Taste Test Sand and Heat (Taste Test)

Torquere Press

www.torquerepress.com

Copyright ©2003 by Sean Michael

First published in www.torquerepress.com,

2007

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The Old Raya The New Raya Seen Most Favored Mine

The Old Raya It wasn't even noon yet and already it was hot. Even the thick stones of his raya's palace were no match for the sun's harsh rays during summer. Feyer sighed and lazily waved a hand. One of the boys ran forward and began to fan him. He stretched out at the foot of the bed, skin gleaming with sweet oil and sweat, and shook his head, letting his hair fall behind him. Numi, on his knees in front of their raya, feeding the old man small bites of lychee fruit, glanced and him and licked his lips. It made Feyer smile and shift his hips, legs falling open, hand draped elegantly along his hip. He looked good. With the heat, he wore nothing but his armbands and his markings, bronze and gold along his arms and by his eyes, bright and shining against his skin. His kohl-stained eyelids were the same color as his hair. He was perfect. The raya had said so more than once. And well he should be: he had been chosen, made into the perfect bodyslave at a young age. The old man, skin as wrinkled and dry as Feyer's was smooth and oiled grunted and waved Numi away. The black-eyed boy left the tray of fruit at Feyer's side and murmured quietly. “He had no more than two bites." Feyer nodded. Their raya had been eating less and less, the heat bothering him more this year than others. Feyer would feed the old man himself. Taking a fruit, he ate it slowly, letting the juices flow from the corner of his mouth. He moaned softly, eyes slanting toward his raya. The old man's eyes were on him. He took another fruit and placed it between his lips and then crawled up the bed, the white silk soft beneath his hands and knees. He climbed over the raya, brushing against the man, letting the fingers of one hand trail up from ankle to hip, wrapping around the mostly flaccid cock. Pressing his lips to his raya's, he passed the fruit. The old man laughed weakly, but ate. He smiled and moved back down the frail body, sliding the slim shaft into his mouth. He tongued and sucked the flesh, bringing it slowly to life, twitch by slow twitch. It took longer now than it used to, and he'd been at it quite awhile, the old man's cock still not fully hard when gnarled fingers dropped onto his head, brushing through his hair and tugging him off.

"My Raya?" "I'm tired and old. You cannot make stone pour blood." He protested. “No. No, my Raya, there is plenty of blood left in you." "I m too old and it is too hot. Come sit by me, let me look on your beauty as you pleasure yourself." Pouting, he nodded. He reached first for the tray of fruits. “Will you at least continue eating, my Raya?" The old man's chuckles turned to coughing and Feyer frowned, worry filling him. "You all fuss over me like old women." "You are our Raya, our Master." The old man's hand slid along his cheek and Feyer nuzzled into the touch. A soft kiss was placed on his forehead and then his raya lay back among his pillows. “Entertain me, my boy." Feyer kissed the hand that clothed and fed him and did as he was bid. His hands traveled over his own body. The oil was slick beneath his fingers, making his soft skin even softer. Moaning, he let his raya hear his pleasure. He took his time, fingers moving over every part of himself. Displaying his beauty, he made the little noises he knew his raya loved. His own hand was warm, familiar and comfortable around his erection and at last he came. “My Raya!" The air seemed cooler now, a hint of breeze carrying with it the promise that summer would pass them by and leave the rains behind. He waited for the words of praise, for his raya to speak of the pleasure he took in watching Feyer's passion. The silence hurt and he raised his head. A soft smile turned up the corners of his raya's lips, the dark eyes staring. Feyer offered a smile and raised his hand to his face, licking delicately at his own seed. The expression on the old man's face did not change. "My Raya?” His whisper was a trembling echo of his earlier cry and he put his hand on the old man, shaking him, but his raya's stare remained unbroken, his body still.

Feyer laid his cheek over the old man's heart, eyes closing on tears; there was only silence there.

The New Raya Feyer didn't want to be here. He didn't want a new raya or a new home or new ways. He certainly didn't want to have to wait hand and foot upon the giant who now owned him. Amut was ... big all over. And very ... active. Feyer pouted. The least he deserved was a couple of slaves at his own beck and call, but instead he was expected not only to care completely for himself, but for his raya as well. He didn't like it at all. "If you spill that wine again, the Meun Amut will have your hide, chadan.” The dark skinned lad who belonged to the raya's second warned, voice pitched soft and low. “He does not abide clumsiness." "I am not clumsy.” Feyer sneered and upended the flagon, letting it drop from his hands when it was empty. A shadow fell over them and the boy beside him fell to his knees. A low, familiar voice growled, “No. You are willful and graceless and prideful, but you are not clumsy." Feyer struck a pose, fluid and relaxed. “Graceless, Amut?" The boy beside him began to tremble as the room fell utterly silent. Amut bent down and touched the boy's shoulder. “Return to your master, little one.” Then the brown eyes turned on him. Feyer felt a slice of fear go through him. He could wind up dead for his insolence. He dropped his eyes half-closed and shook out his hair, letting his hips slouch further forward; if he died at least he wouldn't be here. “Grace and poise and pleasure. It's all I know.” He looked at the big man from beneath his lashes. “You knew that when you bought me. Did you not?" Amut arched an eyebrow and snapped his fingers. His Second appeared at his shoulder immediately. “Strip it and stake it outdoors. If it struggles, shave it.” Then Amut turned his back on him, dismissing him. Feyer's mouth dropped open, protests springing to his lips. He had expected anger, perhaps a beating or even death, certainly not dismissal. The words died on his lips as the

raya's Second grabbed his hair in one hand and a knife in the other. The knife pressed against his forehead, cold, black eyes glinting in a still face. “How will we do this, chadan?” The blade bit in, a line of hot blood sliding down his forehead. Feyer glanced at Amut, but the raya still had his back turned, unconcerned about what might happen to him. He lowered his eyes, hiding the tears that had sprung up and showing his acquiescence at the same time. He could remember his old raya punishing him only twice, could remember the tears in the old, dark eyes—it had always hurt him more than Feyer himself. He was pressed outside, dragged over to the center of the village, and summarily stripped. Two men hammered four large stakes into the ground, leather thongs fastened to each. As Feyer watched, trembling, the sun began to set. "Down and fasten your feet, dog. We will see how graceful you are when the night hunters come for you.” The Second's voice was flat and humorless, hard as stone. His hands were trembling, slipping as he fastened the leather bindings around his own ankles. Night hunters? A soft shudder went through him as he could only imagine what those might be, putting savage faces to the howls he had heard in the night before. His hands were fastened, the ties tested, and then the men left him, spread out like a sacrifice upon the dirt, the sky turning from rose to violet. He tried to be grateful that he was face-down, that he wouldn't be able to see the beasts that came to kill him, that his tears would fall unseen into the sands. He tried, but he wasn't succeeding very well. This was not what he'd had in mind when he'd pushed and sulked. Amut did not react the way he had expected. These tribal people were strange to him, not that it really mattered anymore. He tried to relax, to go limp, but he was bound tight enough that he could not and soon his muscles began to protest his position. He could hear the laughter and chatter from the communal supper, smell the roasted meat, the fresh cut fruit, the wine. All he could taste was bitter sand. Soon his tears flowed freely. He hated crying; it made his eyes red and swollen and his nose run. It was not very pretty.

The true panic didn't set in until full darkness fell, the tent flaps falling closed, drumming and soft songs filling the air. Then there was the silver-quick flashes of lizards, the slick slither sounding close by, and the jerky, curious long-legged searching of insects. He prayed for a quick death. And, as hour followed hour, he begged for it. No one came. No one heard. Even the cattle were checked, fed, comforted when they lowed, but it was as if he were invisible. By the time the sky lightened, his shoulders were on fire, his thighs covered with a series of bites that were matched by the welts on his shoulders, his wrists and ankles bloody from twisting. He had no voice left. His curls, filthy and limp, trailed in the dirt, beetles running through them. Now, he thought, now that the sun's deadly heat had arrived, he would be either killed or cut down. Hours seemed to pass, the sun growing brighter and brighter, children stopping to kick dust at him while their mothers busied themselves, before pair of dark feet settled before him. “Are you feeling graceful now, chadan?" He tried to speak but all that issued from his throat was a croak. Despite the pain he managed to shake his head, one brief movement that had him whimpering. Amut stepped away, speaking loud enough for him to hear. “Hobble the chadan and have him serve all who ask. If he dishonors me, bring him back here. If he struggles, shave him. If he behaves well, bring him to me at sunset." He did not understand. He was stripped of his beauty, his grace, his dignity. He would serve others and make no sound, but he was no longer fit to serve the raya, why would Amut want him returned? He was jerked up, muscles screaming as his arms and knees were strapped tightly together, a long piece of leather tied around his throat. The dark eyes of the boy from—was it only the night before?—looked at him with pity as he was forced to his knees. “You were warned, chadan. Behave yourself today; please do not anger the Meun Amut again. I will help you, if you will allow it." He hated it, hated that his beauty and grace were thrown to the sands like crumbs from a raya's table, hated that he must rely on this boy who should be serving him .

Lowering his eyes, he allowed his head to nod, ever so slightly. "Come, Chadan, serve your tribe.” He was offered a sip of water and then he began the painful trip into the group of tents. **** He was clean, powdered, and perfumed. No one expected him to serve, to move, to kowtow. Jewels were draped over his throat, threaded through his hair, his ears, the shining ring in his cock. He was not abused, not beaten, nothing but so gentle hands stroking him to hardness again and again. Feyer was miserable. That first night he had been led to his raya, the corners of his mouth torn, his ass raw and aching, blisters on his hands and feet, one stripe across his sunburned shoulders. Amut had been lounging with his Second, talking and laughing, heavy cup of wine in his hand. The dark eyes had landed upon him and he had flinched from the lack of concern, the cold distance. "Tell me, Rifik, what did the chadan say his purpose was?" "Grace and poise and pleasure, Meun Amut.” Rifik's voice had laughed at him, taunted him. "I see.” Amut had shifted, holding out his cup to be refilled. “Then I believe it should begin to perform its duty so that my fortune was not ill-spent on a common whore. Have it washed and made beautiful. I feel the need to decorate." Then Feyer had been led away, his wounds dressed, his face painted. He had been draped in silks and furs and brought to the raya's tent where he had been attached to the wall, gagged, and promptly ignored, barring the periodic caresses when his erection faltered. And there he had stayed, allowed down only to eat, relieve himself, bathe and sleep, for night after night after night. He'd long since stopped crying, it only gave him headaches. He was lonely, exhausted and growing more and more numb. Every night Amut took his pleasure in slaves with half the looks and skills as himself. At first it had angered him. Then made him sad and now ... he was numb.

Two boys were curled on either side of Amut, thin limbs tangling with the heavy muscles, covered in ebony. Timot crawled in silently, knelt at the end of the furs silently, waiting for Amut's acknowledgement. Timot had been good to him, assuring his wrists and ankles did not chafe, that he ate. "You wish to speak?” Amut's low voice seemed to fill the room. "Yes, Meun Amut. My Raya, your second, he asked if perhaps you could spare these chadani, as he has a visitor within his tent." Amut nodded, slapping one playfully as the boy stole a kiss. Timot did not rise. "You have more to say?" "Yes, Meun Amut.” Timot's voice was low and soft, full of respect. “My raya requested that I offer myself to your pleasure, to replace the chadani borrowed." A long silence followed and then Amut sighed. “No. You should return to your raya, Favored One. I have no need for you." No, Feyer thought sulkily, the man had made love almost constantly; he had no need of Timot. He watched as the boy bowed and left. Timot smiled softly at him, but he didn't have the heart to smile back. The flap of the tent closed behind the boy and then he and Amut were alone. "You are not as beautiful displayed upon the wall as you were the first night I took you.” Amut's voice startled him, made him jerk slightly in his bonds. The large man was looking at him, eyes and face solemn. “You underestimated your abilities, chadan." He licked his lips, his mouth was so dry. “I don't understand." Amut stood, stalking across the room like a sleek cat, stopping only to retrieve a goblet. “I know that you do not. I also know that you will." Amut took a drink, the smell of the wine bright and sweet. Feyer almost sobbed at the cruelty, and then his chin was lifted, wet lips covering his, cool wine splashing into his mouth. Gasping, he swallowed the liquid greedily, tears filling his eyes at the sudden and unexpected kindness.

Their lips parted, Amut's eyes focused and still and looking right at him. “More?" "P-please." A nod, a sip, and those lips covered his again, giving him the liquid he so desperately needed. Twice more, Amut fed him, the final time lapping softly at his open lips. "It does not have to be always a struggle, chadan." "I wish only to serve you, Raya." "Do you?” Amut offered him another drink, another kiss. His head spun from the wine, from the loss of breath, from the gentle attention washing over his shattered nerves. "Yes, Meun Amut, it is what I was made for. To fill my Raya's every need.” The tears in his eyes overflowed. He ached to do his duty but every time he had tried it had only made things worse. “I don't understand." "What do you not understand, little chadan?” Hands, warm and unbelievably strong, stroked over his shoulders, his chest, touching him, feeling him. The husky voice rolled over him, tongue licking at his tears. “All you need do is give yourself to me. I will give you all you need." "I am yours.” His tears continued to fall, Amut's care unexpected, almost shocking after the last days. "Yes, little chadan. You are mine. Would you serve your raya or do you prefer to decorate my walls?” The rough, hot tongue lapped at his cheeks. His body strained toward Amut's; he knew only one answer to the question, knew it with his entire being, it was who he was. “I would serve my Raya." His response must have been appropriate, for he was rewarded with a long, deep kiss and hot hands released his wrists, allowing them to fall upon the sleek strong shoulders. He filled his raya's mouth with a sob, hands sliding over the warm flesh, shaping and re-learning the muscular contours. His shoulders ached, muscles stretched and sore, but he ignored his pains for pleasures that were offered. Hands caught beneath his buttocks and lifted him, his world, so long still and empty, suddenly swaying and filled with the feel and taste and smell of his raya. He was laid upon soft

furs, the heat of skin covering him from above. The kiss never ended. He was drowning in sensation, drowning in his raya, and foreign as it was to him, he didn't want it to stop. His old raya had never overwhelmed him like this, never filled his senses and mind so completely. The furs were cool and slick against him, his raya's hands rubbing him, petting him—but not as if he were a pet, instead touching deeply, touching muscles and bones and leaving the knowledge of that hand within his veins. He arched into the touches, moved and twisted into them, searching for more. "Do you see, little one? Do you understand what awaits you when you find your place in honor?” The words filled his head as he gasped for air. His raya slowly turned the ring in his cock, possessive fingers tracing the thin skin of his shaft. He tried to nod, tried to answer, but only soft, keening sounds came from him. Another kiss started as slick fingers pressed inside him, rocking with the same slow, steady pace of the tongue within his mouth, the beat of his raya's heart. He held tightly to Amut's shoulders, letting his raya push him higher and higher. The pace altered, motions slowing as the thicker, hotter flesh of his raya pressed inside him, filling him until all Feyer could sense was sweet pressure upon his lips, upon his skin, within his body. He was laid bared and subsumed, consumed, taken by his raya and given such pleasure. Steadily the pressure increased, the speed increased, heat building in his belly until he could not bear it. He whimpered, making soft noises, begging without words. "Come for me, little one. Give yourself to me for you are mine.” The words were growled low, their hungry vibrations sinking into his balls. He cried out as he came, body shaking apart. The only thing that kept him together were his raya's hands, large and solid on his skin. The final thrusts, the pulse within him were barely noted, wrapped as he was in the cocoon of pleasure and his raya's hands. "My Raya...” The words whispered from him, true and solid and all that mattered.

"Yes, little Imani.” His Raya settled beside him, pulling him close. “I am your raya, your master in all things." Imani ... treasured, favored, held above all. He could live with that.

Seen He'd been so good. For days, and then weeks, and then months. Obedient and humble, kind to the other slaves, serving his raya, his men and his guests, even the menial tasks like cleaning and food preparation. And then, out of the blue, Amut had decided it was time to take a woman to his bed, to give her a child. For six weeks Feyer had served her. Bringing her food, massaging her feet, running here and there for each thing that she wanted, no matter how small. This morning Amut had finally led her back to the women, but when Feyer had asked if he should have any special preparations waiting his raya's return, Amut had said no. In fact, his raya had made it clear that he might not be returning that night as he had not sat around the fire with the men in far too long. Desolate, Feyer had slipped from the tent and spent the day watching the sands blown about by the wind. At sunset he had returned to Amut's tent. It was empty. In a fit of anger he threw the trays and plates and cups on the ground, the metal not breaking, but at least making a satisfying noise. The glass vials of oil broke though, leaving the oil to soak into the sands, their scents sweet upon the air. Feyer didn't feel any better. He'd been so good and it got him nothing. He heard Amut's laugh outside the tent. “No, my friend, I have fulfilled my duties to tribe and the hunters. My Imani has been patient and quiet, even with the woman. It is time to reward him for his obedience. Take the hunters tomorrow; I will not ride ... the horses." Feyer looked around in a panic. Nothing had been done and then he had made the mess. Perhaps he could mitigate the damage. Hurrying, he began to gather the plates and cups onto the tray, pushing them beneath the table. Too soon, far too soon, Amut pulled back the flap of the tent, nose flaring as he stepped in, a bundle held within his hands. “All is well, Imani?" In tears, all his effort undone by his own hands and facing the prospect of being ignored

or given to another or made to watch as his raya pleasured yet another, he crawled toward Amut, head low to the ground. “I am sorry, my Raya. I am weak and impatient and not worthy of your care." "Oh, Imani, what shall I do with you?” Amut's voice was low, not angered, but Feyer could hear disappointment there. Feyer's head lowered, his body sagging even closer to the ground. Amut's feet disappeared from before him. “I will take my bath at the harem, Imani. I will return and expect my house to be put to rights and my beloved Imani awaiting his punishment and my pleasure. Do not disappointment me.” Then Amut disappeared through the tent flap again. Feyer's breath caught in his throat and he wasted at least a full minute staring at the sand in amazement. His raya had never given him another chance before. Fumbling his way to his feet, he began to clean, working as quickly as he could without skimping. The dishes were neatly stacked, the furs set to rights, with fresh silks arranged artistically over the large pillows. He sped to the well, refilling the flagons with fresh water, stopping only long enough to pick up fresh bread, cheese and sweets from Shalia. He cleared away the glass from the oil pots, turning the sand over so that the dark oil marks no longer showed. He spread the carpets out from the door of the tent to the furs, brushing them carefully, making sure there was no sand on them. A last trip to Anii and a promise to teach her daughter massage and he had three new vials of oil, one spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg, another with lavender and a third, which Anii boasted smelled of mangos and passion fruit. His body was next. He stripped and oiled himself, taking the time to prepare his passage to receive Amut or whatever his raya might deem appropriate. He pumped himself to hardness and slipped on a jeweled cock-ring, pulling the leather tight around his balls, and then slid into a new pair of silk pants. Jewels went into his hair, delicate chains of gold around his throat and belly and wrists and ankles. Feyer was out of breath, but all was done. He placed himself in front of the entrance, kneeling with his forehead on the carpet.

Now he waited. Amut's feet appeared before him after what felt like hours, the scent of the jasmine soap favored by the harem strong upon the air. Without a word, Amut reached for him, lifting him easily from the ground. “Your punishment first, Imani, then my pleasure." He was led over to the center beam of the tent, wrists gently bound, holding him up. Careful to keep his eyes lowered, he spoke quietly. “I am sorry, my Raya, that your pleasure is delayed by my behavior." Amut's voice came to him, soft and low. “Do you know what you are being punished for, Imani?" "My impatience and anger." "No, Imani.” Amut's hands moved over his arms and down his flanks. “You are being punished for your doubt. Your doubt that I would see your struggles, your victories, your obedience. You are being punished for forgetting that I see you." A shiver went through him, his raya's touch so welcome after weeks without. Amut had not touched him in the time the woman had been in his raya's bed, so as not to curse the union or the child that came from it. "I will not doubt my Raya again,” he whispered. "No, Imani? Not for a day or two.” His gauzy pants were drawn away. “Three stripes to remind you my eyes and need see you always. Are you ready, Imani?" He closed his teeth together so that he would not bite his tongue and nodded, muscles clenching in anticipation of the pain to come. "Relax, it eases the sting.” Quickly, moving almost too fast for comprehension, three lines of fire were laid across his shoulders, his buttocks and his thighs. Then Amut stood behind him again, strong and warm. There were tears in his eyes, more from disappointing his raya than the pain, though the stripes were like pulses of fire along his skin and his body trembled in reaction. "My brave, strong Imani, not a single cry.” Amut's hands began stroking his belly, his thighs, moving in long, slow swipes. Heat and pleasure found his neck in the form of his raya's

mouth. He moaned softly, pushing into the touches as best he could in his precarious position. His raya's hand spread his legs, moving to cup his bound sacs, slide hot and firm over his cock. All the while, the heat at his back never ease, pressed and rocked against him. The pleasure warred with pain as each touch to the stripes felt like a burn. The two sensations twisted together until they became indistinguishable. Hot hands slid around his thighs, spreading and lifting him, the tip of his raya's cock pressing against his entrance. “Let me in, Imani. Open to me." Taking a deep breath, he bore down, gravity pushing the large cock into him. He moaned loudly, fingers twisting above him. The large hands moved to his waist, lifting him up and pulling him down onto the column of flesh within him. Hot sucking kisses traveled over his neck and shoulders, the hungry groans of his raya sharp in his ears. Reaching back with his legs, he hooked his ankles around the wide thighs, shouting out as the changed angle pushed Amut deeper, the large cock pressing past the small gland within him. His raya drove him farther and farther, his hungry cries filling the tent as Amut filled him. Amut's teeth found his shoulder, nipping sharply, pulling at his skin, devouring him. Feyer's cock pulsed within it's bindings, sending shudders throughout his body, even down to the fingers and toes at the ends of his stretched limbs. Amut pushed deep within him and stilled, holding him impaled and stretched, teeth worrying his neck, breath coming sharp and hot against him. His body was trembling, oh-so-fine tremors that were pleasure and the excitement that came from being the vessel of his raya's pleasure. As Amut remained still as a statue, Feyer began to whimper, soft sounds of need. "Patience, Imani. Feel me within you, behind you, seeing you." Feyer trembled harder and breathed deeply, forcing the whimpers back down his throat. It took long, agonizing minutes, but at last he was quiet and still but for the occasional spasm of muscles over which he had no control. Amut was thick and long, buried deep within him. The

thighs beneath his heels were solid and absolutely still. He could feel the heat of Amut's body all along his back, the power of the dark eyes like a physical touch along the stripe that cut across his shoulders. He was possessed. Taken. Seen. "Yes, my most favored. You are mine and mine alone." Then Amut began to move, slamming into his body, giving him what his body so desperately needed. He could do no more than hang there to be impaled again and again as Amut thrust into him, used him for pleasure. It was truly heaven on earth. The rough voice found his ear. “Share your pleasure with me, Imani. Show me your joy. Come for me." Nothing could come in his way of obeying that voice and with a roar his pleasure poured from his untouched cock. His raya answered him with a growl, heat filling his body. As he floated, shivering and sobbing, Amut unfastened his wrists, carrying him to the piled furs and laying him upon his stomach. As he caught his breath, a cool, soothing salve was worked into the stripes upon his skin, massaging gently. "My Raya ... Amut.” He murmured the name, love and obedience in the tones as he vowed silently not to fail. Again. "Yes, my brave, strong, little Imani. Sleep now, tomorrow is ours.” The hands soothed and petted for a moment longer, then Amut settled beside him, large and hot upon the furs. He nearly began to cry again, it had been so long since he had been allowed to sleep in Amut's bed. He pressed close to his raya, nuzzling into the smooth heat, where he belonged. A soft fur draped over his back and his lips were covered in a short, possessive kiss. Amut's marks burned, the body beside him was warm and comforting. He knew, without a doubt, that his raya saw him.

Most Favored It had been too long since Amut had sequestered himself away with his Imani. He could feel the itch and ache sliding through him like the spring fevers that attacked the tribe years before. The sweet body was attentive every night, offering him his pleasure without complaint, but his Imani was as a fine mount, requiring a firm hand, attention, and the understanding that the one who held the reins was master. He finished his meal and wine, then looked over at his second, voice pitched loud enough that his Imani, who knelt behind him, awaiting his will, could hear. "I will not be dancing with the warriors this night. I will be in my tent. I do not wish interruption." His second nodded. “As you will it, Meun Amut." If his attention had not been on his Imani, he would not have heard Feyer's soft intake of breath. Excellent. Amut stood, nodding to his people and then moved toward his tent, knowing his Imani would attend. Feyer's bare feet were nearly silent on the sands, his Imani following at the proper step and a half behind and to his left. He entered his tent, removing his sword and his symbols of office, setting them aside so that his might focus on his pleasure. Feyer filled a bowl with water and set it next to him. Kneeling, his Imani asked to attend to him. “May I wash my Raya's feet?" "Yes, Imani.” He grew hard, watching the sleek line of his most favored's spine and growled low, letting his desire have its voice. A ripple passed through Feyer's body, though his Imani was silent, hands sliding wetly over his skin, cooling and refreshing him. As soon as his feet were dried, Amut spoke. “Undress me." He had a game planned, a small entertainment to amuse them and bring a spark to those dark eyes that watched him so closely.

"Yes, my Raya." Feyer stood, fingers warm and soft, sliding along his skin as his robe was pushed up and pulled off. There were fine tremors in those fingertips, his Imani not as calm as he appeared on the surface. Amut reached out, tilted Feyer's chin and took a long, lazy kiss, filling himself with the honeyed wine and need flavor that marked his Imani. A soft sound vibrated against his tongue, Feyer's whimper soft and wanting. Amut deepened the kiss, feeding off Feyer's need and desire. He held the fine head in his hands, tilting and moving his Imani so as to get the deepest kiss, the best taste. Feyer whimpered and sank against him, skin so warm and soft. He lifted Feyer, heading toward the furs. The games could wait until he had slaked his thirst, taken the edge from his need. He settled them upon the furs, hands tearing at the gauzy coverings which hid his Imani's body. Finally he broke their kiss, growling low. “Your mouth, Imani. Attend me." "My Raya's pleasure is my greatest joy.” Feyer slid down his body, lithe and supple, tongue taking soft tastes along the way. Amut spread his thighs, offering his need, his pleasure to his Imani's care. His balls felt heavy, his cock tight and hot, anticipation filling him. Feyer took a taste of him from the very tip of his cock first, his Imani moaning softly. Then that sweet, warm tongue slid along his shaft, exploring each bump and vein down to his balls. Each ball was taken into Feyer's mouth, laved and loved. Amut growled out his pleasure, his appreciation, trusting his Imani as he trusted none other. For a moment Feyer's tongue slid beyond balls, lapping at the sensitive skin in this most private of places, and then his shaft was taken into Feyer's mouth. Such heat and suction surrounding his flesh. He moved without thought, without worry, pushing up and up into that heat, knowing his Imani would take him deep. Feyer took him all in, swallowing around the tip. "Imani...” He cupped Feyer's head in his hands and came, hips jerking and pressing hard as he found his pleasure. Feyer took everything he gave, returning such pleasure. He relaxed into the furs, relaxed and sated, comfortable and ready to play. His Imani licked him clean, tongue bringing his shaft

back to attention. Amut smiled down into those hot, bright eyes. “Can you tell me how long it has been since we played, Imani? Since you and I entered into a wager?" Feyer gasped, a ripple going through the sweet body. “So long I cannot remember how long, my Raya." "No? And would my Imani be willing to enter into a wager with his raya?" Feyer's eyes glittered. “Yes, my Raya, whatever you wish." "The wager is simple, Imani. I will hold you in my lap, hands at your waist. You may use your hands, your mouth, whatever you wish. If I spend myself first, I will grant you one wish. If you spend yourself first, then tomorrow, my rings will adorn you here.” One nipple was touched, then the other. “And here." His Imani shivered. “I will take your wager, my Raya." Amut nodded. As if there were any doubt. He sat up, setting a number of pillows behind him and resting back before grinning at his Imani. He reached beneath the furs, drawing out a thick wood phallus, tapered at the end. It was smooth and wide, ridged around the base and would fill his Imani well, rocking inside the slender body, pushed deep by his thigh. “Bring the oil and come to me, Imani." Feyer's eyes widened and another tremor went through the sweet body, but his Imani obeyed without hesitation, returning to him with the oil and kneeling at his feet. "Over my lap, Imani. Open yourself to me." "Yes, my Raya,” Feyer said softly, draping the lithe body over his knees, legs spread, buttocks high in the air. Amut took his time, pouring the oil over the tight opening already glistening, always ready for his touch, his need, his cock. His Imani moaned softly, opening winking at him. He stretched Feyer with his fingers, two becoming three easily, then four. He kept adding oil, pushing and stroking, filling his Imani, pleasing them both. Feyer writhed against him, cock hard, hot, tip wet as it slid against his thigh. Sweet sounds of need and want filled the air, shudders beginning to rock his Imani's body.

He pulled his fingers away, dipping the phallus into the oil before pressing the wood against Feyer's hole. “Open for me, Imani. I wish to see you take my gift." With a low, sweet moan, Feyer pushed up, body opening, swallowing the tip of the carving. Amut watched, not pushing, just holding the plug. His shaft grew stiff and wet-tipped as he watched the tiny ring of muscle stretch wide. Feyer whimpered, ripple after ripple going through the slender frame. Slowly, Feyer rocked and stretched, taking the plug in deeper and deeper, until the widest part was engulfed and the remainder slid inside, his Imani's body snapping closed around the base. Feyer called out, seed splashing against his thigh. He rumbled softly, purring and petting his Imani. “Such passion, little Imani. Such need." "You make me need, my Raya. Always." He pulled Feyer up, settling him gently on one thigh, holding the slender body close and taking a kiss. “Shall we begin our wager, Imani?" Feyer nodded, groaning as his own movements shifted the carving within him. He placed his hands on Feyer's waist, relaxing into the pillows, his own cock full and throbbing as he slowly rocked his Imani, purring low and easy. Whimpering softly, Feyer leaned forward, mouth latching onto one of his nipples, tongue dancing along the tip. The clever fingers slid over his skin, finding and working every sensitive place on his body. Amut shifted, body reacting immediately to the touches. His Imani knew his body better than he did, focused on his pleasure, on his needs. To his surprise, his shaft and sacs were not touched, Feyer instead seemingly focused on driving him mad through touches and licks to every other part of his body. They were both breathing heavy, his hands hard on Feyer's hips, teeth biting his own lip as he fought the need to flip his Imani over, remove the plug and push into that heat that awaited him. Feyer was trembling, soft cries filling the air. Warm breath slid over his cock, teasing him again and again with the unfulfilled promise of stimulation to his shaft. Hot drops leaked from his cock, sliding down the shaft, his scent mingling with his Imani's. As if drawn to them, Feyer's fingers slid over his heated flesh, collecting the drops and bringing them to his mouth. His Imani sucked on his own fingers, eyes rolling back and moans

filling the air. "Imani...” His body jerked, balls tightening as his hips began rocking. He wanted . Feyer whimpered, head dropping back, hips beginning to rock with his as the plug was jolted. His Imani's free hand wrapped around his cock, pulling with the rhythm he liked best. Feyer drew the fingers from his own mouth and pressed them against Amut's mouth, sliding them along his lower lip. Amut growled low, sucking those sweet fingers in and pulling hard, eyelids lowering as he pushed up into Feyer's grip. His Imani stroked him harder, crying out. “Oh, my Raya, you have won." His roar was his answer, his seed pouring over the thin hand even as Feyer's heat splashed against his thigh. His Imani collapsed against him, breath coming in short, sharp gasps, the slender chest rising and falling against him. "It seems we have both won our wager, Imani.” He stroked Feyer's back, slumping back into the pillows, heart beating hard. "What does that mean, my Raya?" He chuckled, hand sliding down to gently shift the plug. “It means, my little Imani, that I will mark you tomorrow and that you may have a wish from me." Jerking, Feyer keened softly. He purred, taking a long, deep kiss, distracting his most favored as the plug was unsheathed. His Imani whimpered into their kiss, body shaking once more. He kissed and stroked until the tremors passed, giving his Imani proof of his care, his approval, his pleasure. Feyer finally settled, mouth warm on his chest as his Imani curled on top of him. "Do you know what you would have from me, little Imani?” He pulled the furs over them, relaxing with the familiar softness of his most favored against him. Feyer nodded and he could feel the flush building in the sweet cheeks. He waited, stroking his hand through the silken dark hair. “I would have you ... I would have you brush my hair and oil my body and feed me wine and grapes with your own hands, my Raya. If it pleases you."

Amut smiled, dropping a kiss against Feyer's head. “It will be done, Imani, and once done, I will claim my reward, yes?” His fingers slid down, circling one tiny nipple. His Imani whimpered, nodding vigorously. “Yes, my Raya." "You please me well, Imani.” He closed his eyes, relaxing, resting. "It is my duty and my honor and my pleasure to do so, my Raya.” The words tripped easily from his Imani's lips, rich with truth. Amut rumbled, taking another long kiss before reaching out to extinguish the candle. “Sleep, Imani. Tomorrow offers much pleasure." "Yes, my Raya.” A soft kiss was pressed against his chest and then his Imani was settled once again, warm and pliant. It was what they had needed, to ease the itch and discomfort, to make things settled again. To remind his Imani of the pleasures of being one most favored. To remind Feyer of the honor of being his . **** Amut nibbled idly on a piece of cheese, watching his Imani and the new chadan circle each other silently as they went through their evening. Feyer had been less than pleased when the beautiful boy had been gifted to him in tribute, pouting and was acting in a less than stellar manner. The temptation to simply whip the insolent moodiness out of his beloved slave had been strong, but Amut knew better than anyone that his Imani responded best to punishments that suited the offense. So, the chadan had remained in his tent, in his bed, in Feyer's constant presence. Of course, Amut noted, as the chadan attempted to trip the wine-carrying Feyer, the new boy was taking his position far too seriously for someone who would be back in the main harem as soon as Feyer understood the error of his ways. The chadan certainly wasn't worth the effort of correcting, whoever Amut gave him to would see to that. After all, the chadan was attractive and passing responsive—not his Imani, but the small, dark boy would please someone; Kootu perhaps.

Amut took another piece of cheese, watching fury and frustration make his Imani glow and shine. Feyer shot a glare at the chadan and then brought the wine to him, going to his knees and holding the flagon out to him, head bent, hiding the hot eyes. “Does my Raya wish to quench his thirst?" "Yes.” He took the wine, drinking deeply, hiding his grin as the chadan moved in, hyenalike, lips open, hands reaching for his thighs. "My Raya, I thirst. May I drink from your lips?" A soft, choked sound came from his Imani, Feyer's hands trembling as they waited for the flagon to be returned to them, but Feyer remained otherwise still and silent. Amut looked down at Feyer, noting the tension and misery in the curve of his Imani's neck and back. He reached down and lifted Feyer's chin, looking into hurt, dark eyes. Pitching his voice low and intimate, his thumb stroked a smooch cheek. “What say you, Imani? Shall I quench his thirst?" Whimpering softly, Feyer nuzzled into his touch. “It is not for me to tell my Raya what to do.” The soft voice answered obediently; the dark eyes begged him not to do it. He stroked the trembling bottom lip, feeling his cock rise at the touch. The chadan had been pleasurable enough, but like nibbling on dry grass when there was ripe fruit waiting. “And does my Imani thirst? Do you wish to drink from my lips?" A spark flared in the dark eyes, making them shine. “More than I wish to take another breath, my Raya." He took another sip of wine, turning to the chadan and handing the boy the flagon, noting the tears that gathered in Feyer's eyes which were echoed in the misguided triumph in the chadan's. He spoke quietly, but firmly. “Go now and refill this.” Then he turned and covered Feyer's lips with his own. His Imani's sob filled his mouth with sound and tremors as Feyer's mouth opened to him. He cupped the dark head in his hand, tilting Feyer back and devouring the parted lips, stealing his Imani's breath, feeding the trembling body with his feral passion. Feyer's hands reached toward him, but dropped away before they touched him, his

Imani's obedience complete. If he had told the slave he could not get hard, he was convinced that at this time Feyer would somehow manage to comply. The kiss continued until a touch came to his arm, distracting him. Amut frowned, looking over at the red-faced chadan. Insolent boy. He looked at his Imani, admiring the glazed eyes and swollen lips. “Imani, send this chadan away to be properly trained and then come attend me as is your place." For a moment Feyer looked as if he would disobey and Amut hid his chuckle at his Imani's struggle to accept leaving, if only for a few moments. It was only a matter of seconds before Feyer bent, forehead touching the ground. “As my Raya wishes." The chadan protested, voice shrill and petulant. “Raya, surely you meant for me to attend you." Amut cuffed the boy without a thought, sending the wine to the ground. “I will say this but once. I am the Raya. I say what I wish to say. This is my Imani, my Favored and you are but chadan. I no longer desire your presence." He heard his Imani's intake of breath, could feel Feyer's triumph, though his Imani made no move and said nothing to the boy as the chadan sniffed. “Yes, my Raya." It was only then that Feyer stood and silently led the way from his tent. He was dozing when Feyer returned, slipping quietly into the tent, dark curls falling around the sleek body. His eyes opened to slits, he watched as Feyer picked up the flagon and took it back to the cask, filling it carefully and placing it on a tray. His Imani filled the rest of the tray from the delicacies on the table, meat and cheese, fruit and bread, and honeyed sweets. Feyer returned to his side with the tray and left it on the low table next to his furs. His Imani then picked up the shirt the chadan had arrived in and used it to clean up the wine spill, tossing the garment outside the tent. Finally, Feyer poured water from the pot above the fire into a bowl and added several oils. The bowl and a small, soft cloth were brought over and placed next to the food tray and then Feyer knelt, face pressed against the ground, arms above his head, awaiting his raya's pleasure. "Come to me, little Imani. Your actions denied your touch to me for too long.” His cock was full, hungry, but not desperate. Now was the time to remind his Imani of the pleasures they

shared, of the rewards of appropriate behavior. "My jealousy dishonored you and I am sorry.” The words were gently, but clearly spoken and then Feyer was climbing into the furs with him, finding his place in Amut's arms. Amut rumbled, arms and legs wrapping around the soft, smooth body. He bent his head and took Feyer's lips in a long, deep kiss, silencing the shamed words. Feyer was alive and eager in his arms, mouth opening wide to accept the penetration of his tongue, even as his Imani rubbed against him, the smooth skin a warm pleasure. His hand slid down his Imani's belly, searching for the hard flesh and the ring embedded within, tugging lazily as his tongue thrust and tasted. His Imani shuddered and surged into his touch. “My Raya!” Feyer's shout warned him, those eyes wide, mouth open and gasping as the lad came. Amut nodded, smiling. He continued stroking, rubbing the hot seed into his Imani's flesh. “Yes, I am your Raya and your pleasure is mine, my hungry Imani.” The smell and heat of Feyer's passion was heady, the need in the kohled eyes more so. "Yes, my Raya, yours.” The voice was soft, at once sated and needy. Feyer's flesh never softened, never faded, and Amut's thumb spun the metal ring slowly. “Mine.” He took another kiss, possessive and hot, pressing Feyer's body into the furs. “If you truly knew your place, you would never be jealous. You are my Imani, my Favored." "It is my fear that makes me jealous, my Raya. Fear that you will one day find another more favored." "You are my Imani, favored above all. Your pleasure, your pain—you are mine and none other's." "Yours.” Feyer's hands shifted restlessly against him. “I would like to touch you, my Raya." Amut nodded and leaned back, bending first to nip a small bruise into existence on Feyer's collarbone. “Show me your hunger, Imani." Feyer's eyes glittered and his hands were already busy, moving over Amut's skin with a firm, knowledgeable touch. His Imani's lips soon followed, licking and sucking and kissing. He

relaxed beneath the touches, balls heavy and full as Feyer pleasured him with eager enthusiasm. His Imani's tongue was playing with his navel, teasing his skin as it slid in and out and in and out, Feyer's hands sliding near but not touching his nipples. He could feel the heat of Feyer's cock against his leg. He enjoyed the sensations for long moments before reaching down to cup the back of Feyer's head and placing the swollen tip of his cock against the hot, wet lips. “Open to me, Imani." Feyer moaned, his mouth opening eagerly. His Imani continued to tease, licking at his shaft as if he were a sweet, tongue dragging along his flesh, sliding into the slit at the tip, tracing the veins and bumps. He was about to growl a warning when the red lips closed over his cock, sucking him into the wet heat of Feyer's mouth. The noise that left him was instead one of hunger, need flashing hot and intense at the base of his spine. He thrust slowly, pushing deep into his Imani's throat, purring with the building passion. Feyer's hands slid around to cup his buttocks, encouraging his movements. The suction increased, making the way tighter, more pleasurable. His hips moved more quickly, body arching up with a rumbling growl. Feyer began to hum happily, the sounds like another caress. Passion threatening to peak, Amut sat up and caught Feyer under the arms, tugging his Imani up as he rolled. His hands slid between the slim thighs, pushing them open. He loved the heat of his Imani's mouth, but he needed the fire and pressure of taking Feyer, slamming their bodies together. He pressed close, growling as his cock slid against Feyer's slick, oiled opening and thrust deep. Throwing his head back, Feyer howled, the sound primal, feral. He fucked his Imani mindlessly, body curling over the thin frame as they moved. Amut took what was his to take, gave what was his to give, pushed his most beloved into ecstasy and beyond. Feyer's body met each demand eagerly, pushing into his thrusts. His Imani screamed loudly, offering his pleasure to Amut's ears as he came. "You belong to me, Imani. Do not forget it again,” he ground out before the pulsing heat around him drew him into the bright light of completion. There were no sounds but the harsh gasps of his Imani catching his breath, the slim body warm and limp beneath him.

He rolled to one side, their bodies separating. With one arm he pulled Feyer close, tucking him into the space which had been empty and cold during his Imani's punishment. Feyer curled into him, pressing even closer. “Thank you, my Raya." "Where do you belong, little Imani?” He stroked the warm, slick skin gently, petting in long, firm strokes. "Right where I am, my Raya." "Yes." Amut tucked his Imani's head beneath his chin. “Shall I have the chadan trained for Kootu or shall I send him to the women's camp as a gift for Nauta?" "Was he any good at pleasuring a real man, my Raya? Kootu is a faithful and loyal man, any gift would have to reflect that. I think perhaps the chadan would serve a woman better." Amut forced his smile away, instead nodding seriously. “Yes, I believe Nauta would find a use for him, and if she does not, then it will not be our concern. Have it done tomorrow, Imani." "Your wish is my command, my Raya." "As it should be." **** Amut smiled at the soft, sweet, needy moan that filled the tent. There was little as arousing as his Imani, hungry and ready for his touch. He was ostensibly sharpening his blade, the oil-slick stone running along the edge with a hiss. His Imani wandered the tent, cleaning and straightening, body shuddering, cock hard and bound. The string of beads hung from Feyer like a tail, half of the heavy metal balls pressed inside him, half swaying gently as he moved. Amut stroked the stone along the blade again, watching his beloved Imani try to walk gracefully, knowing the natural sway of hips would cause more sensations to rocket through Feyer's body. Time for another bead. "Come to me, my Imani." Feyer turned toward him. The slave's eyes were glazed with pleasure, the black pupils so

large they nearly swallowed the golden brown, leaving only a thin ring around the outside. The dark honeyed skin was glistening with sweat and another moan filled the tent as Feyer made his way toward Amut. He let himself admire the beauty, the grace and hunger written into the lines of his Imani. Feyer wore pleasure like the finest silk. When Feyer knelt before him, Amut reached out and caught the smooth chin, taking a long kiss, tasting the wine and ripe fruit flavor hidden in the full lips. Feyer's mouth opened eagerly to him, almost demanding the sweep of his tongue through the warmth, slick depths. Amut fed deeply, pulling Feyer to him and drinking of the sweet passion. He refused to allow his Imani free from the kiss until he heard the broken, needy whimper. He pulled back, turning Feyer gently and laying the man over his lap, smiling ar the hot kiss of leaking cock on his thigh. “Do not spend yourself, Imani. Not until I give you leave." "My pleasure is yours to command.” The reply came readily, though his Imani's voice was clearly strained. "Yes, my little Imani.” He reached over and covered his fingers of one hand with oil, holding Feyer open with the other. Slowly he rubbed the wrinkled opening, spreading the oil generously. He pressed the tip of his finger inside, twisting and slicking and arousing. Feyer moaned loudly, body tightening, straining. The way he was resting it was impossible for Feyer to press up into the fingertip inside him, though he tried, soft whimpers moving through him as his body shook. "So hungry, Imani. Do you need, little one?” He let his finger press deep, knocking about the hot, slick, smooth beads filling his Imani. His Imani called out, the shaking increasing. “I need...” a soft sob interrupted the words. “I need what what my Raya would give me." "I would give you pleasure, Imani. Your body and spirit shine with it.” He removed his fingers, spreading oil over the next bead and lifting it to press against Feyer's opening. “Open to me." He could feel the muscles of his Imani's stomach tightening as Feyer consciously loosened the muscles of his anus, the tight muscles releasing for Amut.

"What a lovely man you are, so smooth, so sleek.” He murmured compliments, sweet words that he so rarely offered, expressing his pleasure at the immediate, easy obedience. The bead slid in easily, Feyer's opening stretching over the widest part before the hungry body closed around it. Feyer's answer was another pleasure-tortured moan, his body undulating despite its precarious position. Amut stroked the bare back, the smooth buttocks, gentling and relaxing his Imani. Feyer would be mindless before the other five beads entered his body at this rate. 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 relentless 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 heartbeat 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. He had felt nothing, been nothing, but now ... now he was Amut's deep into his soul. The sensations built, grew in dunes so huge he could not see the crest of pleasure, could do nothing but stand, gasping, in the shadow of what his raya had offered him. Mindless pleasure moved through him over and over again, as if he were enjoying the gifts of climax, though he did not, he would not without Amut's command. When it came, the whisper of ‘give me your pleasure, Imani', he almost missed it, he was so lost in his raya's touch. Feyer might have screamed. He might have whimpered. He might have cried out to his raya. He might even have remained silent. He knew not.

He might have shook or flailed or arched up. He knew not. All he knew was pleasure. Pleasure that felt like his raya. Pleasure that sounded like his raya. Pleasure that smelled like his raya. Pleasure that tasted like his raya. Pleasure that was his raya. There was nothing but Amut and then even that faded. He roused to his raya's heartbeat beneath his cheek, his body cradled in strong arms. “You have pleased me, Imani. Would you stay here and have the chadani tend to you tonight or would you stay with your raya?" There was no question which he wanted. “You, Raya, I would stay with you, if it pleases you." "Nothing would please me more, Imani.” He was given a soft, honeyed kiss before his raya lifted his head. “This is an Imani. One who is most favored. One who is honored." Then they left the silent tent, the chadani kneeling low to the ground as they passed. He barely noticed the trip back to Amut's tent, except for the night air, which seemed cold after the heat of the chadani tent. He curled into the arms that held him, his raya's hot skin keeping him warm. He felt small and fragile and yet loved and honored above all. He did not think he could have borne being away from his raya right now. His raya took him into the tent, where the lamps burned slow and the air was scented sweet with incense. They curled into the furs, strong dark arms never releasing him. A cup of honeyed wine was pressed to his lips, cold and sweet, quenching a thirst he did not know he had. Feyer blinked as the cup was taken away and he stretched against his raya's skin. A soft moan passed his lips, he could still feel his raya's hand inside him.

"You pleased me, Imani. So obedient, so good.” The words were as much a caress as the huge hands. "I would do anything if you asked it of me, my Raya." "As it should be, Imani. You belong to me.” He was given a long, slow kiss, tongue pushing deep and easy into his mouth. Amut tasted like happiness and Feyer opened his mouth wider, hungry and eager. Feyer was stretched out, body stroked in long, steady motions. His raya's hands were firm, pushing hard, pumping his body. He shuddered—he could still feel his raya's hand inside him, even as Amut's fingers slid over his skin. It didn't seem real and yet nothing else seemed as real as what his raya had done in the chadani tent. It was as if his raya had turned his entire body into an erogenous zone, adoring him, making him fly. He couldn't find his breath, couldn't stop shaking with the pleasure that moved through him. He reached out blindly, hand wrapping around Amut's arm. Now he could fly, for now he was tethered to the earth and would not get lost among the clouds. "Mine, Imani.” His raya's body pressed close, hard and hot. “Mine." "Yes, my Raya.” Oh, yes. He was Amut's. There was no doubt in his mind or his body that this was so; he could feel it in every part of his being. Amut began to rock with him, hard, needy cock pushing against his stomach, as hot as a brand. Crying out, he pushed up into that cock, needing to feel its burn against his skin. He would wear his raya's mark, let everyone see the proof of his devotion, a permanent scar to mark the memory of his raya's hand inside him. For a moment he wished Amut's cock were leaving such a brand on his skin, something to match the mark upon his soul. A hand slid beneath his hip, pulling him closer, harder, tighter. Grunts and moans filled the air, his raya's thrusts coming faster. He looked up into Amut's face, watching pleasure move over the dark skin. Dark eyes held him as close as the thick hands. Voice rough and swollen with need, his raya growled. “Come with me, my Imani."

Oh! Oh, he could do that and he did, eyes never leaving his raya's gaze as pleasure made him shake with the sweetest climax. His raya's seed joined his, splashing over his belly, hot as fire. It was sheer bliss—he had never felt pleasure so pure, so his own even as he gave it up to Amut. His raya settled around him, warm and heavy, surrounding him with dark skin. “Sleep, Imani You have done well." "You honor me, my Raya." He closed his eyes, body heavy and full, sated and happy beyond measure. He could feel Amut's touch everywhere, within and without and it was good, right. The way had not always been smooth and it was rarely easy, but he had truly earned the title of Imani and now, finally, he understood what that meant. Honored, treasured, held in the palm of his raya's hand, he slept.

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