Chapter 2 – Chapter 2

A'zam, the navigator, was famous throughout the Arabic world for his ability to pass from the inland sea past the maelstrom and through the snapping jaws of Kalpe and Abyla into the greater ocean to circumnavigate the lands of the Africans and shoot through the Shat al-Arab and thence to reach the Euphrates leading to the palaces of his father, the mighty caliph Abdullah, without passing through the arid lands of the fierce, ruthless, and uncivilized Syrians.

The caliph thought that his bravest and most handsome and virile and well-formed son traveled this dangerous route to the lands of the Egyptians and Maronites past those of the light-skinned infidels to the north because of all the riches he could bring back to Baghdad. But, truth be known, it was the passions of the flesh that brought A'zam repeatedly to the mouth of the Nile and further, to the Levant coast. A'zam liked nothing better than to sink his manly cock into the backside of young, moaning Egyptian manflesh, and this is not something that would be tolerated in the many-wived court of his father, who counted his riches in the number of sons and grandsons playing warrior in the atriums of the palaces. If the caliph knew A'zam was squandering his precious seed, he might be compelled to have the prince's proud member lopped off as a warning and reminder for all so inclined.

A'zam traveled in much pomp and circumstance, and he was yet to clear the gauntlet of Kalpe and Abyla into the inland sea on his current journey before his agents in Alexandria were putting out a call for the fairest and best-formed young men across North Africa to dance in attendance to the virile son of the caliph upon the first night of his landing in Alexandria.

When Ishaq, the Egyptian procurer, arrived at the Alexandria palace of the caliphinate at the harbor, he was pleased to see the ship of A'zam the navigator already tied up to the pier, but he was surprised at the deserted feel to the palace itself, which was usually teeming with boisterous sailors and lustful activity whenever the son of Caliph Abdullah was in port. And he was even more surprised when he had herded his offerings, all young men who had attained their manhood but who were young and comely looking and perfectly formed, along behind him on their interlinked chain to the door of the entertainment hall. He was met there not by the usual guards of the inner chambers, but by two hooded and cloaked figures who mumbled from inside their rough-woven cloaks to him and who made certain that he provided the key to the young men's chains but then withdrew from the palace until summoned to take them back.

This was highly unusual. Ishaq usually entered the chamber with his young men and spoke of their individual virtues until, after the young men, dressed in diaphanous harem leggings, had danced for the prince's favor. Then A'zam usually chose one—or three or four—of them and withdrew to his inner room to give them their first taste of manly cock. While this transpired, Ishaq customarily was led to another area of the palace by a chamberlain and plied with expensive drink and food until A'zam was finished and ready to convey the used young men to Ishaq and provide instructions on his tastes for the next evening's pleasure. But now Ishaq was just waved away but told to hover nearby. But the voices from inside the hoods were so frightening and the cloaked figures so overtowering that Ishaq did not quibble this time. He found himself trembling in their presence without really knowing why and felt as if he had escaped something terrible by withdrawing outside the palace and waiting there for further instructions.

Instructions that never came—or, at least, not as Ishaq expected.

As the five young men—gathered from all corners of the world to include a blond, alabaster-skinned young muscle man from the northern snows to an ebony giant from the darkest south—entered the room and were unshackled and made to kneel in an arc in front of the door they entered, they gathered to themselves the same sense of heaviness and foreboding that had sent their master scurrying outside the palace walls.

Four hooded and clocked figures, all shuffling and overlarge, were circling the room warily, giving the young men no question that they would not make it as far as the door if they chose to try to withdraw. And the way the cloaked figures moved left no doubt that they were powerful and would be cruel opponents. Off to the side was a four-man musical band, playing expertly but nervously and tentatively at a tune that wasn't Egyptian but was mesmerizing and arousing in its influence, and looking very frightened of the roving cloaked figures.

The chamber was draped in heavy oriental carpets, with sections flapped back to reveal small sectioned-off cubicles beyond them furnished only by a narrow raised dais. The floor was smooth marble, polished by thousands of dancing feet over preceding centuries. And beyond this circular central section, along the back wall of the chamber, was a slightly raised dais, covered in rich, red carpeting and strewn with a mountain of many-colored woven-patterned pillows. Behind this was a billowing silk drapery in a rich emerald green color. Sunk into the pillows, hood pulled down to shadow his face, sprawled what must be the famous navigator and caliph's son himself, Prince A'zam. He too was cloaked, but in black silk in contrast to the rough brown of the cloaking of his attendants. Behind him, standing tall, was yet another cloaked figures, face hidden under a hood.

This figure clapped his hands, and the small orchestra picked up the volume on the exotic, intoxicating tune it was shakily playing in somewhat off-beat rhythm, and one of the cloaked attendants circling the dancers reached down and pulled up a small, trembling Egyptian and pushed him out into the center of the room. After a moment to shake off his fears, he began, tentatively to writhe a provocative dance of seduction to the forced strains of the music, trying his best to please through his fright, knowing that any dancer chosen by A'zam would be celebrated and rewarded particularly well and any who was not favored by A'zam was more likely than not to find himself on a war galley at the end of one of many oars until his strength gave out and he was pushed overboard.

The Egyptian's dance was good, but obviously not good enough, because after a short time, the figure lounging in the pillows uttered a guttural tone of disgust and waved an arm. What came after had an electric effect on the other four dancers.

One of the hooded figures reached out into the center of the floor and grabbed the Egyptian youth by his arm, spun him off into one of the side cubicles, and pulled down the flap of the rug covering. Within moments, the greater room was flooded with the sound of cruel taking from within the cubicle, with the Egyptian screaming of his fear and the impossibility of what he was enduring—of the cruelty of the creature taking him and the massiveness of its tool, and his cries subsiding into lengthened moans and gurgles of burdened surrender.

Both the orchestra and the second chosen dancer, a willowy Maronite beauty, were so traumatized by the sounds coming through the muffling rug curtain at the side that their combined performance was inferior to that of the first dance. The figure in the pillows dismissed this dancer quickly, and another of the hooded figures forced the Maronite into a cubicle on the other side of the chamber and for a brief period—until the cubicle first occupied went very quiet—the unmistakable sounds of forceful, overtaxing fucking beyond endurance was heard in stereo.

The heavily muscled Norsk was third. He was a clumsy dancer, but both he and the orchestra tried harder, being fully aware now of the risks at hand, and, the undulation of his muscles obviously being pleasing to the eye, he was permitted to dance longer than the previous two before he was waved into the grasp of the third cloaked figure. The two remaining dancers gasped and trembled in fear at seeing how easily the cloaked figure subdued the strongly built man of the north, slung him over its shoulder, and carried him off to yet a third cubicle. There was much crashing and thrashing from beyond the curtain of this cubicle until a cry of defeat sounded from what surely was a deep-penetrating thrust of control and power and unquestioned possession turned into whimpering and sobbing.

Soon the dancers were down to the last one. The giant ebony warrior had been saved for last. His skin glistened with oil under the many-candled chandelier overhead as he began a rhythmic, mesmerizing tribal dance that was both sensual and primeval. Even the orchestra was so taken with the skill of the African that they forgot their fear and played up to their potential, weaving the artistry of their instrumental music around the graceful undulations of the African's body.

The African was dancing with a purpose. All of the cloaked figures that had been circling the floor were now otherwise engaged behind the woolen curtains, brutally fucking the earlier, failed dancers into subjugation and unconsciousness, slapping them awake and then fucking them again. The African knew the effect of his movements on men; he knew that his dance was mesmerizing and would loll anyone watching into slit-eyed, lustful sluggishness. When he felt the time was right, he repeated a turn and feint toward the door that he had worked into the pattern of his dance, but at this moment he broke the pattern and rushed for the door through which he had come—his only chance for freedom. He no longer wanted the position and reward that would come from pleasing Prince A'zam. If the dancers not favored suffered as they obviously did at the attentions of the prince's minions, the African reasoned that pleasing Prince A'zam may not be worth any reward.

But the African had not taken more than three steps toward the door when he felt a thick, breath-stealing rope wrapping itself around his waist and pulling him back into the center of the room. He looked down and in horror saw that it wasn't a rope at all but was a snake-like, green-scaled, thick tendril of an appendage.

The appendage spun him around and he found that he wasn't facing an Arabic prince, but a green-scaled monster. The monster had risen from the pillows and thrown off its cloak and stood tall and powerful in its hideously beautiful magnificence. It was the form of a man—and a powerfully and perfectly built, heavily muscled man. But it wasn't a man. It was covered in green scales and its face, while leaving the impression of being handsome, was not human at all, but was flat. It had nostrils, but no nose, and when it opened its mouth, out slithered a long, red, forked tongue. And the appendage that had snagged the African was a huge, long hose of a cock centered on two bulging balls descending between the monster's thickly muscled thighs.

As the monster pulled the giant of an African toward it, almost effortlessly despite the ebony giant's best efforts to escape, the African saw the hooded figure behind it drop its cloak too. Even less human than the monster, even though possessing a human-like body of heavy, well-defined musculature, what was evidenced in this second figure was a satyr of mythical image as depicted in books the African had been shown in his education to the art of courtesan ways in the libraries of Alexandria. The figure had a human torso, although heavily matted in coarse hair, but his head sprouted goat-like horns, his thickly muscled and hairy legs were hoofed, and he had a switching tail and an oversized cock that would have reached to his knees if it were not reaching out, curved upward in arousal at the African's dance. His countenance was cruel in the extreme, and the African feared his intentions as much as those of the green snake-like monster's.

The orchestra had stopped playing, and the African assumed it had done so in shock at the revealing of the green monster and satyr, but when he glanced over their way, it was to find that the other four controlling figures, satyrs all, had emerged from their cubicles, leaving the curtain flaps open to reveal the bodies of the totally spent dancers, arms and legs akimbo, twitching and barely breathing on the floors on which they had been totally fucked and where each had been reamed extra-gaping channels by the satyrs' supersized cocks. And the four satyrs had now fallen upon the members of the orchestra for their second helping of debauchery amid the frightened squeals of the musicians. The assault was already in full force, each of the satyrs already saddled and easily holding the shocked musicians in imprisoning embrace and pumping their heavy cocks in and out in seemingly impossible penetration to a rhythmic slapping that almost, in consort with the moaning of the musicians, made exotic music all its own.

The African snapped his head back to the front and cried out in rage and surprise as he realized that the centering appendage of the monster that had his belly entwined in its grip was raising up the very tip of its hose-long cock and was waving the head of this in front of the African's face. There was no doubt it was a cock, as it was headed by a bulbous mushroom head. And as the African watched in horror, being pulled ever closer to the pillow-strewn dais, another tongue, red and forked, slithered out of the monster's piss slit, kissed the African on the cheek, and slid down the length of the African's heaving, glistening torso and through his legs and up into his channel.

The African cried out and sank to his knees on the edge of the dais and beat out at the breast of the monster with his broad fists. But then the fifth satyr, who had been standing behind the monster, came around behind the African, lifted his arms above his head in an incapacitating hold, and, getting his thick thighs under those of the African, thrust his thick, curved monster cock up into the channel of the African, coming in on top of the slithering and deeper penetrating cock of the Schlange and starting a rhythmic pumping action that had the African making belabored clicking noises in a sing song language.

The African groaned and grunted at the double invasion, and then he began moaning deeply as the Schlange started moving its flicking mouth tongue down his torso and wrapping itself around the African's hardened cock and snaking, in a triple invasion, into the African's piss slit and deep down through the urethra channel and into the interior of his massive balls, starting the milking process of the proud African prince's essences.

The African twitched to the sucking of his vital fluids and then lurched and rolled his eyeballs back into his head as, deep inside his intestines, the Schlange granted him the peace of the calming venom of his ejaculation, fountaining up into the African's belly.

After a second exhilarating milking and leaving his satyr lieutenant to ejaculate again and again at a more shallow level into the subdued and whimpering African's overstretched channel, the Schlange unwound himself from the now-compliant African and moved, with shuffling steps, to the back of the dais. Brushing the emerald-green silken hanging aside, he entered the inner sanctum of the caliph's palace. There, revealed in all his bruised but magnificent glory was the naked body of A'zam the Navigator. The young prince was suspended by leather ropes in the center of the room, his arms and legs outstretched to the side.

He lolled his head up and looked at the entrance into the room through eyes swimming in the venom of the many milkings he had experienced at the attention of the Schlange already that day as the five satyrs were clearing and feasting on the hardened bodies of the young prince's sailors and the palace guards.

A'zam whimpered and his butt twitched in anticipation as the Schlange slithered across the floor toward him, humming a tune that both repelled and aroused the young Arabic prince. He was caught between horror and yearning, and he was ashamed at himself as he felt his cock harden and his hole puckering out, crying for the attention of the monster's flickering tongue. The young and noble mariner was aghast at what was going to happen to his body yet again, but his body belied his reasoning, showing in the hardening of his nipples and the puckering of his hole and the engorging of his cock and the shallowness of his breath and his low moaning that, even though he knew his life was flowing out of him, he wanted it, wanted it so much. Addicted to the Schlange's filling of him with his throbbing tongues and with his soothing opiate. Both repelled and hopelessly smitten.

The Schlange was upon him now, smiling and humming softly, opening its mouth, flicking out its tongue, running its tongue lovingly down A'zam's chest, laughing a low laugh as A'zam threw his head back and howled to the frescoed ceiling when the mouth tongue slithered into his piss slit and deep into his rejuvenated ball sac and lapped at the princely nectar, while its fucking cock snaked into the prince's now-gaping anal canal and reached for his stomach.

Both twitched and paused from what was now fully shared lovemaking as sounds of the retrieved shocked and beleaguered Ishaq, the procurer, could now be heard, ever so briefly before he cried out his frustrated and anguished invasion and burbled down to subdued silence in the outer chamber. And then A'zam sighed his ultimate submission as once more the Schlange ejaculated its calming venom deep inside the young prince, being ever so careful not to push A'zam over the final edge. They were here for a purpose. The Schlange needed what the prince could give it—which was much more than just his perfect-genes essence. This was all according to a far greater plan.