Date: Tue, 19 May 2015 20:20:39 +0100 From: Harry Palmer Subject: The Alexandrian Mysteries Chapter 3: A doctor in the house If you enjoy this story - or even if you don't - please feel free to email me any comments; all emails will be read and responded to. More importantly, please make a donation to Nifty at: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html to ensure that this wonderful archive of stories can continue to be available to readers and writers alike. Thanks, Harry The Alexandrian Mysteries by Harry Palmer Chapter 3: A doctor in the house (or perfer et obdura; dolor hic tibi proderit olim) Alexandria, Egypt 335 AD It was two days after the banquet and life in my mistress's villa had already resumed its more usual pace; quiet, orderly and largely unexciting. All the guests had departed except for one man, Malach, a rather stern, middle-aged Jewish dignitary, a devoted friend of my mistress, her personal physician and it was rumoured, her sometime lover, who had taken up temporary residence in one of the guest quarters. He had now been joined there by his two servants, a pair of 15-year old twins, Adnah and Talia, who mostly kept themselves apart from us and were rarely seen in the main house. They were, in fact, something of a mystery to us and a subject of gossip amongst the regular household servants, who whispered furtively together whenever either of them were glimpsed going about some task - although, in truth, to glimpse one was to glimpse the other, not only because they were so alike, if not technically identical, but rather more due to the fact that neither of them ever seemed to appear in public alone, preferring, as if by some strange, secret agreement, to act as one body, as it were. Malach was, in fact, a highly congenial guest, taking a great interest in myself and my work, always asking after this or that aspect of the household and its administration and he and I would often take an early morning stroll together in the south garden, discussing different topics of interest. It was during one of these rather leisurely conversations that he quizzed me intently about the new boys and how their initial training was progressing. I was happy to provide him with the information; he had, after all a professional interest in them since he had agreed to conduct medical assessments of their fitness, this being the principal reason both for his staying on at the villa and for the presence of the twins, who were to assist him in his endeavours. He was very keen to discover everything he could about the boys and even the smallest observation on my part concerning them drew a knowing smile, a raised eyebrow or sympathetic laugh. I amused him with anecdotes arising from our attempts to introduce the boys to our customs, our ways of dressing, of eating, our domestic arrangements, our rules and regulations. He especially enjoyed the story I related of how, on the very first day with us the two younger boys, Kallistos and Pamphilos, had been puzzled by the toilet arrangements, their blank faces and incomprehension on being led to the back of the communal washing area and shown the long, raised platform with six deep holes set in a companionable semi-circle, a pile of dried cabbage leaves strewn to one side. No amount of pointing and gesticulation seemed to work in conveying to them the idea of what functions were here to be performed and in the end Cyrus had made an exaggerated pantomime of eating, before pulling his tunic up above his waist, baring himself unashamedly to all, and sitting over the nearest hole. He proceeded to make truly disgusting noises with his mouth in an all-too-realistic imitation of shitting. Amidst gales of laughter from all present, myself included, the two little boys had hiked up their own long cotton tunics and copied the action, vying with each other merrily in producing the most revolting noises. Even Lucius allowed himself to put aside his sense of Roman superiority and laughed heartily along with everyone else. Soon the day had come for all four boys to submit to their medical examinations and they were packed off to stay in the guest quarters where Malach could conduct his trials in private, something he had very much insisted on for reasons, I assumed, of protecting his professional integrity. It was a difficult moment seeing them slink unhappily away from the tender care of their mentors to an uncertain fate at the hands of the good doctor. They all looked pretty miserable and Nereus and Theron in particular were touchingly solicitous of their charges, hugging them lovingly, assuring them that it would all be alright, that they would soon be back amongst us in the main house. Cyrus was sulking somewhere after I had told him off for making Pamphilos cry by telling him that the medical consisted of cutting him open to find out if his internal organs were in the right places. It had taken a lot of hugs and kisses from the others to restore even a vestige of the little boy's customary smile and happy demeanour. Now that they were gone, the main house was quieter than ever and a kind of sadness hung in the air. The fact was, we missed them and couldn't wait for them to return once their health and fitness had been officially confirmed. **************************************************************** Now it was a few hours later and Malach was pulling tentatively at his beard, a gesture which he tended to make whenever any kind of decision was required of him. He ran his eyes again over the four columns of neatly recorded figures, the initial, basic information that had now been compiled by his servants under his watchful supervision; height from top to toe, length of arms, length of leg from thigh to knee, from knee to ankle; chest size when expanded and when at rest, distance between the eyes, between ear lobe and shoulder, length of each finger. Waists had been measured, teeth had been counted, angle of noses noted, movement of the eyes inspected. Malach pulled again at his beard, allowing his own eyes to go crossed for a second, making the list of numbers blur. He took great pride in the depth of knowledge that could be deduced from such a precise statistical enumeration of physical properties as he now had recorded in relation to the four boys before him. However, he knew full well that the true test, the true measure of the fitness of these children for what he purposed, lay elsewhere; lay in their responsiveness, in their sensitivity, their aptness in mind and spirit as much as in body. How truly deep and holy, he mused to himself, were the ways of his calling! How mysterious the secret voice that led him on! How untranslatable the extremes of feeling to which his worldly task gave access! He sighed deeply, realising that he had let his eyes close for an instant and that in that instant he had been transported. Slowly, the words, the numbers re-formed before him on the parchment. The names of Sulong, Sayid, Kallistos, Pamphilos; the measurements, the well-defined, the incontestable; the history of each living child reduced to so many numbers. And all the while, the eager face of Adnah, his dark eyes bright, a finger, perhaps in unconscious imitation of Malach's own gestures, touching now and then the few dark hairs that had so recently begun to appear above his upper lip. "You may begin!" said Malach at last and Adnah turned instantly to the girl, Talia, a beaming smile lighting his face. "We may begin!" he announced with some formality. "Yes, so I gather," said Talia rather tetchily as she turned to the four boys spread out in a row in the centre of the room. They stood alike, entirely naked, facing away from the doctor and his two assistants, with their hands on their heads, a few feet apart from each other. In front of each boy was a small, square table of plain, rough-hewn timber, the thick legs of which, however, were alive with images of deer and crocodile, snake and rat, of herons and of sparrow-hawks and many other animals beside, this already-exotic menagerie made more fantastical by the presence of a number of strange, possibly mythical creatures, whose carved faces seemed intent on reaching out into the living world beyond the flat, dead surface of the wood. Talia moved casually along the line of boys and helped them assume the required posture. Guiding them by the arm, or with a gentle pressure on their backs, she positioned each boy carefully until he was bent over the desk, his fingers reaching as far down to the floor as his height would allow, chins resting either on or over the far edge. In this, her actions were precise and very gentle and with each boy, but especially with the younger two, she whispered kind encouragement and assurance as she made them bend over. Finally, she moved down the line again making some minor adjustments, ensuring that the boys' legs were set well apart, the head kept down. "You must all stay in that position - no moving allowed," she said sternly, although had the boys not had their faces stooped towards the floor, they would have seen her smile and would, perhaps, have been somewhat mollified by the tenderness in her eyes as she surveyed the row of bottoms raised up in front of her. But the truth is, no boy can with hopeful heart or calm, unagitated mind, assume such a position, baring behind, bumhole, privates, all, to three complete strangers, one of them a girl! The fact is, their nervousness, evident enough during the first part of the examination, when knotted cords, used to measure their limbs, were all they had to fear, was now increasing tenfold with each breath as they contemplated their helpless vulnerability in the face of whatever unknown fate it was awaited them. Sayid's nervousness expressed itself most eloquently in a short, rather musical fart that actually had the effect of reducing the tension somewhat; four tables rocked gently as four boys repressed giggles. Even Adnah had to stifle a guffaw, still of an age, as he was, to find such things amusing. Talia shot her brother a disapproving look. She held Adnah and his gross, toilet humour to be embarrassingly immature although she experienced no revulsion in relation to the act itself and in fact, felt nothing but tender concern towards Sayid. "Settle down!" she ordered, pacing up and down the row of bared posteriors. When she came to Sayid, she ran a hand gently over his lower back, soothing him, aware that the laughter was probably a poor disguise for the mortification he was, no doubt, feeling inside. "It's alright, sweetheart," she whispered in his ear. "Don't you worry about that, there's a good boy." She paused a second, rubbing the 12-year old child's flank with her thumb, feeling him relax under her touch. Finally Talia assumed a position directly behind Pamphilos, the first of the boys, who were, in fact, arranged in ascending order of age. Adnah had moved silently to her side bearing a tray with a flask of oil, sponges, a large waterbowl and a curious collection of short leather thongs. They eyed each other briefly and smiled deeply, twins sharing again their secret understanding, like lovers. Malach watched intently from his desk, taking notes all the while, missing nothing, murmuring to himself from time to time. He paused, his stylus raised in mid-air, awaiting, so it seemed, a final confirmation of some arcane point or other, a reckoning whose arbitration rested solely on the outcome of whatever would unfold before him in the next few minutes. "Well," he said impatiently, "get on with it!" **************************************************************** Meanwhile, back in the main house, I was busying myself with a practical project, plans for a new pathway, complete with a mosaic design featuring a variety of astrological symbols, which was to be laid along the west terrace, one of Miriam's favourite spots and where she was often to be found during the day. It was Miriam herself who had overseen the design and chosen the images and she had personally instructed the craftsmen she had employed in order to ensure that the final effect was created exactly in line with her wishes. It fell to me to see the task through to completion and I was even now approving the schedules that had been prepared by the foreman of the proposed works. I studied the plans before me, referring all the time to the detailed drawings of the site, comparing timings, costings and estimates, realising as I did so that the project had, in fact, grown substantially and was now a fairly major undertaking which would cause far more disruption than had initially been indicated. One thing struck me immediately; the plans now required the new path to extend some twenty yards further than originally intended, taking it to the far side of the rear of the guest quarters. This was inconvenient now that those quarters were occupied by Malach and his servants but the inconvenience was relatively minor and certainly not enough to require either the plans themselves to be altered or the work on them to be delayed. However, it was only common courtesy, I supposed, to inform Malach that the back entrance to his quarters would be out of bounds for the duration of his stay, during which the whole area was to be dug up and the new path laid. He would not be put out, I was sure and I quickly scribbled a note along the lines of: "would he please ensure that only the front entrance....blah, blah, blah...apologies for the unavoidable disruption....blah, blah...would not be too inconvenienced...blah." I walked briskly through to the adjoining room where I had left Cyrus to work on some ledgers relating to certain kitchen expenses which I had noticed were not being managed as closely as I would have liked. He was sitting there dreamily looking up at the ceiling, picking his nose with great determination and purpose. I cleared my throat loudly and he turned round, not even bothering to remove his finger from his nose until he had cleared it out to his own satisfaction. He looked at me with a happy smile. "Sorry," he said, not sounding sorry in the slightest. I looked down at him, my eyebrows arched, waiting. "I mean...I'm sorry, master." He rose bashfully and awaited my latest orders. "Leave what you are doing...including the excavation work on your poor, little nose..." He smiled again, that smile; he really was a most handsome lad. "I need you to take this note over to Malach in his quarters. Do it now. Deliver the note. If he has any reply, you are to memorise it and come straight back to me, you understand?" "Yes, master." The boy hesitated. "Sir, his quarters, sir? I mean, am I allowed, sir? I thought we had instru..." "Never mind that," I said briskly. "I need you to do this now. It's called an order, boy! You remember what an order is, don't you?" "Yes, sir." "And you remember how servants such as yourself are expected to respond to orders?" He smiled wide, catching the teasing tone in my voice. "Yes, master!" "And you know very well what happens to servants who fail to obey a direct order, don't you? In particular, what happens to their backsides!" He positively grinned now, taking the note from my hand. Before he could turn away, I gripped his still-boyish wrist lightly, a thought forming. "Actually, lad, when you are there...have a quick check on the boys." "Master?" He looked at me quizzically, his head cocked to one side. "I'm sure they're fine but if you happen to see anything, then report back to me, you understand? Just to let me know what's going on over there, yes? But discreetly, mind. Be discreet, lad." "Yes, sir," he mumbled, as if strangely troubled by this new imposition. "Well, go on. Hop to it!" I said, encouraging him with a light swat to his rear end. Cyrus positively hopped in the direction of the guest quarters, behind the doors of which, the medical examinations continued unobserved. **************************************************************** Talia had taken a sponge from the tray which Adnah had now laid on the floor and had soaked it in the low-grade olive oil. With the greatest of delicacy, one hand resting lightly upon his back, she began to wipe Pamphilos' bum, covering his hole with a generous slick of oil. "There's a good boy," she crooned, sweetly. "Nothing to be scared of..." She glanced up at Adnah who now stooped on the other side of the little lad, a wicked grin on his face, a single, long digit raised. Slowly, he felt around the boy's bumhole with his finger, eased it in a quarter inch and held it there. Pamphilos gasped and tensed across the desk. He let out a little whimper, not of real distress but calculated to communicate his worry to Talia. She, sensitve creature that she was, recognised this at once and stroked the boy's head gently. "Don't fret, little one," she whispered. "Here, let me help you." With these words, she placed both hand on Pamphilos' buttocks, ever so gently easing them apart, opening his hole and allowing Adnah greater access. He took the opportunity to push his finger in a bit deeper, half an inch, an inch, felt the muscular response around his oily digit, heard the yelp of surprised discomfort from Pamphilos. "Eyes front, all of you!" The voice of Malach rang out in response to the attempts by all three of the other boys to crane their necks sideways and see what was going on, to discover the fate that, no doubt, awaited them. After a short pause to allow everyone to settle again, Adnah made a few exploratory movements of his finger, wiggling it gently in a circular motion, after which he looked across to Talia and nodded briefly. "Good boy," she said to Pamphilos, leaning forward and kissing him lightly on the backside. Adnah withdrew his finger and busied himself for a moment, stooping to wash his hands in the waterbowl by his feet. Talia continued to talk softly and gently into the ear of little Pamphilos, whom she now raised up from the desk to face her. He looked up at her, bewildered and uncomprehending but at the same time re-assured by her gentleness and shyly overcome by the smiling radiance of her undoubted loveliness, a reaction that all four boys would share in, once their own turns came for an intimate examination. Talia had taken one of the leather thongs from the tray and now bent in front of Pamphilos and proceeded to fit it to his genitals. There were little cupped supports for the balls but these were not required in his case - would only be required for Sayid and for Sulong - since the little lad's testicles had not yet descended. Talia smiled down at Pamphilos as she took his long, thin penis in her hand and gently tied the loop of leather around it, tightened it to the necessary degree and then with great dexterity tied the longest parts of the device behind the child's back so that his penis was held pointing upwards and pulled tight into his body. In the case of Pamphilos, the tip of his uncircumcised cock reached impressively almost to his belly-button. Talia made a final adjustment to ensure the contraption was not bound too tightly, during which procedure she could not resist running the tip of her finger around the inner rim of the boy's foreskin, making him fidget and squirm in a delicious mixture of embarrassed surprise and delight. Finally, she re-positioned him over the desk, glanced at Adnah and moved swiftly on to the next in line, young Kallistos, with whom the exact same process - wiping his bumhole with oil, Adnah's digital probing of his anus and the fitting of the strange, leather straps around his genitals - was repeated step by step. It was at this very point that Cyrus arrived outside the door to the guest quarters. Finding it locked, rather as he had suspected he would, he tutted loudly in annoyance. He didn't like to disappoint his master, wanted very much, in fact, to please him, even more so since the night of the banquet when he had sneaked into Theodoulos' bed and had been welcomed there; more than welcomed. He recalled how anxious his master had seemed to be that this letter to Malach be delivered speedily. He also recalled his words: something about "...what happens to servants who fail to obey a direct order. In particular, what happens to their backsides!" He sat down heavily on a laundry basket by the door and considerd his options. He could give up the task in the face of the locked door and return the letter to his master, risking a beating at his hands, a light warming of his bottom at the very least. Or he could run away to sea. His mind drifted vaguely to the scary figure of Joseph, the former slave trader who had rescued the four boys in the first place. He shuddered at the thought. There must be another option. There simply must be! What else had Theodoulos said? "Be discreet, lad." That was it; be discreet. Be...crafty. Be...sneaky, even. Be...but yes, that was it! He somehow needed to find a crafty way of sneaking into the guest quarters. But how? Suddenly it came to him and he clapped his hands, applauding his own ingenuity. These quarters had their own kitchens for the exclusive use of guests and from these kitchens it was certainly possible to access the whole of the apartments. Moreover, he knew that Malach and his servants ate in the main house, that his mistress, Miriam, would have it no other way considering the personal regard, the closeness indeed, she felt for the doctor. So the kitchens were not currently in use, would be deserted and it was unlikely that Malach, probably ignorant of their very existence, would have gone to the trouble of ensuring that all doors there were locked. Within a few minutes, Cyrus had made his way through the maze of back corridors which led to the guest kitchens and had passed through the kitchens themselves; no fires were lit, the stoves were cold and as he had suspected, no-one was around to question him as to why he was sneaking about where the likes of servants such as Cyrus simply should not sneak. And now he was standing at the side-door which led directly to the main guest chamber, a side-door that he found to his great relief although not very greatly to his surprise, was, indeed, unlocked. He eased the door open as gently as he could, ready to announce himself. But something held him back. It was not a sound, it was not a smell, it was not anything he had seen. It was an atmosphere; a strange, elusive, sweetly discomforting atmosphere that did something not altogether unpleasant to his teeth and made his little balls shrink in their little sac. He held his breath and listened hard. The voices he could hear were close by but were speaking more or less in whispers. He craned his neck inch by inch around the door-frame and gaped at the sight before him; the four boys, their bottoms raised over a series of strangely-carved desks, the beautiful Talia brandishing a wierd harness-like contraption in her hand and her twin brother Adnah, equally beautiful, crouched intently by Sulong, his finger firmly jammed up the lad's arse, pulling and pushing, circling and spiralling, teasing and coaxing, a sloppy, stickiness sucking about its thrusting length. Sulong was moaning across the desk and Cyrus briefly thought back to the night of the banquet, his mouth on Sulong's stiff cock, the custard shooting in his face. Talia looked back to Malach, out of sight, and said something about the boy being "highly suitable", whatever that meant. As Cyrus continued to watch, his mouth gaping open in astonishment, Adnah stopped, removed his finger and laughingly slapped the boy's buttocks; buttocks, thought Cyrus, with a kind of prim disapproval, that were but a year younger than Adnah's own. Talia now raised Sulong and went to work with her leather device, handling the large-ish testicles and openly playing with his erect penis, enjoying the task of circling it with the little loop and tying it back, thick and woody against the boy's light olive skin. Cyrus squirmed, for Talia was also, of course, but a year older than Sulong and Cyrus could only imagine the boy's embarrassment and shame. Once Sulong was back in position across the desk and Adnah had again washed his hands, the twins moved out of sight for a moment and there was silence in the room save for the faint scratching of a stylus on parchment. Cyrus wondered at the scene, his mind racing in desperate circles in an attempt to arrive at an answer to the many questions that troubled him. What kind of medical examination was this? Who were these mysterious twins? What strange role did they play here at the behest of their master, the doctor, Malach? And what should he, Cyrus, do now? He was about to withdraw silently and unobserved, to consider once more his options, when the twins again appeared in sight. They both had a very familiar household object gripped in their right hand; Talia was holding a sandal of the kind that was worn indoors by all the servants and her brother held a long, heavy, wooden spoon, of a type Cyrus had seen many times in the kitchens. His curiosity was immediately aroused and he decided to watch further to see what happened next; he had, after all, personal experience of very similar items being used for purposes other than their normal everyday function. His mind went back to a particular afternoon when he had been cheeky to one of the senior cooks and his hand reached automatically to his own backside, remembering the excruciating hurt that had resulted. And Lucius had tanned him and his fellow junior servants any number of times using a slipper very similar to the one that Talia now held. "We expect you to bear this trial bravely. All of you!" said Adnah sternly. Then, with an approving glance to her brother, Talia moved to the rear of Pamphilos and delivered a mighty whack with the slipper to his bare bottom. He yelled out with surprise as much as with hurt since the next two blows, delivered with equal force, brought no response. Talia moved onto Kallistos and spanked him in like fashion, eliciting the same squeal of surprise at the first blow. Sayid's turn followed the same pattern but before moving on to deal with Sulong's rear end, Talia turned and nodded to Adnah, who, with a deep breath, took up position behind Pamphilos and began to beat the child with the wooden spoon, six blows in rapid, painful succession before, himself, moving on to Kallistos. Talia had, in the meantime delivered three whacks to Sulong's bare buttocks and had returned to Pamphilos, where she proceeded to mete out the same treatment, spanking him harder this time directly over the red marks her brother had just left on the boy's plump little backside. By the time Talia had finished with Pamphilos, Adnah had, in turn, beaten Kallistos and Sayid and was even now bringing the spoon down with full force on poor Sulong. And so it went on. Cyrus watched in fascinated horror at the continuous beating being delivered to each boy. Round and round the twins went, each time the blows fell harder, each time the marks on the bared behinds showed brighter, each time the shrieks and yells grew stronger and now there was a constant background of sniffles, sobbing and resigned gasps. Cyrus, a tender-hearted lad at the best of times, felt tears of pity trickle down his face as he backed away from the scene, his mind reeling. He crept along the empty corridors, re-tracing his steps until he was again outside the main door of Malach's apartment, this time fully aware of what disturbing scene was being enacted on the other side. He sat again on the laundry basket to compose himself and wiped away the tears from his face with his sleeve. Finding nothing suitable to blow his nose on, he blew it anyway on the pleated skirt of his tunic. He took a deep breath, retrieved the letter from his pocket and wishing with all his heart that it had not fallen to him to have to do so, he knocked loudly four times on the door. ************************************************************** After dismissing Cyrus, I had gone back immediately to my work, studying the proposed plans for the new path but I found it hard to concentrate. I had been worried about Cyrus for some time now and felt that the moment was fast approaching for me to have a pseudo-paternal word before his cheekiness got the better of him. I was pleased to notice that he seemed to have become friends with Sulong, that they were evidently forming a close bond. I had no real inkling of the nature of this budding friendship but I think it is safe to say that it was most likely based on a mutual interest in studying the intricacies of the Greek language and as such, was something to be encouraged. I could easily picture the two of them poring over one of the books of grammer I had lent Cyrus and it pleased me to think that he was so keen to pass on something of his own knowledge to the new boy. As to his interest in Melissa, that seemed to have waned I was glad to note, though again, as to exactly why, I had no idea. No doubt his crush on her had been a passing adolescent phase and I was satisfied to think that it was over now without any upsetting incident having caused a rift between them. As for his evident horseplay - or, more accurately, donkey-play - with Lucius, it was, under the circumstances, entirely acceptable, even if it was somewhat surprising. Maybe it was Lucius I ought to be having that talk with! My greatest concern still remained the lad's naive enthusiasm for Christianity. Talk about jumping on a bandwagon! Anyone with any sense could see that such a feeble cult, however popular it appeared to be amongst the uneducated classes, was destined to fizzle out in obscurity after a few years. But try telling that to a wilful, know-it-all 16-year old! I had even made approving reference in his presence to some of our surviving Orphic traditions and had tried to interest him on one occasion in making offerings at the small shrine to the goddess Tyche that I maintained in my personal quarters - although little good fortune it has brought me over the years! Cyrus had pretended to be amazed that such observance still went on, saying he thought "that kind of thing" had died out a hundred years ago, the cheeky bugger! I made a point of finding some excuse to beat him after that remark even though he didn't deserve it and afterwards, I felt bad enough about it to let him accompany me the next day to the market, where I indulged his sweet tooth at one of the honey-cake stalls. So a serious talking-to was on the cards for young Cyrus, of that I was in no doubt. **************************************************************** Four knocks, it seemed, were not enough. Cyrus waited nervously, trying to detect any movement on the other side of the door. After a few minutes he knocked again, even more loudly this time. Again, there was no immediate response and the poor lad, his agitation now rising to an almost uncontrollable pitch, could not decide if he should try once more or simply give up. How he would have loved to just back away even if that meant returning miserably to his master having failed to deliver the letter and, no doubt, submitting to whatever punishment Theodoulos thought fit. However, just as he raised his fist to knock a final time, he heard the faint scratching sound of a key being turned in the lock and before he could draw breath, the door opened wide and he found himself face to face with Talia, the female half of those mysterious twins whom he had only seen before from afar, but whose presence around the house was something of which he had been very conscious in a strangely excited way. "Well, what have we here?" said the girl, looking directly into his eyes with a cool, appraising air of self-possession that made Cyrus instantly feel like a little boy who had wet himself in public. Such was the powerfully disturbing effect of Talia's initial appearance in front of him, her oh-so-seemingly-innocent question, the enticing promise of the bareley-concealed smile that played around her lovely mouth, the glint of knowing mischief in her beautiful eyes. The image rose unbidden of her spanking Pamphilos, thrashing Sulong, the raised slipper, the leather thong, her fingers on his genitals...but, by God, she was beautiful! Cyrus, quite unconcsiously moved a hand down to below his tunic and touched his knob through the material, a quick, subtle adjustment, just in case. "Cyrus, isn't it? The Chamberlain's boy?" The poor lad hardly registered the slight implied in that particular description. Talia seemed to him to radiate a kind of spellbinding glow, a light perfume of gorgeousness that wafted about him, drowsing him and spiking him up at once. His mind became aware that he was beginning to "spike up" in an all-too-physical sense and he shifted his feet, like the clumsy child that, in many ways, he still was. He was speechless, struck dumb by a stunning, young-womanly magnetisim that seemed to draw him upwards, his eyes, his cock...she even had breasts, the beginnings of... With great effort, Cyrus managed to find his voice although what came out wasn't truly his; more the breaking squawk, the uncertain bark of a fever patient. "I have a le..a letter," he managed finally to stutter out. Talia cocked her head to one side and smiled down at him, confident, superior, unassailable; a goddess. "Have you ever seen a girl's pussy?" she asked. Cyrus almost fainted on the spot. His mind swooped and swooned. Did she just say what he thought she said? Had she really said..? Surely not! "What?" he blurted out. "Have you ever seen a girl's pussy? You know...a cunt. I don't mean a baby sister or something back when you shared your bath or playing "show-me-yours" with some little playmate at school, getting your little winkie out in return...I mean a grown-up cunt. With hair." There was a beat of silence. Blood throbbed in his head, a pulse in his cock. "I've got a letter," he insisted, out of his depth, drowning, desperate but strangely willing, strangely compelled. Talia smiled. "Then you better deliver your letter, bettern't you?" "Er..yes." Cyrus didn't move, couldn't move. "Well, go on then." "Oh! Um...here it is. It's for your master, of course." "Yes, I expect it is. Don't worry, I'll make sure I give it to my...my master." As Talia took the folded note from his hand, Cyrus craned his neck to see if there was any sign of the four boys in the chamber, any evidence of the torment and ordeal they had been subjected to but there was nothing; no sound, no movement nor any trace of the weird atmosphere he had sensed only a few moments before. "I rather like you, Cyrus," said Talia suddenly. "It will be nice to have someone my own age to talk to. There is always my brother, of course, but that's not the same, is it?" "Um...no. No, I suppose not," said Cyrus, rather lamely. He was a little insulted actually that Talia should think they were the same age; he was, after all a good nine or ten months older! At this point there seemed nothing more to say and he started to turn away, ready now to make good his escape and hurry back to Theodoulos to report all that he had seen, leaving out any reference, naturally, to the alarmingly direct question that Talia had so discombobulated him with. Inexplicably, just as he made to leave, an image from his early childhood - from when he was 10 or 11, at any rate - appeared as if from nowhere, grinning in the lower reaches of his mind, swimming unerringly from the depths of his sub-conscious to surface in speech. "A crocodile's mouth," he said without thinking. "I'm sorry?" replied Talia, for the first time, genuinely thrown by the turn in the conversation. "A girl's...thingy. It's like a crocodi..." Cyrus stopped mid-sentence, feeling himself blush with embarrassment at what he was saying. "Really!" Talia exclaimed, not bothering, however, to disguise the twinkle in her eye. "That's exactly the kind of thing Adnah would say! You two are going to get on, I just know it." With that, she pinched the top of Cyrus' tunic between her thumb and forefinger and drew the boy closer, whispered earnestly into his ear and did not release him, would not release him until he had given a couple of affirmative nods of the head, at which point she smiled winningly, let go of his collar and was gone in an instant. The door to the guest quarters slid shut before him and he heard the key turn in the lock. He stared for a moment, unsure exactly as to what he had just agreed to but knowing he was being dragged along, pulled deeper, unresisting, eager even, not daring to refuse, not daring to admit his fear and wanting more than anything to see Talia again, that smile, those eyes, the giddying perfume of her presence. Then he remembered the scene he'd witnessed with the four boys and he turned and ran all the way back to the main house to find his master. **************************************************************** And so it is that I find myself now crouched by the very side-door Cyrus crouched in earlier, having followed the same deserted corridors that he had followed, through the cold, empty kitchens leading to the guest quarters. And now, as I watch the scene unfold before me, I recall the puzzled and rather strained look on his face as he recounted to me what had transpired in this very chamber a mere five hours before. I had hidden my own consternation at his report; he was, after all, a very sensitive lad and I did not want to upset him to a greater degree than he was already. I had not, of course, told him of my intention to discover for myself if any evidence be on show to back up his, I had thought, somewhat exaggerated claims. And now I realise that Cyrus too had witheld his intentions from me - he had certainly said nothing of his own plans to return to the chamber this evening after supper. Given the circumstances that I see now, the show I am, at this very moment, being treated to, the shameless exhibition, I can well understand why that was the case! I look on from my hidden vantage point, perplexed and fascinated, much the same, I suppose, as Cyrus felt this afternoon, watching from this very spot. The three of them are naked; Talia, her small budding breasts shining with sweat, her rather hairy female organ on full, lewd display, gaping open hungrily as she widens her legs. Cyrus and Adnah are standing side by side, their arms draped around the other's shoulders. Their full erections are being worked by Talia, Cyrus thrusting himself against her left hand, Adnah against her right. As I watch, first one then the other boy explodes into her palm, shooting a thick spurt of boyish cum onto her fingers. She rubs them agonisingly over their knob-ends, tantalising the thickened, reddened heads of their young cocks into spilling over with yet more pearly boy fluid. Even from here I can smell young boy's spunk, can taste it in my mouth, in my guts. I see beyond the trio to where Sulong kneels, sucking greedily on Sayid's short little penis, stiffened beyond anything he has experienced before; Sulong's finger reaches round and probes the younger boy's sticky anus. Kallistos and Pamphilos sit perched on a big couch in the far corner, arms, in imitation of the two boys brought to orgasm, happily entwined. Naked both, they watch with keen interest, fondling each other experimentally in dreamy expectation of things to come. Pamphilos sees me from across the room, smiles his dazzling smile and waves.