanging or work of art.The furniture was exquisite, beautiful golden and jewel-studded boxes and marble statues were so numerous that it would take a whole museum to hold them. They ascended a dozen stairs and the old man stopped in front of a thick red velvet curtain. He gestured that Chris should go through and then turned and shuffled off. Turning to the curtain, Chris took a very deep breath and pushed through.
The room before him was the most beautiful he had ever seen. The floor and walls were white marble decorated with thin black raised columns with a gold criss-cross pattern running floor to ceiling and spaced a metre apart. The room he looked at held a huge bed. It was strewn with bedspreads of gold and red and featured a pointed arch gilded headboard. On it reclined his owner. He was wearing a long blue silk robe which was so delicate that it clearly showed him to be naked underneath it. Without his headdress the man looked younger, and the black around his large brown eyes had been cleaned off until only a thin line was left to accentuate them. Suddenly Chris realised what the pot of black powder was for.
“Come in, what is your name?”
Chris slowly moved towards the bed. “Christopher” he whispered.
The owner furrowed his brow and opened his mouth as if he was rolling Chris’s name around it. “Christiffer. No, I will call you Kazim. Kazim is the name we give to our well-mannered, obedient boys. Come closer. Kneel.”
Resentment burned in the pit of Chris’s stomach but he knew better than to disobey. He approached the bed uneasily and went to his knees. The owner’s gaze ran over every inch of Chris’s body like he was sizing him up for a meal. Eventually he reached out to stroke Chris’s face. He cupped his cheek and ran his thumb over his lips, finally tilting his head so that they were eye to eye,
“Your eyes are like jewels. Your lips like rose petals. Do you like my qasr?”
Chris nodded.
“I like to surround myself with beautiful things. Some are more functional than others. Are you experienced in giving pleasure to men?”
Chris wondered whether to lie, in case purity was something the sheikh was looking for. In the end he looked into those wicked eyes and decided that it certainly was not. “Yes, I am, sayyid.”
“Good. Suck my dick.”
The sheikh pulled off his robe to reveal a toned body with whorls of black hair on his chest and an already hard six inch cock. He sat at the edge of the huge bed and lay back, his flat stomach rising and falling gently. Chris licked his lips and took the tip of the sheikh’s dick into his mouth. He suckled on it momentarily before the scent of the sheikh’s skin and the taste of his precum brought memories of his last sexual encounter rushing back to him. It had been so long since he had been with a man and he wasn’t going to waste this opportunity just because of the slightly dubious circumstances. He took all of the sheikh into his mouth and sucked, bobbing his head as he rolled the man’s balls in his hand and moaned around the throbbing length. The previously languid and mildly indifferent sheikh now began to writhe and moan beneath him, scrunching the red silk of the bedspread in his fist as he arched his back and ran his other hand into Chris’s hair. Chris eased a finger into his mouth beside the sheikh’s cock to wet it, then slid it inside him. The touch alone sent the sheikh over the edge and Chris’s mouth was flooded with his come. He swallowed and cleared his throat, looking up at his work.
The sheikh’s hair was falling over his face, the kohl now smudged around his sex-hazed eyes. He sat up and took Chris’s face in his hands kissing him deeply. “You are truly skilled my Kazim. I have purchased well.” He clapped his hands and Kamal appeared from behind the red velvet curtain. “Kamal, fetch food and wine for my boy and I.” The sheikh patted the bed next to him. “You call me sayyid but you do not know what this means do you?”
Chris thought it probably meant Sir, but he wasn’t sure. He had had the opportunity to study Arabic in the Legion but had never taken it up. He shook his head as he climbed onto the bed.
“You have a word in your own tongue, ‘master’. This is what you will call me.”
“Yes, master.” Chris said. The sheikh was staring at him. Perhaps he expected more resistance but Chris had had good training in kidnapping so knew that the most important things to do were gain empathy, gain comfort and keep circadian rhythms. Taking on a stronghold wasn’t an option, nor was trying to contact the outside world. Right now he needed to eat, so he was glad there was food coming.
When it arrived the food was out of this world. There was chicken, lamb and beef, all smothered in something which tasted of aniseed and ginger. There was a kind of bread with scrambled eggs in it which looked odd but tasted amazing. There was rice, potatoes and vegetables and Chris devoured everything he could get his hands on while the sheikh picked at it and looked amused at his unabashed greed. The sheikh poured Chris some wine and he drank it before realising that it could have been drugged. On balance though, he thought it unlikely that the sheikh would do him harm. After all, he was completely at his mercy and had cost him a pretty penny.
Just as Chris thought he couldn’t take another morsel more servants arrived, this time with desserts. Chris ate about a dozen buttery date filled cakes and still managed to force down some baklava. By the time only crumbs remained on the plate he was well sated and the sheikh had the dishes cleared away.
“When did you last eat, boy?”
“Yesterday, master.” The pirates gave them food to stop them from losing weight and therefore strength and muscle. Each day was the same thin soup of vegetables, rice and if you were lucky a scrap of meat. It was the only thing he had eaten since he was taken and he had almost forgotten what other food tasted like.
“Sleep for a while, I have things to attend to.” The sheikh rose and left Chris alone on the giant bed. He struggled at first to find how to get under the covers, such were the layers of fabric on the bed, but eventually he found a pillow and the edge of one of the bedspreads and crawled beneath them to fall into a deep sleep.
It had been still light when Chris had started his little nap but when he felt an insistent pushing at his shoulder, he awoke to find it dark and the warmth of the sheikh’s body in beside him. He also felt a crippling pain in his stomach which made him regret every mouthful of the rich food he’d bolted down. The contrast between the measly bland soup he’d been fed by the pirates and the banquet he had enjoyed today had obviously been too much for his constitution. The sheikh stroked his cheek with a single finger.
“Wake up my flower, open yourself to me.”
The covers were pulled back and Chris felt a hand on his stomach, which made him wince with pain. The sheikh pushed his legs apart and settled between them, placing a hand on Chris’s hip. The pain came again and Chris moaned and held out his hands, pushing the sheikh’s shoulders away gently. “Please master, not tonight.”
The sheikh furrowed his brow. “What is the meaning of this? I want you, open to me. Turn over if you prefer, but I mean to have you.”
Chris winced again as the sheikh pressed their naked bodies together. The sheikh began to kiss his neck and grind against him and Chris cried out in pain.
The sheikh jumped back as if he had been bitten. “What is this? Explain yourself.”
“I don’t want to. I’m unwell.” Chris snapped. He expected to be beaten for this but he knew that if he had to fuck like this he’d vomit or just pass out from the pain. Instead the sheikh looked at him, bemused.
“You will do as I say.” The sheikh looked unsure of his own words.
“I can't.” Chris barked. “What are you gonna do, rape me?”
The sheikh mouthed the word ‘rape’. “What is this ‘rape’? What does it mean?”
Chris was nonplussed. “It means when you fuck someone and they don’t want you to.”
The sheikh laughed. “I am Zakariyya al-Abdul Aziz. I am the most handsome man who has drawn breath from the Gulf air. Who would not want to fuck me?”
“People with a stomach ache because they ate too much.”
The sheikh had no answer to this. He clapped his hands and sat back in the bed, regarding Chris as if his skin were bright blue. A servant appeared at the curtain and bowed.
“Fetch fennel tea and honey for my boy, he has a stomach ache.” The sheikh watched him with interest and when the tea came he added the honey himself and stirred it slowly. “Drink it slowly, then sleep.”
The sheikh lay down and slept as Chris sat and drank his tea. The taste was pleasant and he immediately started to feel better. He drained the glass and tiptoed out to the wash room to relieve himself. He had not expected the evening to go as it had and if he had not taken ill he would have let the sheikh fuck him without question. It was no hardship to him, in fact it would have been welcome as long as there was no violence involved. The sheikh was handsome, strong and well-hung and Chris hadn’t been laid in over a year. Good food and good sex and a palace to sleep in were a lot better than he had had whilst the guest of the pirates.
He returned to the bed to find the sheikh dead to the world. The moonlight on his face made him look all the more beautiful, and almost innocent as he slept peacefully. Chris tucked in beside him and rested his head on the sheikh’s chest.
Part 2
Author: takhallus
Rating: NC17
Word count: 8148
Prompt: Christopher Pine has been shanghaied into serving in the French Foreign Legion. He and his cohorts find themselves under attack by the mysterious Sheik who hold the whole territory in his fearsome grip. With their post overrun all the men captured or killed Chris waits to meet his own death, but he find himself being taken back to the Sheik's palace and face to face with the man himself. The Sheik is intrigued by Chris' beautiful eyes and before Chris knows it he finds himself as a concubine. . . Chris in harem pants. . . . Zach in sheik's robes
Warnings (if any): Bisexual Zach, consent issues
A/N: The nature of the prompt meant that I had to employ some old fashioned Arabic stereotypes. I apologise if this offends anyone. Beta was the amazing sylargrrrl
Sun beat down mercilessly on Chris’s back as he dug into a sand foxhole which offered scant protection against either the scorching rays of the Rub Al-Khali desert or the barbary pirates who roamed it. He was positioned with the rest of his unit as they attempted to scope out an area which was thought to be under the control of the sheikh Zakariyya al-Abdul Aziz, who since the death of his father three years ago had allowed his advisors to virtually run the region while he had laid around fucking and drinking. It wasn’t exactly the humanitarian heroics that Chris had imagined, but when you join the French Foreign Legion, you quickly realise that your romanticised notions of a crew of runaways and brigands saving the tribes from themselves are nonsense.
The Legion had been a shelter to Chris when his wealthy parents had attempted to have him down the aisle with the eldest daughter of the Beaumonts.When all other attempts had failed (and they numbered many, including bribery, begging and tantrums with added tears) he had joined the Legion where even the fiduciary might of the Pine clan could not buy his freedom from the oath he had sworn.
The Beaumont girl, Gabriella, had been pretty enough, and smart. Unfortunately she was female, and Chris knew that that would not be enough for him. He had known he liked men since he was six years old and he had seen one of their gardeners strip off his shirt in the hot sun and pour water over his toned chest. Chris wished he could do that right now as the heavy blue blazer stuck to him, not even a slight breeze could tickle the back of his neck while his kepi had its drape affixed.
When he got back to base he could stand under the cold shower with the other guys and wash away the sand and filth of the desert. It was a tantalising thought, and it was the last one he had before a cosh knocked him unconscious.
Three weeks later
Zak let his head fall back and reached for his wine glass. He felt like riding today, and then perhaps some swimming. After that he knew he would fall to boredom but he had books to read, and by then he would be hungry anyway. Perhaps later he would have some of the women dance for him. The prettiest one he would bring back to his bed and then tomorrow the whole rigmarole would begin again. He had a good life, a comfortable life where all his needs were met, but he lacked stimulation. And not the kind he was currently getting from the talented mouth of....Aini? Possibly Aini. Or her sister Luja.
“Ahem.”
Zak looked up to see his chief advisor stood in the doorway. Abdul-Basir had been the right hand man of his father so Zak allowed him free reign over the men and the running of the household. The household did not include Zak’s cock. He sighed and tapped the girl on the shoulder. “You can go.”
She bowed and left quickly as Abdul-Basir entered the room and ushered her out. “Zakariyya, do you know that girl’s name?”
Zak brightened as he tucked his cock away and re-filled his wine glass. “I do actually, I believe that’s Ania. Or Luja. Are they twins? They are very alike.”
Abdul-Basir shook his head. “And do you know the name Haydar al-Rafi?”
Zak snorted. “I do - the fool was just overthrown, by his own men! This is why I have you here my trusted friend. You would never let that happen.”
“I am but one man, sayyid. Do you know how many rose against al-Rafi? Close to two hundred. And do you know who led them?”
Zak rolled his eyes. “This politics lesson is very interesting Abdul but can we dispense with it in case my dick dries like a date left in the sun?”
“The man’s name was Rabah al-Haydar. al-Rafi’s bastard son. At eighteen he rose against his father and took everything.” Abdul-Basir placed a chair next to Zak and stared him down. “Bastard son. Do you understand me clearly?”
Zak looked away. “Any son I father has a long time to grow up and choose to try and overthrow me. Why speak of these things now?”
“You are thirty-two, Zakariyya. You have been whoring around with these harem girls for over seventeen years now, have you not? I remember your purity was lost when you were fifteen, to a woman from your father’s servants. How do you know there isn’t already a usurper out there plotting? If every girl you have laid with has had a son each time the bastard army will number five fucking thousand!”
Zak’s laugh had a tinge of nerves to it. “You are funny Abdul, maybe my balls are filled with sand, did you ever think that? I mean seventeen years and still no children. I must be truly blessed.”
Abdul-Basir stood. “I have sent the girls away, every one. All females in this house are either children or past the age of child-bearing by a clear ten years. I hope neither of these two group attracts your attention.”
He stalked away and Zak called after him desperately.“Abdul! You cannot do this, I forbid it!”
Abdul turned and gave him an incredulous look.
“Alright, I will not forbid you but..Abdul, think of my dick!”
The advisor smirked. “Stick it in something that can’t give you a child. Furnish your bed with men, and we reach compromise.”
Zak sank into his chair. Men. Of course, he liked men just as much as women, but his father had never had attractive men in the house. The men were working, or fighting.
“Kamal!” Zak yelled to his personal servant, who had no doubt heard everything. He was in his early sixties and shuffled in with a distinct look of trepidation on his face. “You heard Abdul, I need men to stick my dick in.”
Kamal began to shake his head and Zak laughed until there were tears in his eyes. “I don’t want to fuck you, you shrivelled old camel’s sphincter. I want young, attractive men. Beautiful ones. Bring me one so I can see if you’re a good judge of beauty. If he pleases me I’ll give you the rest of the day off while I amuse myself with him.”
Kamal gave a shallow bow and ducked out of the room. Zak sprawled out on his bed and gave his dick a cursory tug. His father always told him that within every hardship was opportunity. Auditioning beautiful boys for his new risk free male harem would stave off his boredom, for now.
__
“No, no, no!” Zak gave an exasperated sigh. “This boy is ordinary! I wanted something special.”
“But sayyid, he is a good Arabian boy, strong, black hair, brown eyes.” Kamal gestured towards the lithe young man who stood with a bored expression in the ante room of Zak’s chambers.
“Kamal, if I wanted to fuck boys like this I would just wank in front of a mirror!” He shooed the boy away and beckoned Kamal forward. “Where do the pirates sell their slaves?”
Kamal shook his head. “No sayyid, they are not to be trusted.”
“Where?” Zak stared into Kamal’s eyes and gripped his shoulders. “If I want something done right it seems I must do it myself.”
Kamal sighed, defeated. “In the old market sayyid, but we must take men with us.”
Zak nodded. “See to it, and come straight back for me. I must see this done by sunset or my prick will wither and fall off.”
He went to his closet and took out a long black robe and ghutra, then darkened his eyes with kohl. He did not want to risk being seen consorting with pirates but this task was beyond Kamal and his narrow view of beauty. Pirates attacked foreign ships, and brought new and exotic slaves to be sold for the right price. Perhaps a Spanish boy with brown hair and light eyes would be within his grasp, or even better an ebony skinned Eritrean. Anything but these common looking Arabians. True there were Arabs with lighter colouring, but not in this region. Here they all looked like him, and that was simply dull.
“Sayyid, we await your command. The horses are ready.”
“Very good Kamal. Let’s go and get my dick wet.” Zak swished the robe around him as Kamal gave him a weak smile.
--
The old market was busy, and Zak took pains to keep his face covered. He was something of a celebrity to the local people and they would beg for a touch of his hand or to take their children into service at the qasr if they spotted him among them. He walked with Kamal at his heel and two bodyguards, another two were also behind them in street clothes so as not to arouse suspicion. In the corner of the oldest part of the city Zak saw a man in bright green silks edge out of the entrance to a house. Kamal put a hand on Zak’s arm and nodded to indicate that this was the man they were to do business with.
The house was dark and musty, and crowded with pirates. Their bright clothes and turbans were out of place in the city, and so most of them wore white thobe. Their plaited beards and pierced ears were all that marked them out from any other men.
The man in the green silks, however, seemed to favour no such disguise. He wore billowing trousers which were tied tight at the waist, and a matching shirt with long voluminous sleeves. Over this he wore a tight fitting waistcoat decorated with sequins and gold thread, and on his head was a golden turban fastened with a brooch of bright sapphire.
“Good day sayyid - you bring money to pay with?” The sunlight reflected off a golden tooth as he grinned.
Zak nodded to Kamal, who stepped forward. “Sayyid brings money, he is looking for a man or a boy. Not Arab, a foreign boy.”
The pirate laughed. “Sayyid has particular tastes.” He clapped and called out a word in a foreign tongue. There was some commotion behind him and suddenly another pirate stepped forward, dragging behind him a white man. As he pulled the man into the light, Zak’s breath was stolen from his lungs. The foreigner was tall, slim but toned and slightly bronzed by the sun. His hair was light brown, and he had eyes the colour of the Laccadive Sea. Those eyes shone bright as diamonds in the dingy room, and Zak knew he must have him.
“Kam howa thamanoh?” Zak asked.
The pirate grinned again. “Two hundred thousand, sayyid.”
Kamal made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a gasp and began to haggle, but Zak held up his hand for silence.
“Is he intact?” Zak nodded to the boy’s groin.
The pirate laughed and reached down to the man’s loin cloth, pulling it from him. Zak saw the man flinch and hang his head, breathing hard as though holding back tears as he stood naked in front of the men. He felt a twinge of guilt and turned away. “Kamal, pay the man and bring my goods. Have him dressed.”
Zak walked straight to his horse and mounted him, only turning back once he was secure in the saddle. He watched as the two bodyguards brought the foreign boy out, now covered in a futah. He happened to glance down at a market stall where a man was selling brightly coloured sheer sirwal which had thick silk bands at the ankles and waist. “Kamal!” He yelled down from his horse. “Buy those sirwal for my boy, one in each colour.”
Kamal nodded and went to the stall, where the appreciative trader thanked him profusely and folded sirwal in red, pink, green, blue, gold and purple into a paper package. The things were for dancers, and foreigners wanting to buy ‘authentic’ Arabian dress to take home as gifts. Zak imagined the contrast of the colours against the boy’s skin and felt his cock twitch. He looked around to see his purchase sat atop the horse of one of the bodyguards. He looked weary and defeated which was not part of the fantasy. Zak determined to treat the boy like a prince back at the qasr, to put a regal spring in his step. There was no fun in an unresponsive partner after all.
…
Chris’s bruises pained him greatly as clung to the galloping horse. He thought that the man in black had paid a great deal for him, but the bodyguard charged with his carriage didn’t seem to be particularly concerned with his safety. They rode from the city into desert land which seemed to stretch on and on and Chris couldn’t imagine that there was anything out here for miles and miles. Suddenly they rose up over a hill, and Chris’s breath was taken as he saw their destination. It was what he would call a palace, a structure about 300 square metres fortified by high walls and enclosing gardens, animal pens and other buildings. Behind it was another square building, about a third the size, which had people milling about it.
“Your new home, little prince.” The bodyguard mocked. Then without warning he charged the horse down towards the palace leaving Chris to cling to him for dear life. They veered to the back of the building to the stables, and Chris found himself plucked from the horse as though he weighed nothing. The bodyguard left him and the old man who had accompanied them beckoned him towards a large gate beyond which Chris could see gardens. Inside the gate Chris gasped to see such greenery when they had just been galloping through desert. He looked at the old man and asked how this could be.
“Water comes underground. We do not all bathe in sand, little white man.” He said before beckoning him again. They walked through the lush green flower gardens to a raised and open air bath house which was decorated with tiles of white, blue and red. The bath itself was twelve feet square and four feet deep and sunk into the floor with a flower mural on its bottom. “Bathe and perfume yourself for the sayyid. He waits for you.” said the old man before leaving without a backward glance.
Chris leaned down to put his hand in the water. It was perfectly warmed by the sun and he wanted to dive straight in. He looked around, sheepishly shedding the futah despite the fact that no-one was paying him the slightest bit of attention. Naked, he climbed into the bath and sighed with relief at the warmth of the water and the soothing effect it had on his bruised and battered body. He let himself sink under the water and washed off the grime which had been sitting on his skin for almost four weeks. On the side of the bath was a basket of soap and perfumed oil. Chris took the soap and lathered it, first rubbing it into his filthy hair. He bobbed under the water over and over until his hair felt clean, before beginning to wash his body. Once he was satisfied he looked at the perfumed oils and pulled the cork from one, breathing in its scent. Jasmine oil. He rubbed it into his bruises and other sore patches until he felt some relief from the dull pain. Floating on his back he drifted off as he looked up at the clear blue sky. He was relaxed for the first time since his capture, but he could guess why he had been purchased. He wondered whether it would be the man in black who he would be expected to service, or whether there were other slaves he was to fuck for the man’s amusement.
“Dry yourself and wear this, the sayyid expects you now.” The old man barked before shuffling off again. Chris hadn’t even heard him arrive and wondered how long he’d been standing there looking at his nakedness. He ducked under water once more before emerging and wrapping himself in the huge white towel which had been left there. He looked down at the clothes he was expected to wear and swallowed hard. The pants were sheer and he would be virtually naked standing in front of the man. The sun dried him almost as quickly as the towel and he pulled on the pants, which were purple with bright blue satin cuffs at the ankles and waist. When he picked them up he saw a pot of black powder was underneath them, but he had no idea what it was for. He decided to do nothing with it in case he got it wrong and was beaten. Instead he carried it as the old man returned and led him to his new owner.
They walked through the pillared halls of the palace, each section of wall boasting its own intricate wall hanging or work of art.The furniture was exquisite, beautiful golden and jewel-studded boxes and marble statues were so numerous that it would take a whole museum to hold them. They ascended a dozen stairs and the old man stopped in front of a thick red velvet curtain. He gestured that Chris should go through and then turned and shuffled off. Turning to the curtain, Chris took a very deep breath and pushed through.
The room before him was the most beautiful he had ever seen. The floor and walls were white marble decorated with thin black raised columns with a gold criss-cross pattern running floor to ceiling and spaced a metre apart. The room he looked at held a huge bed. It was strewn with bedspreads of gold and red and featured a pointed arch gilded headboard. On it reclined his owner. He was wearing a long blue silk robe which was so delicate that it clearly showed him to be naked underneath it. Without his headdress the man looked younger, and the black around his large brown eyes had been cleaned off until only a thin line was left to accentuate them. Suddenly Chris realised what the pot of black powder was for.
“Come in, what is your name?”
Chris slowly moved towards the bed. “Christopher” he whispered.
The owner furrowed his brow and opened his mouth as if he was rolling Chris’s name around it. “Christiffer. No, I will call you Kazim. Kazim is the name we give to our well-mannered, obedient boys. Come closer. Kneel.”
Resentment burned in the pit of Chris’s stomach but he knew better than to disobey. He approached the bed uneasily and went to his knees. The owner’s gaze ran over every inch of Chris’s body like he was sizing him up for a meal. Eventually he reached out to stroke Chris’s face. He cupped his cheek and ran his thumb over his lips, finally tilting his head so that they were eye to eye,
“Your eyes are like jewels. Your lips like rose petals. Do you like my qasr?”
Chris nodded.
“I like to surround myself with beautiful things. Some are more functional than others. Are you experienced in giving pleasure to men?”
Chris wondered whether to lie, in case purity was something the sheikh was looking for. In the end he looked into those wicked eyes and decided that it certainly was not. “Yes, I am, sayyid.”
“Good. Suck my dick.”
The sheikh pulled off his robe to reveal a toned body with whorls of black hair on his chest and an already hard six inch cock. He sat at the edge of the huge bed and lay back, his flat stomach rising and falling gently. Chris licked his lips and took the tip of the sheikh’s dick into his mouth. He suckled on it momentarily before the scent of the sheikh’s skin and the taste of his precum brought memories of his last sexual encounter rushing back to him. It had been so long since he had been with a man and he wasn’t going to waste this opportunity just because of the slightly dubious circumstances. He took all of the sheikh into his mouth and sucked, bobbing his head as he rolled the man’s balls in his hand and moaned around the throbbing length. The previously languid and mildly indifferent sheikh now began to writhe and moan beneath him, scrunching the red silk of the bedspread in his fist as he arched his back and ran his other hand into Chris’s hair. Chris eased a finger into his mouth beside the sheikh’s cock to wet it, then slid it inside him. The touch alone sent the sheikh over the edge and Chris’s mouth was flooded with his come. He swallowed and cleared his throat, looking up at his work.
The sheikh’s hair was falling over his face, the kohl now smudged around his sex-hazed eyes. He sat up and took Chris’s face in his hands kissing him deeply. “You are truly skilled my Kazim. I have purchased well.” He clapped his hands and Kamal appeared from behind the red velvet curtain. “Kamal, fetch food and wine for my boy and I.” The sheikh patted the bed next to him. “You call me sayyid but you do not know what this means do you?”
Chris thought it probably meant Sir, but he wasn’t sure. He had had the opportunity to study Arabic in the Legion but had never taken it up. He shook his head as he climbed onto the bed.
“You have a word in your own tongue, ‘master’. This is what you will call me.”
“Yes, master.” Chris said. The sheikh was staring at him. Perhaps he expected more resistance but Chris had had good training in kidnapping so knew that the most important things to do were gain empathy, gain comfort and keep circadian rhythms. Taking on a stronghold wasn’t an option, nor was trying to contact the outside world. Right now he needed to eat, so he was glad there was food coming.
When it arrived the food was out of this world. There was chicken, lamb and beef, all smothered in something which tasted of aniseed and ginger. There was a kind of bread with scrambled eggs in it which looked odd but tasted amazing. There was rice, potatoes and vegetables and Chris devoured everything he could get his hands on while the sheikh picked at it and looked amused at his unabashed greed. The sheikh poured Chris some wine and he drank it before realising that it could have been drugged. On balance though, he thought it unlikely that the sheikh would do him harm. After all, he was completely at his mercy and had cost him a pretty penny.
Just as Chris thought he couldn’t take another morsel more servants arrived, this time with desserts. Chris ate about a dozen buttery date filled cakes and still managed to force down some baklava. By the time only crumbs remained on the plate he was well sated and the sheikh had the dishes cleared away.
“When did you last eat, boy?”
“Yesterday, master.” The pirates gave them food to stop them from losing weight and therefore strength and muscle. Each day was the same thin soup of vegetables, rice and if you were lucky a scrap of meat. It was the only thing he had eaten since he was taken and he had almost forgotten what other food tasted like.
“Sleep for a while, I have things to attend to.” The sheikh rose and left Chris alone on the giant bed. He struggled at first to find how to get under the covers, such were the layers of fabric on the bed, but eventually he found a pillow and the edge of one of the bedspreads and crawled beneath them to fall into a deep sleep.
It had been still light when Chris had started his little nap but when he felt an insistent pushing at his shoulder, he awoke to find it dark and the warmth of the sheikh’s body in beside him. He also felt a crippling pain in his stomach which made him regret every mouthful of the rich food he’d bolted down. The contrast between the measly bland soup he’d been fed by the pirates and the banquet he had enjoyed today had obviously been too much for his constitution. The sheikh stroked his cheek with a single finger.
“Wake up my flower, open yourself to me.”
The covers were pulled back and Chris felt a hand on his stomach, which made him wince with pain. The sheikh pushed his legs apart and settled between them, placing a hand on Chris’s hip. The pain came again and Chris moaned and held out his hands, pushing the sheikh’s shoulders away gently. “Please master, not tonight.”
The sheikh furrowed his brow. “What is the meaning of this? I want you, open to me. Turn over if you prefer, but I mean to have you.”
Chris winced again as the sheikh pressed their naked bodies together. The sheikh began to kiss his neck and grind against him and Chris cried out in pain.
The sheikh jumped back as if he had been bitten. “What is this? Explain yourself.”
“I don’t want to. I’m unwell.” Chris snapped. He expected to be beaten for this but he knew that if he had to fuck like this he’d vomit or just pass out from the pain. Instead the sheikh looked at him, bemused.
“You will do as I say.” The sheikh looked unsure of his own words.
“I can't.” Chris barked. “What are you gonna do, rape me?”
The sheikh mouthed the word ‘rape’. “What is this ‘rape’? What does it mean?”
Chris was nonplussed. “It means when you fuck someone and they don’t want you to.”
The sheikh laughed. “I am Zakariyya al-Abdul Aziz. I am the most handsome man who has drawn breath from the Gulf air. Who would not want to fuck me?”
“People with a stomach ache because they ate too much.”
The sheikh had no answer to this. He clapped his hands and sat back in the bed, regarding Chris as if his skin were bright blue. A servant appeared at the curtain and bowed.
“Fetch fennel tea and honey for my boy, he has a stomach ache.” The sheikh watched him with interest and when the tea came he added the honey himself and stirred it slowly. “Drink it slowly, then sleep.”
The sheikh lay down and slept as Chris sat and drank his tea. The taste was pleasant and he immediately started to feel better. He drained the glass and tiptoed out to the wash room to relieve himself. He had not expected the evening to go as it had and if he had not taken ill he would have let the sheikh fuck him without question. It was no hardship to him, in fact it would have been welcome as long as there was no violence involved. The sheikh was handsome, strong and well-hung and Chris hadn’t been laid in over a year. Good food and good sex and a palace to sleep in were a lot better than he had had whilst the guest of the pirates.
He returned to the bed to find the sheikh dead to the world. The moonlight on his face made him look all the more beautiful, and almost innocent as he slept peacefully. Chris tucked in beside him and rested his head on the sheikh’s chest.
Part 2