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Chapter Nine: The Ultimate Pleasure

Michael cried out in pain-pleasure each time Abazar cried out the word “thrust” as he concluded the story. And each thrust in the story was matched by a thrust of Abazar’s cock inside the rim of Michael’s channel. Despite the butter and the preparation the evening before, Abazar’s thrusts, though they made Michael feel he was being jammed with a tree trunk, took him not much further in than the sheathing of his bulbous cock head. Part of it was the position and the angle. He was stretched behind Michael and holding the young man’s leg up to give himself purchase, and, on the small cot, this would have made “to-the-hilt” work difficult. But it was also Michael. He had been too tense. He had cried out too pleadingly—even though he had demurred when Abazar had offered to give him rest—but he had just gone too rigid.

So, when Abazar brought his story to a close, intending that the seeding of the mare would be the high point of his ejaculation as well, he was only rewarded with a spouting from Michael.

Michael was panting and moaning, and he was wracked with sobbing between the moans, although he tried to muffle it, assuring Abazar that he wanted what Abazar was providing. Abazar held him in a tight embrace and then kissed him on the neck and began to glide his free hand over the trembling marble-white skin of the young man.

“I’m sorry,” Michael murmured.

“Sorry?” Abazar whispered back. “The first time is often so. You must not be so tense. But it was good.”

“But you have not come, have you?” Michael asked. His voice was unsure. He couldn’t really tell one way or other—he just felt that it hadn’t been all that Abazar had sought.

“I am not wholly satisfied, no,” Abazar said in a low voice. He saw no reason to lie. “But that means that a deeper experience is only moments away.”

Michael stopped breathing and tensed up. “Again? So soon?” he asked, in voice tremulous.

“And again and again and again,” Abazar replied. “Until they come to take us away. My story. You were listening to my story? I am the black stallion—that’s, in truth, an image they have for me in the bazaar—no doubt gleaned from the men I have known. They call me the Stallion of Heliopolis. And you are the milk-white mare. This is not an ending; this is a beginning. I will ride you. I will fuck you until the cum flows from your eye sockets and your ears. I will—” He stopped, however, as he sensed from the tensing of Michael that it was not time for such talk yet.

“Please . . . Rushdy . . . I don’t know if I can—”

“What are you afraid of, little one? This is only a slitting of the door. This is an opening to a whole new world for you. Why are you so tense?”

“I don’t know if this is me, Rushdy. It’s a sin. I should be fighting it—I am wanting it, seeking it. I can’t . . .”

Abazar’s spirits sank. This was exactly the point. The crux of the challenge for him. The young man must want it, must seek it. Otherwise it wasn’t complete for Abazar; it wasn’t the ultimate pleasure for him.

“You are just virginal,” he whispered. “And alas, I am a stallion. I know when you have all of me inside you, me riding you in glorious rhythm, all of your fears and inhibitions will evaporate. As soon as you experience the ultimate pleasure.”

The tension inside Michael wasn’t lessening; if anything, it was stiffening. Abazar had to think of something. It was all for naught if the young man wouldn’t beg for it—and receive the fullness of it. His eyes traveled around the room, searching for some idea of what to do. He could just turn the golden youth to a position where he could mount him fully and just take him and plow him until Michael completely surrendered. But what if that didn’t work? He had invested too much in this challenge to not have his victory.

His eyes went to the walls across the chamber from the cot, and he smiled.

“What if you had no control, if you welcomed it and wanted it and had no control, no way to stop it?” he asked.

“Hasn’t that been my life so far?” Michael asked wearily. “Not having control.”

“Yes, it is the problem, but it may also be the gateway to the solution. You have not had control before—but you were being forced to do things you did not want to do. What if, at least for a beginning, you had no control but you were being given what you want. That could help get you past the block in your pleasure and your being able to receive it fully.”

Michael said nothing, mulling over this conundrum. His thoughts went back to the small reception room at Shepheard’s, to the Nubian taking the waiter. He had been aroused by that then—and even more so in thinking upon it since. And he knew now that part of the arousal was that the waiter had no choice, no control. And when Michael thought of the Nubian coming to him after finishing with the waiter, the arousal he felt was couched in being taken by force, without his consent, beyond his control.

“We have come so far. You do want the ultimate lovemaking, casino oyna don’t you? You do want the feel and to have the knowledge of every inch of me inside you, don’t you? The joy of knowing you are being so fully possessed and that you have the effect on me to keep me hard and having my seed flowing deep inside you? Knowing that tomorrow we might both be dead?”

“Yes,” the answer was breathy, as while Rushdy talked, he was slowly stroking Michael’s cock again, and the youth was responding to the arousal.

Michael turned his head and looked into Rushdy’s eyes, only to see that Rushdy was staring away from him. He followed the satyr’s line of sight and shuddered and moaned when he saw what Rushdy’s attention was focused on.

Abazar had moved the table aside, and he used his and Michael’s linen drawers to wrap the youth’s wrists in so that the manacles hanging from two adjacent iron rings on the wall didn’t chaff his skin too badly.

Michael was barely able to reach the floor with the balls of his feet when he hung from the manacles on the wall, but that didn’t matter for very long, as Abazar moved in close to Michael and reached down and cupped and spread his buttocks in strong hands as Michael raised his legs on Abazar’s hips.

The first entry in this position was arduous, but Abazar assured Michael that it would open him as the position on the cot had not.

Michael cried out as the bulb of Abazar’s cock breached the rim of his channel, and panted and whined that maybe they should leave it for later.

“You are my prisoner now; you will be fucked deeply before I unshackle you,” Abazar growled, which caused Michael to look into his eyes with fear. But all he saw was an encouraging smile. “It’s what you want, isn’t it? No control over the inevitable. No responsibility. I take all responsibility.”

“Yes,” Michael murmured. “It’s what I want.” And then “Oh, my God!” he was crying out, as Abazar’s cock gained a good two inches of depth never reached before. Visions of the Nubian taking the waiter flowed through Michael’s mind and he felt his channel slackening and his captor moving, gliding deeper inside him. And Michael wanted it all. He wanted Rushdy inside him, and he wanted the Nubian inside him. He wanted to experience, to live it all. All Egyptian men, the men of the world. He wanted them all inside him. His channel relaxed, the muscles of his channel walls beginning to work with the shaft that was splitting him.

Michael rode Abazar’s hips with his legs and arched his back and shuddered and writhed as Abazar’s staff reached the depth of a normal man’s cock in his well-buttered channel.

“You’ve done it, golden one,” Abazar whispered in his ear. “This is the best that most men could do. I could work you here—and you would enjoy it. It is not ultimate, though. Do you want the ultimate?”

“Yes, oh yes,” Michael whispered through his groaning.

He pressed in another inch, and Michael gasped and dug his fingernails into Abazar’s shoulders. Abazar held there for several moments, both of them breathing heavily. He dipped his face to Michael’s and they kissed deeply, and Abazar then let his tongue run down along the side of Michael’s throat and down to his nipples. He waited until Michael stopped trembling. The youth was moaning, hanging from the rings, control of his arms completely taken away from him.

Michael could feel Abazar trembling now. Abazar took Michael’s calves in his hands and leaned in and kissed him on the lips again. Michael was whimpering, knowing he was at the moment—the gateway to the ultimate.

“Forgive me, little one,” Abazar murmured. “Just a few seconds. Only a few seconds. And then, slowly but surely, the journey to paradise.”

Michael was already opening his mouth to scream out when Abazar jerked his legs wide and thrust hard inside his channel with his cock. Michael cried out and writhed and pleaded, but saddled to the hilt now and having faith that Abazar wasn’t lying to him and that the pleasure would progressively overcome the pain, he gave all control, all tension, up to the command of this satyr who now fully possessed him. Feeling the full surrender, Abazar gave a snort of victory and completion and began to pump in short, sure strokes deep inside his conquest until they both felt the flow of him deep inside Michael’s no-longer-virginal channel.

It had been good for both of them—but not the ultimate, at least for Abazar. And suddenly, as never before, it was important to Abazar that it be everything with Michael. He couldn’t see himself subjugating, deflowering, and then leaving Michael as he had done with so many other young men he had pursued and conquered.

Michael was still whimpering and quietly sobbing when Abazar released him from the manacles. Abazar kicked the table back into place—and a stool—and laid Michael gingerly down on his back on the table.

He spread Michael’s legs and took him again, more slowly, more rhythmically, making sure that Michael could now accommodate him canlı casino without tensing up. And with all surrendered now, Michael relaxed and took Abazar at great depth now, and his moanings now were ones of ecstasy and fulfillment rather than fear and pain.

Finished, Abazar leaned into Michael and kissed him on the lips. Then he picked him up in his arms and settled him on the stool at the table.

“You were magnificent,” he murmured, to assure the youth, even though it still had not been complete for him—it had all been what he did, not what Michael begged for. It had been good enough, he knew, for Michael to accept it as ultimate. “Now. Now, you may eat your dinner. All of it. It will help you rest.”

And then Abazar sat close to Michael on the other stool, an arm around the youth’s shoulder, running his fingers over Michael’s naked body as the lad ate from the red lacquer tray. He didn’t eat it all, only about half, but his eyelids were heavy with an overarching tiredness and his aching limbs were numbing when Abazar picked him up in his arms and moved across the chamber and laid him out, lovingly on his cot.

It was nearly dawn when Abazar received the ultimate pleasure he was seeking. He woke to the warmth of Michael’s lips closing over the bulb of his cock. And later, when they were both breathing heavy and in highest heat, Michael glided up to lie full length beside him. They lay there for a few minutes, and Michael began to move his hands around on Abazar’s body, playing in the matting of hair. The hand kept going back to Abazar’s cock.

Abazar’s spirits were soaring. Michael was offering himself, wanted what Abazar could give him. His actions were making this clear. His was so close to the ultimate pleasure he strove for, but the youth had to take that last step.

“You want fucking?” he murmured in the dark.

“Yes,” Michael whispered. “I want you inside me again.”

“If you want it, you must take it.”

He could feel the intake of Michael’s breath. “How? I don’t—”

“You have to fuck yourself on me.” Abazar reclined fully on his back, his monster cock reaching for the ceiling of the chamber and with gratitude and a feeling of total victory watched in the gathering light Michael start to mount his hips.

But that wasn’t enough, even that. Abazar raised his strong arms and held Michael there, hovering over him.

Michael was groaning, wanting it.

“Beg. Plead. Declare your need.”

“Please, Rushdy, please. I want it, please. Please fuck me.”

Abazar gave a deep-throated laugh of triumph and settled Michael over his pelvis. With great effort and much groaning, Michael swallowed Abazar’s cock with his channel. And when he was fully sheathed, he began to move as a camel across the endless sand dunes.

After a wild and satisfying ride ending in mutual fountaining, Abazar commanded Michael to leave his cot and eat the rest of the food that had been left on the red lacquer tray, and then the young man entered a deep sleep on his own cot.

The conquest was complete. Michael had come for it, willingly, on his own. And he had taken it joyously, with no reservations.

Chapter Ten: The Unfolding

When Michael woke this time, he was lying naked, between silken sheets in a canopied bed in the center of a large, stonewalled room, bathed in sunshine from three French doors out onto a stone balcony and richly appointed with an Oriental carpet, brocade-upholstered chairs, gilded chandelier, and heavy damask draperies on windows and bed.

“Ah, so prince charming awakens once more.”

Rushdy Abazar was standing in the open door to the hallway. He was leaning up against the frame of the door, wearing a silken white robe that hung open, revealing he was naked underneath. His cock looked very much like it was ready for action.

“Where are we?”

“I just had us moved upstairs. I thought we might be a little more comfortable here.”

“Then it was all a ruse,” Michael said in a flat voice.

“Much of it was, yes. I didn’t really lie. Early on I said I lived in Heliopolis and could see the minaret from the windows of my home. I just didn’t say that the window you were looking from was one of the windows of my home. But not all ruse, no. Not the part of you responding fully to the lovemaking, certainly. You did so—eventually—you know. Do you regret that?”

A short silence, but then a reluctant “No. But it was all just an elaborate scheme to get me in bed? You didn’t really write The Prince of the Sands?”

“Oh, yes, I wrote it—and I think you needed to absorb every bit of what I wrote in it. Yes, it was a scheme with one goal. I think you were worth it. Don’t you . . . now?”

“Yes, I guess so.”

“And do you really think you have responded in any other way than you secretly wanted to do.”

“No, I guess not.”

“Good. I’d hate to think we’d be retrogressing. There was nothing ruse about what I told you about the ultimate pleasure or your needing to find a life of your own, kaçak casino was there?”

“No. I’m beyond that, thanks. But my groggy periods and long sleeps and all—?”

“Sorry about the groggy periods. Drugged food, you know. Although I assumed you’d figure that out soon enough. And most of it was for your own good. The trauma of captivity and all. It kept you calmer.”

“And it helped get your cock inside me,” Michael said with a sharp tone.

“Ah, see. Already you are liberated in your talk of what is a natural, very enjoyable act. Two days ago I don’t think your handlers would have allowed you to even say the word ‘cock.'”

“No doubt you’re right.”

“And I’ve liberated you of that.”

“Yes, you have.”

“And you resent that?”

“No, not particularly.”

“Good. Because I don’t think you have forgotten last night—when you came to me and begged for the cocking. You weren’t drugged then. I didn’t let you have the drugged food, did I? I let you decide entirely on your own.”

“Yes. That’s right. I won’t deny it.”

“And when I offer you a good cocking now, you’ll take it? You’ll want it? You’ll even beg for it if I hold it back from you?”

“Yes, yes, of course.” It came out on a long sigh of resignation.

“You asked if it was all a ruse. But, no, I actually saved you from captivity. I did scheme to kidnap you for myself, yes, but my men actually saved you from a kidnapping. Can you imagine that? My men said they weren’t the ones who first tried to spirit you away in the courtyard at Shepheard’s.”

“It matches what I was feeling at the time, yes.”

“So, you are a very popular young man.”

“Apparently so, yes.”

“And I can readily understand why,” Abazar said. “You are a very desirable young man. So much so that I don’t know if I can let you go—just yet. Oh, I’ll let you reunite with your guardian—although I would suggest you start showing some backbone in that department—and you can proceed on your Nile adventure, just a few days later than planned. But, once again, when I drop this robe and come over to that bed, will you deny me?”

“No.” It was said in a small, but determined voice.

“You want the cock? Now? Of all that has transpired, that’s the one thing you know you want—of your own free will?”

“Yes.” The answer was breathy. Michael moved to the foot of the bed, lying on his back, and opened his thighs to Abazar.

Abazar smiled and started to shrug the robe off his shoulders, but just then a servant appeared at the other end of the hall.

“Effendi,” he said. “I am sorry to disturb you, but there are some gentlemen downstairs who—”

“Tell them to come back some other time. Tell them—”

“They are policemen, Effendi. And they say if you won’t come down, they’ll come up.”

“Oh, very well, then,” Abazar responded almost listlessly, as if this was a small irritant.

Before he left, he turned to Michael and said, “I won’t be long. Stay where you are, please.”

This may have been a mistake.

As he feared, when he descended the stairs, he found, standing impatiently in his foyer both the chief of Cairo’s police, Raymond Little, and Michael’s guardian and solicitor, Sir Cecil Pills. There also was a bevy of Egyptian policemen in blue uniforms, including the Nubian Abazar had seen guarding Little in the Gentlemen’s Dining Room at Shepheard’s. At a signal from Little, the policeman fanned out, with several, led by the Nubian ascending the staircase.

“You needn’t deny you are holding Sir Cecil’s ward here, Rushdy,” Little said.

“Nor will I deny it,” Abazar answered haughtily. “I was saving the young gentleman from harm. He was being kidnapped outside of Shepheard’s when my men rescued him. You wouldn’t already know anything about that, would you, Little?”

“I might,” Little answered without apology. “I’m afraid that Ismail Wazzier Bey is a bit displeased that his playmate did not appear that evening. He found other amusement.”

Abazar blanched a bit at the name of the regional governor, a notorious dominator of young men—even more active and much more cruel than he was himself. He had assumed Little had intended Michael for himself. It was more sensitive that it went higher that that—if, of course, Little wasn’t lying.

“So that little assault tableau Michael told me about in the locked reception room at Shepheard’s? That was all staged to force Michael out into the night and into the arms of the bey’s men?”

“Yes. The waiter was my sergeant’s reward for delivering young Powell. He would have pushed Powell out into the courtyard if he hadn’t left before the sergeant was finished with the waiter. And you disrupted that. You will have to pay extra, I’m afraid, if you wish to keep the young gentleman and make restitution to the bey—not to mention cover my lost arrangement fees.”

“I’m good for any cost required,” Abazar responded. “You know that, of course, or you would not have approached through my front door. And you, Sir Cecil,” he continued, turning on the British solicitor. “You countenance all of this? Michael is your ward, and not just any street urchin to be bought and sold for anyone’s pleasure. What is this to you?”

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