Slave Of The Sultan

1185 A.D.

By D.O.

Sultan Hassan Al Baqar was looking most forward to the coming evening. He would be partaking in an activity that had been long in arriving. Soon the women would be bringing him his newest, prized possession, a captured 13 year-old Irish lad named Brin O’Rourke. He had been the squire of one Sir Jonathon Morlingshire of England, a rich noble knight and landowner crusading in the Holy Land at the behest of the Pope. Apparently, Sir Jonathon had found the pointed end of a Moor’s spear before he had gotten around to properly bedding the boy; the Sultan’s thorough slave training staff comprised of older women and eunuchs assured their master that the youngster’s intimate places were most certainly untouched by anyone. This delighted and excited Hassan tremendously as he wanted to be sure that he was the first sexual partner of each of his slaveboys. The sultan lusted after young boys, having little use for females in a sexual manner except for occasional trysts meant solely for procreation. It wasn’t that he found females unattractive; on the contrary. He had all of his boys feminized, completely stripped of all remnants of maleness, until they thought of themselves as girls, serviced the sultan as females. They were made to grow their hair into long, lustrous tresses, then cleaned of all traces of body hair, dressed in sheer silks that allowed the sultan full access to their bodies, trained in the way young girls act, speak and move and finally instructed in the sensual arts of pleasing a man using the softness of their fingers, the moistness of their mouths and the hot, massaging snugness hidden deep within their bowels.

It had been over a year since he had laid with a white, Christian lad and frankly speaking, Hassan was amazed that Brin had not yet lost his cherry. He was a youth of unspeakable beauty, pure and innocent. He could not believe that the boy’s knight-master was not also a suitor for his virginal charms. The Muslims had found that these Christian crusaders, warriors and priests alike, were extremely covetous of young boys and stole away with them whenever opportunity presented itself. As the sultan knew and the lonely crusaders were finding out, teenage boys were always horny, of course can’t be impregnated and once they’ve had a mature man’s knowing fingers and tongue inside their pucker they couldn’t wait for his cock to take their place. He smiled as he mulled these thoughts and waited. Soon the lad would be presented to him dressed in the delicate sheer garments of the harem slaves and Hassan would spread the boy’s sweet rosette, oiled fingers pressing in, searching and delving. And then the ages-old game of sexual seduction and conquest would begin. The Sultan could already imagine the pliability of the boy’s lips, the softness of the alabaster skin. Thoughts of the tiny, forbidden furrow hidden between those perfect buttocks made him hard as steel and he could picture piercing that pink blossom, the yielding innards gripping his rigid maleness.

The Sultan was an imposing man, swarthy and menacing. His dark reddish brown skin betrayed his middle-eastern descent and his still darker eyes were cold and cruel. He stood at a striking six feet four inches and weighed about two hundred and forty pounds.  His biceps and thighs were impressively muscled from his years of extensive military training, although he was starting to develop a bit of a paunchy belly from his recent time spent mostly governing instead of in preparation for war. His hair was black as coal and he wore it in a mannish mid-length cut. He bore a thick, dark very neatly trimmed beard that made his angular face even more harsh-looking. That same pitch-black fur covered most of his body like a thick wool hide, causing him to resemble some kind of demonic bear or ape to his youthful charges. But perhaps his most fearsome attribute, at least in the eyes of his young bedmates, was his lengthy, broad-girthed manhood; with it’s flared, bulbous head that seemed to be straining as if furiously searching for a soft nesting place. When stiff, it stood out thick and arrogant and unyielding, jutting out eight full inches from his bushy thatch of pubic hair. And Sultan Hassan was a man who knew exactly how to utilize his cock to peak effectiveness.  Even at the age of forty-six, his sexual appetite knew no bounds, his stamina was that of a man half his age and he had a proficiency allowing him to do things that would have adolescent lads gasping in ecstasy as they lay spread-eagle beneath him or rode skewered upon him or side by side with their backs pressed into his chest or on their hands and knees with faces pressed into scented pillows; whichever position the Sultan chose to take them in, they were always penetrated and bred many times, especially on the occurrence of their “wedding” night with him. It particularly excited Hassan when the boys exhibited an intense aversion to being feminized and broken in by the Caliph as he introduced the youngsters to the erotic art of man-on-boy…interaction, as it were. The sound of their crying as they were transformed irrevocably into submissive fem-boys was like music to the brutish sovereign. This repugnance was usually inherent with most of his protégés, and even more so with his favorites, the fairskinned highborn children of crusaders from Europe and England. He found breaking down the haughty, conceited westerners to be most enjoyable. He was after all a born cocksman and an outright dominant master, showing no mercy and no quarter to his slaves. He expected total and swift obedience at all times, and any hesitation to carry out his will was met with brutal reprimand. This punishment almost always involved extreme bondage and sexual torment in the Sultan’s dungeon. Usually showing a new lad one of the “non-compliant” boys bound in an unnatural pose, screaming into their ball-gag, with a greased-up nubbed metal dowel being shoved none too gently into their pisshole and a jailer’s entire forearm disappearing into their grossly distended rectum was sufficient to coax acquiescence from them.

Hassan had realized many years ago that while he enjoyed his sexual trysts with the many females available to him at all times, he needed something more to keep his interest. Women from every culture were bred and taught from the earliest ages that men were superior and the ones in command. They already knew these things and so there was no real sport in conquering them. Teenage boys on the other hand, thought that one day they would be the ones in control, the ruling rank. When Hassan had heard from a neighboring Emir of the joys of raping young European lads and breaking down every last bit of their resistance to their new life, he knew that he must undertake this task. And so he began on his quest for as many boy cherries as he could possibly puncture with his mighty spear. As his renown grew, the rapes grew to be not enough and so the Sultan began to experiment with forced feminization of these captured child crusaders. He found that the young lads hated and loathed him for making them behave as females, submissive to his every whim and wish. And he loved that part of the seduction, training and subjugating his adolescent captives. At the end of their instruction they were as prim and proper and subdued as actual women. The Sultan kept them almost completely naked, save for the most sheer of silks, barely covering their youthful, smooth and hairless bodies. After the boys cleansed their bowels with a mixture of scented waters and lubricating oils, they knew to brush their long tresses, have all their nails painted and dab perfume about their bodies’ most intimate places. Once they are presented to Hassan, the seduction begins as he entices them into his desired path with his expert hand.

Hassan’s breath was taken away by the youngster’s overwhelming beauty, and he sucked in a deep gasp as the boy was introduced to him. Brin looked as young as his fourteen years and with his hair having grown into extensive, bright red locks over the past months, made for a positively fetching female. He was about five feet, five inches tall and weighed about one hundred thirty pounds of perfectly toned boy flesh. His alabaster skin was scattered with light red freckles; he would clearly burn easily and as such, Hassan had ordered him kept out of the sun. The Sultan began the night’s amusement by approaching Brin from behind, pulling him back into his muscular physique, letting his beefy paws roam possessively over the suppleness and softness of Brin’s body. As Hassan began to lightly kiss the fragrant skin of Brin’s neck, he slowly began to rub his hardening manhood into the cleft of the boy’s buttocks and then reaching through the satiny folds of the silken harem gown, he slowly, very…slowly began to grind a single digit into the tiny, pink rosette. The boy responded with an attempt at protest, but the excited monarch shrugged off the meager effort and continued on in his quest, pushing into the yielding, gripping flesh. After a few minutes of these ministrations, Hassan pulled his finger out and pushed it up to the kid’s mouth; the expectation is clear. The boy starts to cry as he takes the offered finger into his mouth, slobbering all over it, crying harder as two more are added into his oral cavity. He dutifully lubricates the proffered appendages, tears streaming down his face, terrified of the impending intercourse, but more terrified of angering the Sultan.

More to cum…. As always, feedback and comments are encouraged…. Thanks!!

Copyright 2009 D. Opercorn