by Sean Michael
It would be most entertaining and arousing.
"Fetch me some wine, Imani. I am thirsty."
Feyer did an admirable job in biting back his groan, but Amut had been listening for the sound. The young man wriggled off his lap and stood carefully. “As my Raya commands, so it will be.” Another soft whimper left Feyer as he turned and began to slowly walk away.
Amut shuddered himself, cock hardening at the sway and shiver of the full, sweet body.
Feyer's hands were trembling as they filled a goblet from the wine flagon, but his Imani was pouring carefully and none of the wine was spilled. He smiled and settled back against the furs, hands spreading his robes so that his cock, hard and swollen, bobbed gently; his Imani admired his strength, his body.
Feyer turned and Amut saw the man's nostrils flare. The wine was brought to him, Feyer moving slowly, sensuously until he was close enough to pass the goblet into Amut's hands. Hot eyes moved over his body, finally returning to his face, full of longing and need.
Amut took a long drink and then tilted his head, eyes traveling over the intricate weavings and silks shot through with gold thread that adorned the walls of his tent. Feyer's touch was everywhere—from the arrangement of the furs to the placement of the small brazier with its every present carafe.
"This wine tastes of summer, Imani, but I believe its fullness would peak with the addition of your lips.” He held out the goblet. “I wish you to feed it to me."
"Oh...” Feyer's face lit up. “Oh, my Raya honors me."
Feyer climbed onto the furs, kneeling next to him, one hand using his shoulder for balance, the other taking the goblet from him. His Imani took a sip of the wine and bent to his lips. The wine that trickled into his mouth was sweet, the touch of Feyer's lips to his sweeter still. Amut stroked along Feyer's back, rewarding his Imani's heady enthusiasm.
A second and then a third mouthful were fed to him, Feyer's hand tightening on his shoulder. “Would my Raya have any other needs I can fulfill?"
"Yes, my Imani. I expect you will fulfill all my needs.” He reached between Feyer's legs, setting the beads swinging.
Feyer's eyes rolled back into his head as his lids dropped, and the hand holding his shoulder tightened hard enough to give the hold a bite. Feyer whimpered piteously, trembling. Amut wasn't quite sure how he had managed not to drop or even tip the goblet he still held in a white-knuckled grip.
"Tell me what you feel, Imani.” He took the goblet and set it aside, oiling his hands and stroking Feyer's bound sacs, fingers sliding back to slide against the needy hole.
Another whimper crossed Feyer's lips, the lean legs trembling with the effort to continue kneeling and not move into the touches. “My shaft aches, as do my balls; your touch is sweet torture, my Raya.” His Imani swallowed deeply and his breath caught. “I can feel the beads, small, teasing reminders of what it is like to be filled by you. And they move, shifting, stroking me, turning me inside out. Oh, my Raya, I have never known such pleasure as you give to me."
"That is because you belong to me, Imani. Your pleasure is my own.” He leaned up for a kiss as he pressed another bead into Feyer, finger following the metal inside, keeping pressure on the little ring of muscles.
Feyer shouted into his mouth, the sound dying down to sweet, delicious whimpers. The man's body was shaking, both hands holding to his shoulders now.
He pressed against Feyer's opening with his fingers, little tugging motions that made the slim body quake. “Four left, little one. Shall I make it three?” Removing his finger he pressed the next bead against Feyer's flesh.
His Imani nodded quickly, body opening to the bead, greedy for it, but the words from Feyer's mouth were only obedience. “As my Raya wishes."
"Take it then. I wish to see your need.” He let his hand still, just lightly rolling the bead against his Imani.
Feyer nodded, trembling body pushing back, bearing down and swallowing the bead and the tips of Amut's fingers. “Oh...” Stripped of his natural artifice, his trained motions—Feyer was breathtaking, hunger and pleasure and devotion all intermingled. Feyer continued to push back, taking in more of his fingers, moaning loudly as his body writhed and shook.
"Such a hungry Imani. So hard and ready for my touch.” He encourage Feyer to ride his fingers, cock throbbing at the sight of the bronzed oiled body, his dark fingers disappearing inside the needy hole, three remaining beads swinging between spread thighs.
More whimpers filled the air as Feyer moved back and forth, pushing onto his fingers again and again and again. The next bead slipped in easily, Amut pressing it in beside his fingers, without warning.
His Imani's eyes shot open, a sob falling from red lips swollen from his kisses. “My Raya..."
"My Imani.” He eased his fingers from Feyer's body and then reached, turning his slave until Feyer was facing his cock, buttock within easy reach. “You may come when I do, Imani. Only then.” Then he pressed the next to last bead inside.
Feyer's moan pushed warm breath across Amut's erection. “May I taste you, my Raya?"
"Yes, Imani.” He began to stroke Feyer's cock with a light touch—torturing, encouraging, adoring.
Another moan, this one even warmer and wet as his Imani's mouth closed over the tip of his cock. The agile tongue flicked across the tip and this time Feyer's moan vibrated along his most sensitive flesh. Feyer's lips continued to hold the head of his shaft lightly, tongue sliding around and over his flesh, teasing with the light, gentle touches.
Amut chuckled, his moan almost completely hidden, and pressed the final bead inside, following it with two fingers, jostling and pushing the heavy beads. Feyer's lips lost their grip altogether as he gasped and then his Imani's mouth closed tightly over his cock, head sliding down to take him all the way in.
He arched up, pressing into the tight heat with a growl. He worked his Imani's body, fingers pulling at the hard cock, pressing into the full body, trapping them both inside pleasure. Feyer's whimpers fluttered around the tip of his cock, deep in Feyer's throat. Feyer's hands found his hips, holding himself up, fingers opening and closing. The suction was incredible and each time Feyer swallowed a jolt went through Amut's body.
He spread his legs, pushing up again and again, feeling the tightening of his balls, the fire burning at the base of his spine. He reached out, grabbed the string that lead to the beads within his Imani. “Come with me, Imani.” Then he tugged the string, pulling in a strong, steady motion.
Feyer screamed, body shaking, but his mouth continued to suck, long pulls on Amut's cock. Amut moaned, shuddering as he came into Feyer's mouth, hand tugging upon his Imani's cock. Obedient to the end, Feyer came with him, hot seed spilling over his hand as his Imani's throat worked to swallow his own come.
"My Imani.” He panted, head cradled by soft furs, Feyer's mouth still hot and sweet around him.
Feyer hummed around his length, the sweet body shuddering with aftershocks as his Imani continue to suckle gently. He reached out and carefully picked the knots from the leather binding the spent cock and balls, keeping his touch light and gentle. Feyer's body trembled nonetheless, but the sweet lips continued their suckling, his flesh Feyer's sole concern.
Amut reached for the wine, took a long drink, and pulled his Imani up to share. The drink turning into a long, soft kiss, Feyer's body pressed close. His Imani was warm and heavy against him, hours of teasing and preparation taking their toll on the slave.
"You have done well, Imani. You have pleased your raya.” Amut kissed the soft, swollen lips again, petting the exhausted, trembling muscles. “Sleep now."
"My Raya is most generous and kind.” The brown eyes gazed up at him, full of love and adoration and then Feyer curled against him, head tucked beneath his arm.
"My Imani is most treasured and worthy.” He wrapped his arm around his Imani's shoulder and kissed the top of the dark head. There was nothing finer than this.
Mine
The sun beat down with its relent
less heat, the dry wind offering no relief as it blew through Feyer's long hair. He walked quickly from the well. His flagon was full of water that was still cool and he wanted to make sure he could serve it to his raya before the heat stole its sweet flavor.
He slid silently into the tent and poured four glasses, bringing them to his raya, his raya's second and the two chadan that lay at their feet.
Feyer knelt before them, holding the tray out to them, above his head, a move it had taken him months of practice to perfect. He waited silently for them to take the water as his raya's rich voice filled the tent. He would wait for hours if he had to.
The cups were taken, Amut's voice pausing as he drank. Warm brown eyes slid over him, almost physical in their touch. “Imani, I will have need of you tonight in the chadan tent. Take these chadan and have them bathe you, clean you and ready you, massage you with sweet oil. I will come for you at sundown.” Then Amut turned back to his second, back to his business.
He bent his head to the ground and then backed away. The two boys followed him more slowly chattering with each other.
"The Raya wants us all there tonight?"
"Yes, all the chadan. The Raya said something about choosing Imani. I wasn't listening very well."
"Well, he wasn't angry at his Imani. Sands, did you see how the Raya looks at him?"
Feyer couldn't help it, his hips began to slink, leading his walk. Oh yes, his raya looked upon him with desire, with pleasure. He was Imani, chosen. He wondered what his raya had planned for this night.
Feyer let the boys bathe him, touch him, wash his hair, and all the while they filled the air with their inane chatter. His raya would have beaten them both already. Twice.
He tried not to think too hard on why his raya wanted him with the chadan. The only thing he could think of was an orgy, but he could not imagine his raya putting up with the chattering boys that filled the large tent for long enough to come even once.
He banked his curiosity. He had learned that he could not even begin to second guess his raya and it only led to frustration on both their parts when he tried. Instead, he remained quiet and ready, watching the sun move slowly across the sky.
When sun faded, his raya came for him, body gleaming, leopard skins draping the large body, the marks of his office. The dark eyes stared at him, fierce and steady. “Imani."
Need filled Feyer, tempered by pleasure as he responded to his raya's gaze. He knelt, forehead pressed to the sands. “My Raya, how may I serve?"
"Follow and attend my wishes, Imani.” His raya turned and then stopped suddenly. “Remember, Imani, that you give me pleasure in your obedience."
"And your pleasure is mine, my Raya.” He scrambled to his feet and fell into step behind and slightly to the left of his raya. He shook his head so that his hair flowed neatly down his back and slinked along after Amut; it was his place to make his raya look good, to enhance the already overwhelming presence.
They went into the chadani's main tent—young men and women lounging around and over one another like cubs. They parted before his raya in a wave, heads bowing to the ground. As the chadani moved, the center dais was exposed, a flat padded table with two ‘v’ legs sitting on top. Shackles waited at the foot of each leg.
Feyer controlled the tremor that tried to rip through him at the sight. Here. His raya was going to tie him down here in front of all of them. He wanted to throw himself at his raya's feet and beg for forgiveness, though he didn't know what he had done, he had been trying so hard to be good.
He continued following, refusing to let his fears show in his face or his body. He would make his raya proud.
His raya stood upon the dais, silent and strong, letting the silence build before he spoke. “There have been questions raised as to what makes a chadan into a favored one, an Imani. I have brought my own Imani to show you perfect obedience. Imani, onto the table so you may be bound."
He bowed low. “Begging my Raya's pardon, but would it please him if I were to lie on my front or my back?” he raised his voice so that all could hear the respect in which he held his raya.
"On your front, Imani, settled well and firmly."
"As my Raya wishes.” He kissed Amut's sandal and stood. He didn't linger or worry, he just obeyed, lying down on his stomach in the middle of the table, hands reaching out to wrap around the sides.
His obedience brought his raya pleasure. He repeated the words over and over to himself, eyes finding a smudge on the tent wall, focusing on that.
To his surprise, it was his raya's hands that fastened his feet, his hands, honoring him with their touch. Then dark eyes appeared before him. “Only me, Imani. Here, now, there is only your raya."
A soft silken blindfold covered his eyes, blocking out the light. His muscles all tensed for a moment, hands clutching at the sides of the table. He took a deep breath, and another and let his body relax; there was only his raya. Nothing else mattered.
Hard hands stroked over his back and ass and thighs, his raya's voice rumbling softly as he relaxed against the bench. The touches turned to deep massaging strokes; his raya's hands were everywhere. With the blindfold on, the crowd of spectators faded, disappeared, leaving only him and his raya, and he felt as if he were melting beneath the firm, warm touches.
The first brushes of the suede against his thighs were soft, warm, just awakening his nerves. Still, it was hard not to tense; he had no clue what was coming next, experience told him there would be pain, that it would come also with pleasure and the rewards would be more than worth it, still his body wanted only to save itself.
More than that, he wanted to please his raya. He refused to tense.
The blows were gentle—easy blows that only warmed his skin, his raya wielding the whip so well that his body began to reach for each contact. He was hard, cock pressed between the table and his own body. He wanted to rock against it but stayed still, his only movements those pushing him into the whip's path.
Slowly, so slowly he didn't even notice, the blows grew harder, his body burning with them, flying with them. He swallowed cry after cry and it felt as if he were going to start shaking as he forced himself to stillness. He was flying, his raya's warm, low nonsensical words pouring down on him, scrambled by the thud of each blow.
When the whip stopped, the silence was deafening.
His hands held so tightly to the table he could barely feel his fingers, but that was all right, because his thighs and buttocks and back were on fire, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. He was hard and needy, desperate for his raya's touch.
Slick, hot fingers rubbed over his sore skin, massaging deep. As they moved, his raya's finger slid into his entrance, pushing in deep and then moving away. He could not have stopped the shudder that moved through him, but he held his whimper inside, the sound pushing inside his cock as he forced it to remain unvoiced. Again and again his raya entered him, thrust deep, stretching and arousing. Those hands never left him, the oil constantly replenished.
His body was moving without his volition now, jerking and pushing back each time his raya's finger slid over his gland. There was nothing like this, nothing at all could compare to the sensations his raya could pull from his body. He couldn't hear anything now but the sounds of his own breaths gasping from his mouth and the occasional rumble from his raya.
The pressure grew, Amut pushing him further, stretching him wider than he had ever been stretched. His muscles tensed and relaxed in waves, shaking as he took what his raya gave him, even as he was sure he would be split in half. The pressure ebbed and flowed, stretching and then easing—it was like being taken by Amut's cock, but more.
He didn't understand it, he couldn't figure it out, but as the pressure and the pleasure melded together, it didn't matter, nothing mattered but the connection between him and his raya.
The pressure grew near unbearable and, as he whimpered, Feyer heard his raya's voice. “Beautiful Imani, so pleasing, so perfect. Let me in. Your raya wishes to hold your hea
rtbeat in his hand."
Feyer shuddered. His hand. His raya's huge, enormous, big hand. He couldn't do it. It wouldn't fit. It was impossible.
And his raya had asked it of him.
Another whimper left his lips and he took a deep, deep breath, relaxed, bearing down on the invader as best as he could, willing his body to allow Amut's invasion.
"Let me in. Let me hear you, Imani. Let me hear your joy.” His raya's lips brushed over his shoulder, one hot hand tugging at the ring in his cock. The combination of words and touch and tongue made him arch and the stretching eased into a still, heavy pressure inside him.
He keened softly, body rippling around his raya's hand as he shuddered and shook. It was almost more than he could bear, to know that Amut held him so intimately.
"My Imani. My Imani.” The possession, the hunger, the pleasure and pride of his raya poured over him, like a blanket, like a wave.
His cry was a sob. His fingers tightened their hold on the table, his grip on the wood the only thing keeping him from shattering into a million pieces. “Yours,” he whispered. “Yours."
"Yes, Imani. Mine.” So close, Amut's whisper filled his heart, buried itself there and grew. His raya's voice, the words spoken, they filled him fuller even than the hand that took him.
Every sensation was huge—the movement of lips on his skin, the slide of the ring in his cock, the oil running around his so-stretched skin and down behind his sacs. The brush of fingers against the spot within him that made him scream. The sensation spread out from that spot, going to his toes and the ends of his fingers and lodging inside his skull. It was as if time had stopped, as if he and his raya were in a place where only they existed.
Words of pleasure, of pride poured over him, his raya's hands beginning to slowly move, within him and around him. He had never felt anything like it ever. His raya had done so many things to him, filled him and touched him and whipped him and he thought he had done it all. He thought he had felt it all.