by Hamilton
Based on Aquadude’s Single-Plate Fantasy:
The Caliph and the Crusader
This is a tale of two men, one powerful and ruthless, the other, humble and pure. It is a story as old as mankind, a story of domination, of sexual pain and suffering and most important, pleasure. Pleasure in all its varied and perverted forms.
Allow me to introduce you to these two men. The Caliph of Al Zubara, thirty-five, strong, virile and extremely well-endowed, is a cruel ruler known for his sadistic torture of handsome young men. He is no ordinary sadist. A learned man, he has made an exhaustive study of the male anatomy, how to best inflict mind-numbing pain as well as exquisite, unbearable pleasure, all with little or no permanent damage. He delights in making his victims beg him to do things they find repulsive. He knows how to make a man feel humiliated, vulnerable and, most of all, ashamed. He is a skilled artisan and his work may best be described by an analogy.

Unlike the broad sword, favored by European knights, heavy, clumsy, yet capable of smashing an anvil, the Caliph uses the scimitar, able to slice the purest silk scarf in mid air. Yes, when he ‘entertains’ a young man, his methods are refined and delicate; well thought out and yet just as effective as the most barbaric tortures in achieving his desired end…quenching his sadistic, sexual lust.
The other man is a British Crusader, nineteen, noble in spirit, pure in thought and chaste in body. His belief in his God is strong and unshakable, that He will protect him from evil, that if it is His will that he should die then it will be in His radiant grace. He is a strong boy, a handsome boy and has fueled the fantasies of many a young women. Even those who are married and have tasted the pleasures of the bed find they have adulterous thoughts whenever he is present.
He is possessed of a well-muscled body honed from years of back-breaking work; a long, thick penis, uncut with no excess skin leaving the head partially exposed at all times; a pendulous ball sac containing two egg-shaped spheres; buttocks as smooth as fine Italian alabaster, but unlike the stone, warm and pliable divided by a dark, inviting crevice with a barely discernable trail of the softest, finest blond hair; pectorals, hard and round capped off by two large, and if I may be so bold, mouth-watering nipples.
He is the personification of Adonis; all that is good and pure, virile and handsome. Sadly, he has yet to taste the joys of sex yet is constantly tempted by many a young lass.
Today, the young Crusader was captured and taken to the Caliph’s palace. Now, as the Caliph rests comfortably in his bedchamber, stroking his hard penis, he thinks of the young boy that will bring him so much joy. In the depths of the palace, the young nineteen-year-old Crusader lies on the damp stone floor of his cell in the dreaded Dungeon of Pain.
Stripped of his armor and attired in undergarments made from flax, rough, thin and almost transparent, he tries to sum up his courage as he prays to his God.
Gazing through the bars, barely discernable in the flickering flames from the torches, he sees many implements of torture and knows they soon will be put to use on him. Whips of various sizes made of the finest leather line the walls. He cringes at the thought of those supple tongues lapping at his young, naked torso, seeking out his more tender areas, his private areas to lovingly kiss with blinding pain. There are many strange devices he is not familiar with yet knows that they were created to inflict unbearable pain on the human body.
What sends a death-like shiver coursing through his body are the shelves containing objects in the shape of a man’s penis, some with numbs, others spiraled; some made from gold and ivory while others are made from the finest woods. He swallows hard as he looks at them, thinking how well-crafted they are. Innocent though he is, he knows their purpose.
With each passing hour, his sweat soaks his thin undergarments making them cling to his young, well-defined body. My young hero, this man knows what he is doing; playing with your mind before he plays with your body.
“Lord, Lord, do not forsake me. I beg You, give me the strength to bear my cross. Keep safe my soul in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.”
My brave, young Crusader I fear your prayers will go unanswered, for here there is only one lord. Fear not, for he has no interest in your soul and will allow you to give it to your God. However, my young one, he has a very keen interest in your body and the secrets hidden deep within, and even though you will resist, in the end, after much suffering, you will give him all that your strong, young body has to offer. For you see, my brave Crusader, you are young and virile and have yet to taste the many pleasures of the flesh, and your new lord knows how to awaken feelings deep within your body, to make your body do his bidding. The urges, needs, and desires of a boy your age will conspire against you, to betray you. They are now his allies and no longer belong to you. Pray quickly, my young one, for he come, and his ears are deaf to your prayers and petitions.
Chapter 1: Conquest
In the silence of the dungeon, the nineteen-year-old hero tries desperately to sleep. But sleep does not come to the boy as the flickering flames cast a soft glow over the many devices and implements of pain, especially those shelves containing the phallic-shaped objects. His senses spring into action as he hears the distant sound of metal. A key turning a lock; a heavy iron gate slowly opens. Now, he hears the gate being closed; shut tight. Footsteps; louder, louder still. How many? Closer, closer, closer. The sound stops. Suddenly a door opens. His senses tell him he is no longer alone. He rises to meet his fate in the knowledge that God will protect him. He glances one last time at the shelves.
There before him stands the Caliph of Al Zubara and four of his guards. The Arab is most pleased with what he sees, for here is a boy with the body of a man, a body that will stand up to days of torture and nights of a more intimate form of entertainment.
“You have invaded my land; defiled my God. What right have you to do this? By whose authority do you take up arms against my people, my God?”
“It is you who have defiled this land and the one true God. By the authority of The Holy Father in Rome do I gladly take up arms against you.”
“Hold your tongue, boy, or I will cut it out and feed it to you.”
The Caliph’s anger grows. “Remove him.” The guards open the cell and roughly pull out the young Crusader. He offers no resistance. “Leave him.” The guards let go of the boy. He stands, proudly before the Arab who sees that the boy is more than handsome. He feels his penis stir, saying to himself, “Soon, my friend, soon.” The Caliph is impressed with the boy’s body, his well-defined musculature, made all the more enticing by the sweat-soaked undergarments that cling tightly to each curve. The young Crusader feels himself blush. He has never had a man look at him in this manner. It is wrong.
“You are but a boy, but I see that you are clearly a man in other ways.” The Caliph focuses on the boy’s penis, quite visible through the thin flax. “Yes, clearly a man. Tell me, how many women have you pierced with that mighty weapon of yours?”
The Arab knows that the boy has not yet tasted such pleasures. His intention is to make him feel embarrassed and humiliated; to make him begin to understand that another man is interested in his manhood. Slowly walking around the boy, examining him from every angle with lust-filled eyes, he stops to view the strong young back perfectly designed for the whip. His eyes travel lower.
“Allah be praised,” he says out loud, looking at the curves of the boy’s buttocks barely covered by the soaked undergarment. He thinks, “If God did not intend for a boy to be enjoyed, never would He have endowed him with two such globes of smooth, round and supple flesh; globes so easy to pry apart. Surely, it is as Allah intended.”
The young Crusader’s face is as red as the cross on his shield. “This man is looking at me the way I look at the young lasses of my village,” he thinks. He feels shame. The Caliph walks around the boy, finding it hard to tear his gaze away from such a desirable sight. Standing in front of the boy, their eyes meet.
“For defiling my land and desecrating my God, I will punish you severely. You will not know rest. You will not know comfort. You will not know peace. I spit on your God and your Holy Father in Rome. When I am through with you, your God will turn from you. I will make you disgrace him, and yes, my young one, you will by your actions, denounce him.”
The Crusader felt fear for the first time. “You are wrong. I will never denounce the one true God.” “It is you that is wrong, boy. We shall see.” With that, the Caliph grips the shirt of the boy and pulls with such force that he holds a half in each hand. “Magnificent,” he thinks, wanting to run his hands over the boy’s body. “No, my young one, we are not through yet.” He grabs the lower section of the undergarment and slowly pulls it apart. The boy offers no resistance, for like Jesus, he allows himself to be stripped. “Our Father, who art in heaven…” “Yes, young one, pray to your God. It will do you no good.” The Crusader continues to pray while the Arab and his guards admire the manly perfection of one so young. The Caliph knows from years of enjoying young men, that the boy doesn’t know how handsome he is, or the effect he has on others. This boy was made to give pleasure. He was made for sex.
“Enough, boy. You smell like a filthy animal. It is time you learned how civilized we are.”
“Summon Fatima and her two daughters.”
Moments later, a beautiful woman with two equally beautiful daughters, appear in the dungeon. Their eyes stare at the young, naked Crusader. The blush extends from the boy’s face to the rest of his exposed body. He wants to hide.
“Fatima, I want this young defiler of our land to be properly bathed. See that no part of him is not cleansed; no part. Do you understand? Fatima nods and her smile, however slight, reveals her joy. “Boy, I can assure you that these women will see that you are well-cleaned. Their soft, delicate hands will glide over your body. I am afraid you will grow hard. What will your God think of you.? No place will be left untouched. You seem nervous, boy. Do you not like women? Perhaps you prefer men. Don’t worry, I’m sure we can take care of that.”
The Arab is proud of himself. He knows the boy is confused and frightened and angry. He motions the guards to escort the boy to the bath.
“Fatima, you are to see that the boy suffers sweetly. He is a virgin and has never tasted the delights of the flesh. See that he is kept on the edge. Be gentle, be soft. Tell your daughters that their reward will be great if the boy is made to beg. Under no circumstances is the boy to find relief.”
Fatima smiles. “My Lord, have I ever delivered to your bed a boy who is not begging to be released from his sexual prison? In one hour he will beg; believe me, he will beg. Do you want him delivered to your bedchamber or the dungeon?”
The Caliph thought for a moment. “I am not sure; I will send word to you.” He goes to the shelf and chooses a wooden phallus made from ebony, smooth and large, and gently runs his fingers over it. Fatima goes to him and chooses one made of ivory, intricately carved with nubs and spirals. Lovingly, she holds it and fondles it.
“My Lord, he is young and strong, and untouched. This one will give him both pleasure and pain. He will struggle most sensuously. But this one, she gently pats his penis, this one will tame his spirit. The others will torture him; this will dominate him.”
“Fatima, you are truly a thoughtful women, and so evil.” “Thank you, my Lord. Allow me to have your bed linens changed. Now if you will excuse me, I do not want my daughters to have all the fun.”
Alone in his bed chamber, the Caliph anxiously awaits the arrival of the young Crusader. A gentle knock on his door rouses him from his thoughts. It is Fatima.
“Well, Fatima? Have you and your daughters done as I required? Has the boy been bathed? Has he suffered?” Fatima smiles.
“My Lord, the young one has been cleaned. As to his suffering, he prayed. He prayed that his God would forgive him.” Again, she smiled. “He tried to resist; tried to remain pure, but, my daughters and I know how to please a man. He is young and unable to resist. He is ready.”
The Arab smiled. “I should have him taken to the dungeon and tortured. He is an invader and must be made to suffer; made to suffer for his people, his religion.”
Fatima held the Arab’s hand. “My Lord, it is I, Fatima. You need not pretend. The boy is pure perfection. He is ideally designed to be used and abused. He is capable of many hours in the dungeon. But, first, you must show him that you are his master, and an afternoon, alone, in your chamber, will be a far greater torture to him than any other.”
Walking to the bed, Fatima holds one of the many manacles cleverly attached to the posts. She lovingly runs her hands over it.
So handsome, so young, never touched, bound to your bed in a variety of positions giving you unencumbered access to all his charms; and, my Lord, his charms are many; yes, my Lord, many and so very responsive. He is yours to do with as you wish. There will be much opportunity to torture him; and it will be delightful, I have no doubt. You know I am right. Take him and claim him completely. Totally.”
There is a knock on the door. Fatima rushes to open it. There, his hands bound behind his back, is the nineteen-year-old Crusader, as naked as the day he was born. Both the Caliph and Fatima are quite taken with the boy’s beauty. “My Lord, I will leave you to your pleasure.” As Fatima leaves, her hand lovingly grabs the boy’s firm supple buttocks she carefully bathed. The Crusader flinches, his buttocks quite familiar with Fatima’s hands. The Caliph stares at the Crusader and is in awe at his beauty, his strength, and his raw sexuality.
“Tell me, boy, how shall we spend this beautiful afternoon?”
Chapter 2: Fatima’s Feast
As dusk falls, Fatima finds the Caliph in the garden staring out at the desert. A wry smile crosses her beautiful face as she approaches him.
“My Lord, shall I assume that your afternoon interlude met all you expectations.”
Turning toward the woman, a wide grin on his face, he speaks softly,
“Ah, my evil one; yes my expectations, as you call them, were more than met. You were right, as you so often are in these matters. How I despise you, my love.”
Smiling, the woman further goads the Caliph.
“If your expectations were realized, my Lord, why does your face not show it?” She waits for his answer though she already knows it.
“All too brief, as if you didn’t know.”
“Oh, my Lord, is that all? This is so easily rectified. The night is young. Send for the boy. I will see you are not disturbed till morning.”
“If it were possible, I would, but tonight I must meet with the other leaders. Victory is in our grasp. The boy must wait.”
Fatima sees the disappointment registered on her master’s face. She continues her probing, forcing him to reveal a glimpse of his afternoon knowing the images are fueling his unquenchable lust.
“Tell me, my Lord, did he struggle?”
“Allah be praised, did he struggle! I feared that the manacles would not hold him. And, to my delight, he called on his God to spare him such indignities. Each time he called out I…you devil woman. Enough!”
Fatima was not prepared to cross the line any further, but she saw no reason why she should not indulge her lust a bit.
“Where is the boy now?”
“Why he is resting, comfortably. Why do you inquire? Do you wish to go to him? Yes, yes I believe you do. And what will you do, Fatima, as if I didn’t know.”
Carefully, Fatima gets her way.
“My Lord, I merely want to ‘prepare him’ for your return. Go to your council and leave him in my capable hands.”
“Fatima, leaving him in your capable hands is a far greater torture than any I can devise. However, you may go to him and prepare him, but he is not to taste relief. Understand?”
“Yes, my Lord, that is reserved for you and you alone. I would never presume to…”
“Witch, hold your tongue!”
“Must I, my Lord?” She smiles.
The Caliph smiles and laughs heartily.
“Hold your tongue, how positively foolish of me. No; no my dear Fatima, enjoy the banquet but remember, he is to be given no relief. Now, go do your worst.”
“Oh, my Lord, I will try.” While the Caliph continues to roar with laughter, Fatima’s smile reveals her excitement at the long night ahead.
My dear reader, before Fatima reaches the depths of the Dungeon of Pain, I want to give you an indication of the sight that will fill her eyes. In a large room, torches flickering casting a warm, sensuous glow is the young Crusader. The Caliph has ordered that the boy be bound, spread-eagled; his legs pulled wide apart, his ankles attached to rings in the floor while his arms are bound by his wrists to manacles hanging from the ceiling. It is a pose that highlights the beauty of the boy’s magnificent body, his strong, supple muscles straining revealing every sinew. His head hangs, limp and to the left. His long, golden hair cascades onto his face; the wisps of hair under his arms appear dark and matted; dewy beads cling to the hair around his manhood; the barely discernable trail that divides the firm, fleshy globes of his buttocks are moist and somewhat sticky. Marks, testament to the lust-filled afternoon, appear on every inch of his smooth flesh. He hangs, exhausted, spent, ashamed and troubled. With great effort, he raises his head, his blue eyes filled with despair, his voice, weak and trembling.
“Father, Father why have you delivered me into this man’s hands? Have I not done all that is required of me? Have I not kept your Commandments? Lord Jesus, I beg of you. Let him torture me with his devilish implements. I will bear all for you. But I beseech you, do not let him use me in such a manner again.”
Shame, humiliation, and guilt are all the boy feels. Why guilt, you ask? Two voices moaned with pleasure that afternoon and no matter how hard he tries to will away the sound of his own voice, he can not. There is no mistake; it was his voice. As if his thoughts are not painful enough, the lovely Fatima, hidden by the shadows, quietly enters the room.
She gazes at the bound boy long and hard and thinks back to the afternoon and the bath where she and her daughters spent an hour stimulating him. Looking at him, his strong, young body bathed in the warm glow of the flames, she thinks, “I could be his mother.” It is an evil thought yet one that fuels her lust. She is a woman, and women have needs. The Crusader, with great effort, lifts his head. In spite of his situation he blushes crimson.
“Well, my young one, did you enjoy your afternoon?” Was it all you thought it would be?”
The air was heavy with the heady aroma of sex. Her fingertips danced over his chest, carefully pinching his nipples. Her face draws close to his and her hand moves to his buttocks. Deliberately, she runs her finger down the dark crevice, lower, lower gauging his expression. Suddenly, a touch; a wince; a moan. She is in her element as her finger continues to prod and poke.
“Oh my. Does my beautiful boy want Fatima to kiss his hurt and make it better?
“Please, leave me. Let me rest.”
Fatima smiles as she removes her finger. Her hands begin a sensuous inspection of his body.
“No my beautiful boy. Fatima will not leave you. Your master is away. The night is young, and Fatima has needs. No, my young one, I will not leave until I hear you beg, beg for Fatima to let you spill your seed.” Smiling, always smiling, Fatima gags the boy.
She falls to her knees, her hands grab his buttocks, kneading the pliable flesh while carefully probing him, reminding him of the long afternoon. She pulls him to her. “Yes,” she thinks, “Old enough to be my son. What sort of mother am I? A hungry mother.” So begins her feast.
Chapter 3: The Caliph Returns
Allow me this brief opportunity to comment on my attempt to weave a tale based on Aquadude’s wonderfully erotic photo manipulation. The Caliph is taken up with his council of war, while Fatima experiences a new taste sensation from Europe. By now, you have seen the young, nineteen-year-old Crusader and I am sure you agree that he is as fine an example of a strong young male as can be found. At nineteen he is physically powerful, strong-willed and at his sexual peak, raw and untamed. And, he is handsome exhibiting all that is beautiful and desirable in a male.
The Caliph is a powerful man with an unquenchable sexual appetite. But there is more. What truly stimulates him is dominating strong young men and he has studied how best to accomplish this. He knows that to dominate a man, to shame him, abusing him sexually is by far, the most efficient, most enjoyable way.
Think, if this young one were in your possession, how would you take your pleasure? Would you ram your fists into his stomach? Perhaps you would whip his broad, well-muscled back; or, would you subject his tender genitals to your ‘oh so gentle’ methods? Many would make him face his worst fear, that which he finds so repulsive…your bed! You see, the means are not important and merely reflect your personal predilections and perversions (yes, perversions). What is most important, is dominating this young specimen while deriving as much pleasure as you can.
Many of you are, no doubt wondering about Fatima, about her power over the Caliph. Rest easy, for she has no power over him. Then why does he tolerate her? She is an integral part of his pleasure. The Caliph knows that when another man tortures a man, it may become a test of wills. This is why the bed can be more effective than the rack. But, when a woman tortures a heterosexual man, abuses him sexually, the man weakens. True, he tries to overcome the shame and humiliation, fights valiantly to maintain some modicum of dignity, and struggles to impress her with his ability to persevere, but, in the end, it will prove too much for him. Now, our poor hero, chaste in body (the afternoon interlude has altered this somewhat), pure in thought (I fear he is struggling with this one), noble in spirit (by now he has doubts), finds himself in the clutches of the beautiful, yet quite evil, Fatima, not only a woman, but one old enough to be his mother. No doubt, the Caliph is indulging his whims at the council and will return in the morning, quite refreshed and eager to spend time with his young guest. But, tonight, Fatima’s hands roam the masculine topography of this boy’s body, searching out the hidden places, the once private places and, as she fondles his soft skin stretched tautly over his supple muscles, she will speak to him, goading him, shaming him. Whether you approve of Fatima or not, she will make our young hero suffer greatly, and is not his suffering what this is all about? So stay with me, if you care to, while I open the door so well hidden in the dark recesses of my mind. Perhaps you, also, will enjoy my journey. And Aquadude, I hope this does justice to your Single Plate.
“Fatima. Fatima, where are you. Damn it witch, where are you.”
The Caliph has returned and is anxious about leaving the boy alone with Fatima. Slowly, she appears, always so quiet, that is until she has something to say.
“My Lord, you look well-rested. I trust the council has listened to your advice. Did you have breakfast? Shall I have something brought to you?”
He looks impatiently at her.
“Tell me, did you enjoy your evening? Fatima, you did not go too far, did you? The boy has not spilled his nectar?”
“No, my Lord, though not for want of trying, and try he did, but Fatima is not easily fooled. No. Several times, I brought him to the brink allowing him to gaze at the paradise he so desperately craved. I am sure you will find him quite…prepared for you, just as I promised.”
The Caliph’s penis stiffens; he knows what this woman is capable of, especially with a boy such as the Crusader. She turns to go and pauses.
“Yes witch, what now?”
Turning toward him, she hesitates for a brief moment.
“Well witch, out with it!”
“My Lord, I wonder, is it advisable for the boy’s manhood to maintain its covering?”
“Woman, it is a small matter and one easily handled. You of all people should know this. Why this sudden concern?”
“My Lord, forgive me, but are you not his master? Do you not own this boy? Does he not exist for your pleasure? If this is so, then why should he be allowed to have any part of his body hidden from you; your gaze; your touch, whatever?
He knows she is about to suggest something that he will find most stimulating.
“So, Fatima, what do you suggest?”
“Well, my Lord, why not send for your surgeon. Slowly, carefully he will remove the offending covering thereby exposing the boy permanently. Think of his humiliation, his shame. Does this not appeal to you?” She knows it does.
The Caliph’s manhood fills with blood as he tries to construct the scene in his mind.
“So, you propose that we skin the boy.”
“My Lord, I could not put it better.”
“But witch, the pain will be too great. He will pass out.”
The woman smiles and the Caliph anxiously waits for her to speak. Such is the relationship they have.
“Leave that to me. I will prepare a special potion. He will remain quite conscious; we cannot have him leaving the proceedings before they are completed,
can we?”
Looking somewhat dejected, the Caliph says to the woman,
“But I will not be able to ‘play’ with him as I like.”
Smiling, Fatima answers him.
“My Lord, it will only be for a few days. and, correct me if I am wrong but the boy as other charms to amuse you, some of which you already sampled.”
He smiles for he knows how evil this woman is.
“Now, how would you know that? Did that viper’s tongue of yours also sample those charms? Come now, alone with him, he so young, so innocent so handsome and strong. Tell me, how did you find those charms?”
Now it was Fatima’s turn.
“I found him not as innocent as he once was.”
They both laughed, two evil people who share the same desire.
“But, to answer your question, as to his charms, well, Fatima found them…tasty.”
“Oh, I bet you did, witch. Now I will go to him.”
“My Lord, please do not be angry with me, but I placed him in his cell.”
“Why did you disobey me? I should flog your breasts, destroy their beauty!”
“Please, my Lord. I thought you would prefer the boy to be well-rested as well as in need of relief. Bound till morning, he would have been exhausted. What enjoyment would you have gotten? Let his exhaustion come from your time together, not from waiting. I bound him so he could not taste relief by his own hands. Forgive me.”
Again he smiles. She has done well, as always.
“You are forgiven. Now go, I wish to see him.”
Turning to leave, she casually asks if she should send for the surgeon. He nods.
“My Lord, would you like Fatima to add one or two refinements to the proceedings?
“What might they be?”
” A surprise, my Lord, a surprise!”
Chapter 4: “Did You Miss Me?”
He knew it was wrong for a man his age to have such feelings; a rapidly beating heart; a stiffening penis and a mind racing with so many evil thoughts. Yet, there was no mistaking it, he was, for lack of a better phrase, turned-on by the prospect of what awaited him in the dreaded Dungeon of Pain—his dreaded Dungeon of Pain, a place of his own creation, a place where he spends hours in the pursuit of unbridled sexual pleasure, sexual pleasure derived from the torture of innocent young men. Down the stone steps he flew, carefully plotting the next painful indignity he would visit on the strong body of the Crusader. Throwing open the door he enters the room. Reader, what a sight meets his eyes. Bound, spread-eagled, is the young Crusader, in all his youthful glory, helpless and vulnerable. The Caliph’s nostrils are assaulted with a heady scent, a potent combination of young, male sweat and sex. He smiles and thinks of the joys of youth; well, the joys of youth from an older man’s perspective. As their eyes meet, the Caliph, in his booming voice, speaks to the young hero.
“Did you miss me? I was gone but a single night, but, surely you missed me.”
The boy gazes at the Arab but remains silent. Walking toward the youth the Caliph inquires again, but this time he grabs the boy’s firm buttocks.
“Come now, not even a little? Does this not refresh your memory?”
His finger grazes the boy’s dark crevice, and he senses that the boy’s mind is reliving their little interlude. Now the Caliph, master at this game, begins to psychologically toy with the boy.
“Yes, my young one, I believe you missed me. You know, you acquitted yourself rather well. Are you certain that you have never done that before? You know, ‘that’, what we did yesterday afternoon? Surely, you haven’t forgotten, for I have not. I can recall quite vividly the sound of your voice. There can be no doubt that you enjoyed yourself, immensely. Now don’t trouble yourself for a moment. You and I will have many opportunities to relive such a pleasant experience. Believe me, my young one, countless opportunities.”
All this time, the Caliph kneads the firm flesh globes occasionally running a finger lightly along the dark, moist and musky separation. For one so young, who had yet to taste the pleasure of the flesh, our young hero has been ill-used. His mind is fertile ground for this older man, this cruel man, this sadistic man. God may own his spirit, but there is no doubt in his mind that this man owns his body. He needs no further proof, and even if he were to escape, things are different. How could he ever face his family and friends, his fellow soldiers? He feels he has been branded with a mark, a mark that all will see.
The Arab reluctantly releases what once was the boy’s most private place. The Crusader feels some relief at this. This man touches his buttocks as if he owns them, not unlike the dog he owned as a boy. There is no question, this man owns him, perhaps not completely, not yet, but he will. He feels the inevitability of it. He is determined to resist as long as possible, hoping, praying for death. The different thoughts of these two men are interrupted by a guard holding a box.
“What is it?”
“My Lord, Fatima requested I give this to you.”
He reads the note:
“My Lord; in this box are the small refinements I spoke of. May their use bring you much pleasure. Fatima.”
Opening the box carefully so the boy does not see the contents, he feels his penis grow. Inside, nestled in the finest silk, is a beautifully crafted phallus made of choice ebony, dark, warm and rich, with intricate carvings along the surface. This is no ordinary phallus for it’s purpose is as dark as the wood itself. Next to it, lies a long, narrow shaft of ivory, its surface, not smooth, but rough. A small vial completes the box’s contents. The Caliph looks at the bound boy as his seed drips uncontrollable from his hard, angry penis.
My Lord; you requires my services?”
The Caliph turns and sees the man who is quite taken with the sight before him. This man cannot recall ever seeing such a specimen of male beauty.
“Yes. Please follow me for I need to ask you to perform a small procedure for me.”
Carrying Fatima’s box of refinements, the Caliph has the surgeon follow him to a more secluded area of the chamber.
Chapter 5: The Unkindest Cut
“So, you are telling me that it can be done.” The Caliph questions the surgeon. “And that it will be most memorable?”
“Yes, my Lord; although it will be more difficult. Inserting the phallus into his anus, and the ivory wand into his urethra will undoubtedly cause the young one to become hard. Normally, the Jews perform this procedure on a flaccid penis. The boy’s skin is tight and his head is quite visible. Once erect, his head will be exposed, the flesh taut, but I can do it.” The Caliph was happy, but he needed to know more.
“Tell me, will it hurt?”
“My Lord; if you don’t want it to hurt I will…”
“No. On the contrary. I want it to hurt. I want him to feel pain, pain he has yet to experience in his young life! I want his screams to make me deaf” A read of the surgeon’s face tells us that here is an evil man, a man very much like the Caliph, and the prospect of hurting this young, beautiful boy excited him. “My Lord, there is one concern. The pain will be quite intense that I fear the boy will become unconscious.” The Caliph reaches into the box and pulls out the vial. “My Lord; I can see that Fatima has thought of everything. He will remain with us throughout the proceedings and beyond. When would you like to begin?” The Caliph, without hesitation, answers, “Within the hour.”
“My Lord; I need to make preparations. The boy must be bound just so. He must not be allowed to move.”
“Then, see that he is secured to your liking. Oh, another thing. The implements; I want them manipulated while you skin the boy. So, you are to secure him so that you may work, but his anus must be made available.
“You are a genius, my Lord. I must devise a way of securing him so I may work, yet not interfere with the manipulation of the implements. I am honored to be of service to you, to help you teach this young impudent invader a lesson he will not soon forget”
Laughing loudly, both men head back to the boy.
Securing the boy proved quite a challenge, but in the end, it was accomplished. His upper body is secured to a flat board. A thick leather band holds his head in place. Across his chest is another large thick leather band just below his nipples. The Caliph has plans for these two pouty nubs. His arms are at his sides and bands secure his biceps, forearms and wrists. Two additional bands, one below his deep navel, the other across his lower abdomen guarantees he will not move. The surgeon decided that in order to allow access to his anus, the Crusaders well-muscled legs had to be secured separately. Spread uncomfortably wide, each leg is secured to its own plank by leather bands at the thighs, just above the knees and the ankles. Checking beneath the planks, the surgeon is treated to the boy’s muscled globes, which spread as they are reveal his tight, slightly used opening. On the table, a vial lays on its side empty of its powerful contents.
“My dear doctor, are we ready?”
“Yes, my Lord. I await your command.”
With slight trepidation, Fatima’s two daughters enter the torture chamber. Since helping to bathe the boy they hoped for the chance to see him again, perhaps to touch him again, to make him hard and yearn for relief. Now, their wishes were met, more than met. Bending next to the Crusader’s ear, the Caliph speaks softly. “Geoff, you remember these two lovely young ladies, do you not? They are here to give you comfort, to help you through this trying day.” Bound has he is, Geoff could only move his eyes. As he pulls away from the boy, the Caliph’s tongue swipes his ear. The boy, though bound, shudders. “How nice of you to recall our time together. Soon, young one, soon.”
Everyone waits for the Caliph’s orders. He goes to a table and picks up the ebony phallus. Walking back to the head of the table, so Geoff can see the implement, he lovingly runs his hands up and down the intricate carvings inches from the boy’s eyes. Pointing to one of the girls, he orders her to sit on the floor between the two planks. Kneeling down to speak to her he says, “You know what this is for?” “Yes, my Lord. “Do not fail me.” “No, my Lord; I will not fail you.” “You truly are your mother’s daughter.” “Thank you, my Lord; you are most kind.” He smiles knowing that Fatima’s daughter is more than up to the task he has given her.
Rising from the floor, the Caliph carefully coats the phallus with a greasy substance and returns to the girl. “I am going to insert the phallus. Regardless of what happens, no matter what you hear, you are not to stop. See that the coating does not get on your hands for it will burn. If it does, you better not stop. Understand?” “Yes, my Lord.” “Do you think he will scream?” She smiles. “I hope so, my Lord.” “So do I, child.”
The dungeon is filled with a wonderful sound, the sound of unyielding flesh forced to accept the inevitable as the screams of young Geoff echo throughout this dreaded place. Rising again, the Caliph is treated to a most erotic sight. The boy’s eyes are tightly shut as his body convulses in pain and sweat starts to highlight his beautiful body. Forced to tear his eyes away, he reaches for the long, slender ivory wand, coats it with the same substance and shows it to the boy who continues to groan, louder and more steadily a testament to Fatima’s daughter’s skill.
“Come,” he calls to the other girl. Grabbing the boy’s manhood, already stiff from the phallus, veins running up and down the length of the thick shaft, he pinches the exposed head and inserts the wand, slowly, stopping to enjoy the sights and sounds this beautiful, young specimen is giving him, everyone becoming intoxicated from the odor of raw, sadistic sex. Deeper until he touches the boy’s man gland, he tells the girl to begin. She smiles and grabs the exposed wand, twisting it as she pulls it up, only to begin its slow descent again. The girls have been taught well and are already a formidable tandem team of torturers. Reader, I hope that my description does justice for you as these four sadists give vent to their lust at the expense of this boy, this still innocent boy.
“Geoff; Geoff, pray to your God. Ask him to take this cup from you. Have I not allowed you to show your God how you are willing to bear your cross for him?” The Caliph begins to pinch the boy’s pouty nipples first gently, than rough. Not able to resist, he brings his mouth to the large buds. His penis is hard, harder than it has ever been. The boy’s senses are overwhelmed as he floats between pleasure and pain. His insides are on fire. He feels both implements, the carvings irritating his delicate membranes, wielded so expertly by two beautiful girls. His nipples, trapped in the maw of the Caliph, respond. In moments of lucidity, he wonders how his body could respond in such a way when suddenly, he feels something warm and moist swirling in his navel. “NO. LORD JESUS, I BEG YOU. MAKE HIM STOP. MAKE THEM STOP. PLEASE FATHER, HEAR ME.”
Young Geoff is not the only one with thoughts as the Caliph marvels at just how delicious a boy tastes when he is being tortured. Picking his head up from the Crusader’s rippling belly, he turns toward the man…”Doctor!” Picking up the sharp blade, smiling cruelly, careful not to interfere with the probing, he slowly starts to slice the boy’s foreskin. Never has the Dungeon of Pain heard such arias. Surely, no God would allow one of his finest creations to suffer so. Smiling, the Caliph turns his head and, lowering it, continues his feast. In the shadows, Fatima views the proceedings while her hand gives her pleasure. The surgeon, true to his word, takes over an hour to remove all of the boy’s skin. Screaming for so long, and so hard, the young Crusader loses his voice. What started as a trickle of sweat becomes a river, pooling in his navel only to be lapped away by the Caliph’s all-too-eager tongue.
Finally, the boy’s ordeal ends and as the Caliph looks down at the boy, their eyes meeting, the Arab grows angry. “LEAVE US!” Now, alone with this beautiful boy, the Caliph, roughly grabbing his face, squeezing his cheeks says, “You impudent young fool! So, you are not broken! How dare you defy me! Fatima!” The woman slips from the shadows. “Yes, my Lord.” “See that he is cared for. Clean him and see that his bandage is changed. Feed him. When he is healed I will deal with him.” As the Caliph leaves, Fatima smiles for she knows exactly how the Caliph will deal with the boy.
Chapter 6a: Much Needed Rest
Fatima was quite taken with how the dungeon had changed. Moments ago, the walls echoed with the moans and screams of a young man in the throws of sexual torture; now, it was peaceful, serene, bathed in the flickering flames, almost comforting. Occasionally, Geoff’s body would shudder and he would emit a low groan, a sound she found quite sensuous. It was the sound of pure exhaustion and her most delicate charm seeped steadily. Fatima had no sympathy for the boy; on the contrary, she would have preferred his trials to continue, but even with her potion, even his age, it was not enough to keep him conscious.
“Remove the bands,” she says to the guards, “but leave him bound at the wrists and ankles.”
The guards work quickly, stealing glances at the boy, amazed at how truly beautiful he looks. Every torturer knows that their is nothing as beautiful, noting quite as stimulating, as the look of a man after they have ‘dealt’ with him. “Leave us!”
Fatima brushes the damp, matted blond hair off Geoff’s forehead; his eyes, red, tired and moist try to follow her. He is aware of the talents of this woman, and well he should be.
“You are quite brave, my young one. I witnessed your suffering. It excited me sexually. You are young, you will recover quickly; I will see to it.
Fatima’s fingertips gently rake the boy’s bound, sweaty body. She is determined to stimulate him to hardness, knowing it will cause great discomfort. Ah, youth. His body responds as she desires, accompanied by pain.
“It was I, I who convinced the Caliph to unsheathe you permanently. It was I who offered the services of my daughters to help stimulate you. Was it not enjoyable? My brave young Crusader, he is angry. I have not ever seen him so angry. He is determined to deal with you, harshly. In a few days, he will send for you. The guards will come for you. And, my young one, we both know where they will take you. Yes, he will be waiting for you, and Fatima will give orders that he is not to be disturbed for three days. I can assure you that after three days with him you will be much changed; more ‘open’ to the world.” Her laughter fills him with dread.
The Caliph passes in his garden. He is troubled, angry and filled with lust. This boy has gotten to him. He feels respect for him but it doesn’t diminish his desire to torture him, to make him scream, to humiliate him, and ultimately, to possess him. He doesn’t want to break the boy or destroy his spirit. No; he wants to ‘tame’ him like a fine young stallion. Breaking him, he would lose his appeal but taming him, he becomes a cherished possession. Fatima breaks his reverie.
“How is he?”
“Resting, my Lord. He is quite an amazing young man, a true find, perfect for your tastes.”
“Well, witch, in a few days we will see just how amazing he is.”
Fatima takes the Caliph’s hand and caresses it gently, while he stares at her. Pouring a generous amount of olive oil into her own hands, she coats the Caliph’s massive hand carefully, making sure it is well covered and quite slippery.
“Such a masterful hand, my Lord, large and powerful; truly a hand meant to teach a boy obedience.” She closes his oil-covered open hand into a fist and squeezes it.
She turns to go back to the dungeon to fiddle about, and without facing him says, “Be sure to remove your rings.” Smiling, Fatima leaves him to his thoughts.
Chapter 6b: A Guiding Hand
Victory. Victory over the invading Europeans, won at such a high price. In Britain, France, Italy and Germany, many wives would go to their beds alone; many children would never know their fathers; many mothers would never see their sons grow into fine young men, taking wives and blessing them with grandchildren. This was not to be. However, the desert auction blocks were doing a brisk business in the sale of these European men. Many would be sold as laborers. The most handsome would become pleasure slaves. Yes, victory certainly has its rewards.
For several days, Fatima tends to Geoff while the Caliph fights. Her soft hands never fail to excite the boy, forcing him to rise to the occasion, causing him great discomfort. Her deft finger finds his once untouched portal and marvels at how well and how quickly it healed, her long nail raking the delicate membrane. He has healed well in her hands. Her pleasure would soon be over as word of the Caliph’s arrival reaches her.
“Soon, my young one, he will return and you will long for Fatima’s touch. I know him well. Neither his anger nor his lust has abated.”
Geoff’s eyes close and a groan escapes his throat as his manhood is once again, sheathed in the warm moistness of Fatima’s hungry mouth.
Anxious, the Caliph paces his room waiting. “Enter.” Two guards escort young Geoff into the Caliph’s room, his hands are bound high on his back secured to a rope around his neck. He has been thoroughly bathed and groomed. He is, of course, naked.
“Well, I see you have healed, and of course you are a bit more naked than before. I see you still won’t speak to me. No matter; your screams of pain, and of course, your moans of pleasure are sufficient for me.”
Reaching into his shirt, the Caliph pulls out a cord and shows it to Geoff. There is something hanging from it.
“Look at this. What was once yours is now mine. I took you into battle with me as I slaughtered your brothers-in-arms. I see you don’t believe me. We have defeated your invading army. The desert is soaked in European blood. Your God has deserted you. I’m afraid, my dear Geoff, that their will be no rescue. You are at my mercy, and mercy, as you are now aware, is something I do not have.”
“Secure him!”
The guards force the boy to the Caliph’s bed. Within moments, he is secured on all fours by means of rings, cleverly placed along the posts. His legs are spread wide; his genitals with his newly denuded shaft are clearly visible. The Crusader prays to his God, but a feeling seeps into his being, a feeling he has never had. Doubt.
Meanwhile, the Caliph cannot help but admire the sight. “Leave us!” He turns from this enticing sight and smiles as he removes the rings from his finger.
“A young boy needs the guidance of an older man, a man more experienced, a man who can show him his rightful place, a man not afraid to use whatever means necessary to instill much needed obedience. Are you praying? Surely you must see that your God intends for you to be here, with me. Geoff, it is obvious that this is what he wants for you.”
The boy shudders at this thought, for it appears that is the case. The Arab gazes at his hand. Slowly, he closes his fingers and makes a fist. Opening it, he begins coating it with the ointment so thoughtfully supplied by the always caring Fatima. Making sure that he coats well passed his wrist, he begins to open and close his fingers. Turning, he walks toward his bed.
That night, sleep does not come easy to the residents of the palace for they are privy to the efficacy of ‘a guiding hand’ in instilling obedience.
Chapter 7: A Much Needed Rest
For three days, the Caliph remains in his room rarely venturing forth. For three days, in a variety of ways, he ‘impresses’ upon the young Crusader the need to obey. Across the floor can be seen countless vials, the contents long emptied. Now, both man and boy lie exhausted; teacher and student; conqueror and conquered; master and slave. For three days, the guiding hand of the Caliph, so deeply felt by the young Crusader, hammered home the lesson of obedience. Emerging from his room, the Arab meets Fatima.
“My Lord; you look exhausted, yet most content. I trust you pass the time in a most pleasing manner.”
“Most pleasing, indeed.”
Escorted from the room by two burley guards, Geoff is dragged passed the Arab and Fatima, the tops of his feet scraping along the carpet as he hangs, limp, his arms draped around the backs of the men. The sight is quite erotic; his strong back forming that most desirable ‘V’ as all his muscles are so sensuously etched on his soft skin, tapers to his narrow waist, as his buttocks enticingly flare outward, round and firm, followed by two strong legs, slightly separated just so, revealing his emptied sac and long, thick flaccid penis. “Wait!” The guards stop, showing the strain from having to support the young Crusader’s massive body. Walking to face Geoff, the Caliph raises his head. Fatima’s hand instinctively goes to her sex, for this is a sight few can resist, a handsome young man, exhausted, drained, spent, the marks of lust covering his body. Lifting his head, for the boy cannot hold it up, his eyes glassy, his lips parched, his mouth open, the Arab speaks:
“You belong to me, now. Your God has deserted you and given you to me. What sin must you have committed to deserve this? Yet, I cannot help but wonder what I did to be so rewarded? Perhaps your God does not approve of you invading my land; could it be possible that he makes you suffer for all your filthy brothers? I will see that your penance is severe for I am your new Lord and Master and you will learn to serve me as you once served your God.”
Gently, the Caliph lowers the boy’s head. “Take him to his cell.” Fatima and the Arab watch the erotic display of a naked boy being dragged away.
“He pleases you, my Lord?”
“Yes, as no other has. He suffers in a most delightful way.”
“My Lord, he a strong boy. His faith is great. He can withstand much even from such an iron-fisted man as yourself.” She caresses his hand. “He is but a boy who in a short time will be twenty, than twenty-two. The powers of youth will, as in all things, slowly wither away. It is imperative that we find ways to maintain his beauty and his strength. Do not drink this fine young wine too quickly for it is easy to take your fill all at once. Then, it will be gone. No. With care, this wine will mellow with age, bringing untold pleasures to your dungeon as well as your bed. We must see that he is tended to.”
“Fatima, how can I force him to maintain his beauty? If I whip him or torture him in stronger ways, I lose the very thing I want to keep.”
“Men. You seem to find your dilemmas but cannot find a way around them. He is a good boy, my Lord, and perhaps can be motivated by an alternative form of persuasion, something that appeals to his sense of goodness. Do not concern yourself at this time. Leave this small matter to Fatima. Now, return to your bed. You need your rest.”
The Caliph, without uttering a word, goes back to his room. It will be a most restful sleep as the odor emanating from the bed linens lulls him into a pleasant, dream-like state. Fatima motions with her hand and a man appears. He is an ugly man, a foul man, a most useful man.
“Are you familiar with the home of the baker?”
“Yes, Fatima.”
“Take several men and bring me his daughter.”
“Which one? He has three.”
“The middle one.”
“Ah, the pretty one. The real pretty one.”
“Yes, the pretty one. And, do not lay a hand on her. Her charms are not to be molested. Do you understand?” He nods. “Go.”
Fatima walks into the garden and gently waters several plants. “And how are my little darlings? Fatima has brought you water. You are all doing so nicely. Soon, you will show what you can do. Yes, only a woman such as Fatima would find joy in tenderly caring for…nettles, stinging nettles!
Chapter 8: You Will Obey
The day was brutally hot, the sun unrelenting. In the garden, the Caliph sits in the shade of a canopy, his table filled with delicacies. Fatima sits next to him. Standing, still exhausted yet, somehow still defiant is Geoff, naked and sweating, beside him is a large pile of huge stones. The Caliph is quite angry.
“I order you to pick up the stones and place them neatly, in a pile by the stake. Do it you insolent young fool!?
“No; I will not move the stones; I will not obey you.”
The boy’s defiance, while standing naked, excites the Caliph. Fatima has devised this little exercise to help maintain Geoff’s muscular body, to keep it in peak condition for the rigors of the Dungeon of Pain, as well as the rigors of the Arab’s bed chamber. She knows that the boy will not obey so she has devised a little something to insure his total compliance.
“See how he continues to defy me! Now, witch, what shall I do? I appear the fool. I am not amused, Fatima.”
“My Lord, do not fear. Turning to the guard, she says, “Bring the girl.”
Moments later, the guard returns with the baker’s middle daughter, a most beautiful young girl. Awaiting orders from Fatima, the guards stand at attention. Geoff cannot help but wonder what this is all about. He knows that Fatima is capable of despicable acts. Not sure what to think, he none the less fears for the girl.
“Secure her wrists in the manacles.”
The guards walk the frightened beauty to a post and attach the manacles to her wrists. This is quite a sight. A young girl, bound to a post, the strong young Crusader standing naked, and the Caliph and Fatima bound and determined to make this an enjoyable afternoon.
“My Lord; ask him to move the stones again.”
Looking concerned, the Caliph, against his better judgment, orders Geoff to move the stones. The boy refuses. Fatima, walks over to the bound girl.
“My young Crusader, is she not a pretty young thing? Surely you can see how desirable she is, so young and fresh. Do you not want to move the stones?”
Geoff stands firm as Fatima walks around the post. In one quick move, she rips open the girl’s dress exposing her breasts.
“My, my, how positively beautiful, so firm, so ripe, so round. Tell me, Crusader, are they not beautiful? Would you like to touch them, place your mouth on them?”
Fatima begins fondling the firm orbs. The girl is crying.
“Oh, Crusader, they are delightful. Are you sure you do not…ah, I can see that you appreciate such beauty. Can you see, my dear, how he appreciates you. I know, he finds you pretty. Notice how he rises. See how hard he is getting, all because of you.”
Geoff feel disgusted, yet he can’t control himself. Since his capture, he has been kept in a constant state of arousal, regardless of the pain. Now, being a healthy young male, he cannot help himself. He feels guilt at the thoughts racing through his mind; he feels shame that this young girl must see this. Try as he might, he cannot stop the normal reactions of a young man.
“Crusader, shall I remove more for you before I allow the guards to…” “Leave her alone. I will move your stones. Just leave her.”
For the first time, Geoff feels defeated as he bends down to lift the first stone. His back toward the Caliph, the boy bends down and lifts the first of many stones. The Caliph utters a gasp as the boy’s buttocks part, showing his cruel handiwork. It is quite a sight watching Geoff, sweat running off his body, lift each stone and walk to the stake, then gently lower it. The Caliph cannot believe the boy’s body, how perfectly it works, the play of his muscles, his penis partially erect. His lust continues to soar, wanting nothing more than to sit and stare at the magnificent display of youthful manliness, confident in the knowledge that he can do whatever he likes to his boy. Finally, he can claim a small victory over the boy’s mind to go along with the many victories over his body. Fatima’s hands leave the soft breast and walk to the Caliph.
“It is done, my Lord.
“How did you know?” How did you know he would give in?”
“He is a good boy and truly believes in the teachings of his church. I knew he would not let anything happen to the girl.
“Stay, Fatima. You have earned this. Let us enjoy the show.”
Fatima goes to the ugly man.
“Untie her.”
“Shall I take her to her father?”
“No. Take her to my private quarters. Do not touch her. See that she causes no trouble.”
The man smiles. It is a knowing smile. Fatima walks back to the Caliph.
“And the girl?”
“Resting, my Lord.”
Geoff continues his labor, fighting the thoughts he cannot escape. Wondering how long he can last. So much agony for one so young. So much mental anguish
” I know you too well, witch; too well to think for one moment that the girl will find any rest.
“My Lord; she may still be useful. In any event, she will prove a most entertaining addition, most entertaining! Allah be praised, what strength.”
“Fatima, you have done well. You may yet feel him tickle you.”
Now that is just what she was longing to hear.
Chapter 9: Thoughts
Tossed unceremoniously into his cell, Geoff is glad to be out of the burning sun. His muscles burn but it feels good. Since his capture, he has spent most of the time bound in some uncomfortable way designed to make easily accessible certain parts of his body chosen for some form of abuse. Alone, he has time to think. He lowers his firm, naked and well-used buttocks to the stone floor, a feeling he has yet to get used to, pulls his knees up and wrapping his arms around them, hangs his head. It is a heavy head, heavy with visions of all that has happened and concerns about all that is to come. Hopelessness surrounds him, for escape is virtually impossible given the expanse of the desert, and there will be no rescue. He must face this new reality, that he is and will forever be, at the mercy of these sadistic infidels. Though his faith remains strong, it has been sorely tested, yet he has remained true to the teachings of his God, even as his flesh was made to yield to the depravity of his captor. And yield it did, so much so that his own body betrayed him. The pain and suffering he has experienced in the Dungeon of Pain pale when compared to his visits to the Caliph’s bed chamber. All these thoughts crowed his mind, and then, out of nowhere, the girl.
My poor Crusader. You are young and virile and your flesh has an appetite all its own. Your eyes have never seen such soft, firm round orbs of pleasure and you wanted to touch them, to caress them, to taste them. What would your God think of such thoughts? So young, and still so very innocent. His mind cannot erase the memory of her breasts as Fatima played with them. My poor Adonis; such pleasures will never be yours. You will never know the joy of freely giving your body to a beautiful young woman; no, your body will be taken forcibly, by a strong, virile man. The pleasures of the marriage bed are not to be. Neither will you taste immortality, the gift of children. No, none of this will you experience. Pain and suffering is your destiny, for many years to come. Think, brave hero, why have they not come for you? Where are they? Perhaps your prayers have been answered.
The Caliph decides that the Crusader needs to rest and orders that food be brought to him. He wants to keep the boy strong and healthy. Truth be known, he, also, needs his rest for he has spent much time with the boy, and although it was time well-spent, it has been exhausting. A good rest will do him good. He smiles for he has gotten the boy to obey. It doesn’t matter that he was tricked into it; all that matters is that he made a conscious decision to obey.
And what of Fatima? Why is she not finding new ways to tease the Crusader, to make him suffer? At present, she is rather well occupied.
“How pretty you are, my dear. And these, like the soft petals of a desert flower, so fresh and dewy, so inviting, gently opening, beckoning, ready to be plucked.”
She slowly lowers her head.
His meal finished, the young Crusader resumes his seated position. He thinks of home, of his parents and how they must be worried. Never will they receive word of his fate. It fills him with pain. The beautiful sunny days of spring, flowers blooming, green lush grass. The maidens and that wonderfully exciting feeling each time one would walk by and give him a wink. These are the thoughts he takes to sleep, a much needed sleep.
As our young hero dreams, he sees himself walking down a lane, free, happy, not a care in the world. Spying a maiden, she beckons to him to follow. Deeper and deeper into the forest he follows her until he sees a small cottage. She enters and calls to him. Excitedly, he enters. The door slams shut. The girl is nowhere to be found.
“So kind of you to join us!”
There, in the cottage, in his dreams, is the Caliph and Fatima. Poor, young Crusader; even in sleep there is no escape.
Chapter 10: Nettles
I must confess, reader, that I have enjoyed taking you on this journey and I hope you are finding it stimulating. By now, you must realize that I have become completely and utterly taken with this boy; watching him suffer, his magnificently muscled body twisting in his bonds in a futile attempt to free himself; hearing his moans of pain, his mouth open as the most sensual sounds issue forth. You are familiar with the tortures inflicted on him, cruel and sadistic, yet, rarely have I seen his thick manhood flaccid. While bound, sI have watched, with much pleasure, as the Caliph, a true maestro, orchestrates this opera of joyous depravity. Nothing is left to chance as each character comes and goes at the appointed time, happy to be part of this opus of pain all coming together for one purpose, to abuse this beautiful boy.
I have been privy to those private moments and was quite taken with Geoff’s struggles as he fought not to be violated. I witnessed his humiliation and cheered as his body betrayed him with waves of indescribable pleasure. I can now say, with complete certainty, that this boy was made to be abused, tortured, taken and, ultimately, conquered over and over. The stage is, once again, set; the characters ready to play their parts; the young Crusader, filled with despair, lacking hope, made even more desirable by what he has endured, waits.
“Good morning, Geoff, I hope you are comfortable.”
The Arab is proud of his attempt at humor. Truth is, Geoff is anything but comfortable. His legs are held up and spread out, forming a most inviting ‘V’. His genitals are quite exposed and vulnerable and he has no doubt as to where the Arab will focus his attentions. Reader, I must tell you that the boy’s charms are truly magnificent.
“I told you that I was going to punish you for invading my land, and today, I intend to do just that. If you still believe in that God of yours I suggest you start praying.”
The Caliph takes off his rings, and noticing the boy’s worried look, proceeds to make a fist, slowly. Smiling, he says, “No; not this morning. Perhaps tonight.” He puts on leather gloves.
For a moment, Geoff is relieved, but it is to be short-lived for he knows that tonight he will once again be forced to service the Caliph. As if that thought is not enough, Fatima enters the chamber carrying a terra cotta pot. Geoff’s eyes widen. Suddenly, he is aware of what is about to happen. His wrists and ankles instinctively try to pull free, but it is no use. Hearing the rattling, the Caliph turns to the boy saying,
“I see you are familiar with…nettles. How very fortunate. How very fortunate, indeed.”
Yes, Geoff is aware of nettles, as is every English boy. This plant is known for delivering the most painful, itching sting, which lasts for quite some time. There have been accounts that in rare occasions, people have died from touching them. He remembers quite vividly just how painful they can be, and that was on his hand. Swallowing hard, he knows this will be something quite different.
“My Lord, I have brought what you requested. For many weeks have I tended this. It is most ripe and the sap is leaking from the leaves. I implore you to exercise caution. I wouldn’t want you to experience any discomfort.”
“Thank you, Fatima. Geoff, isn’t she a caring soul?” He cuts the branches and holds the plant up for Geoff to see.
“Boy, you know what I am about to do; do you not? Allah demands this. You know that the pain will be most excruciating, that there is nothing that can been done to alleviate it. I expect you to take it like a man, even though you are yet a boy. Tonight, I am confident that I can find ways to take your mind off the discomfort.”
Walking between Geoff’s strong legs, the Caliph, a true artist, plots how best to deliver the blows. The boy’s world explodes in mind-numbing pain as the nettles make contact with his delicate manly charms. Repeatedly, the Arab strikes the tender area now red with a terrible rash both painful and itchy. The boy’s sensitive inner thighs are also assaulted as well as the dark crevice of his buttocks. For a half hour, the Caliph punishes the boy, and then stops. He doesn’t want to cause permanent damage to his most prized possession. The boy is delirious, groaning and sweating profusely.
The unmistakable smell of sex fills the hot chamber as the boy’s head rolls from one side to the other, his eyes shut trying to will the pain away. His manhood fully erect, the Arab wants to take the young Crusader now. But he will wait for he knows only to well that it is the wait that will drive his lust to a fever pitch.
“Fatima; are you sure of this?”
“Imagine, my Lord, an itch that cannot be scratched.
“Make it so.” The Caliph leaves the chamber. Geoff has no idea what is happening. The pain and the itch are driving him mad.
“Well, my young Crusader, you handled that rather well. You have made Fatima desire you. Now, show Fatima that you can endure what she is about to do.”
Turning to face the bound boy, she holds a long, pointed feather and sits between the Crusader’s out-stretched legs.
“Let Fatima scratch your itch.”
Reader, never has the word ‘No’ sounded so sweet!
Chapter 11: The Seat of Honor
“You have done well. The enemy is all but crushed. I grow tired of the constant warfare. I fear I am getting too old for this. Your victory at the head of our troops was nothing short of magnificent and is sure to increase your standing with the other Caliphs. Your power has grown considerably.
“Thank you. I am humbled before you!”
“Nonsense; you, humbled? I doubt that very much. It seems that your young Crusader is having a difficult time of it. He is quite a handsome young man and possessed of remarkably delightful charms. Nineteen, you say. Exquisite. He is still a boy.”
Yes, reader, Geoff is having a difficult time of it. The effects of the nettles have yet to wear off and the Caliph, true to his word and driven by his sadistic lust which grew stronger throughout the day, proved to the boy just how deeply he desired him. Now, Geoff is straddling the plank, a rather ingenious device made of two boards of the finest wood, polished and fitted to form an inverted ‘V’, his genitals and his anus are in constant contact with the sharp, unforgiving edge. He struggles trying to find a bearable position but the nature of this particular torture is cleverly designed to make that an impossibility. His attempts, though, make for quite a pleasurable display for anyone fortunate to witness it as he continually struggles, his naked body straining and stretching so seductively. Often, while attempting to ease his discomfort, his strong leg muscles will cramp making him groan in a way that fuels one’s sexual desire. Reader, I must tell you that the juxtaposition of the two Arabs sitting comfortably on soft pillows, while the young boy struggles so beautifully is quite a sight.
Both men clearly show that they are quite taken with the display of young tortured muscle, and the Caliph knows that after last night, the plank is proving to be a most troubling problem for the boy’s sore and tender nether region.
“To think that this wonderful device, this ‘seat of honor’ was at one time used solely for the female,” says the older Arab. “Let us raise our cups in a toast to whoever thought of placing a man on it.
“When will you return home?”
The older man says, “Tomorrow. I fear your mother will miss me. My son, you seem to be quite taken with your Crusader. He is young and will give you many years of pleasure so, for tonight, I will avail myself of your splendid hospitality and ask that he be sent to my chamber.”
The Caliph glares at his father, “I’m afraid that is not possible, father. I have plans for him and…
” Nonsense! Of course you have plans for him. Now listen to me, boy. To be a proper master, you must learn restraint. You are a man who lives for pleasure and as I have taught you, you take great care of your possessions; for this you are to be congratulated. But, my son, you must never become a slave to your possessions, no matter how much pleasure they bring you. No. Tonight will be a lesson for you. As you toss and turn, thinking of the boy, I promise that I will take good care of him. Besides, we are family and, from time to time, we should share our good fortune and this beauty is quite a fortune.”
All this time, the father is fondling the suffering boy, his hands kneading the strong, pliant flesh. The Caliph watches as his father’s hand slides down Geoff’s muscular leg, his fingers squeezing, feeling.
“I see by your expression that you find this troubling. Such nipples begging to be pinched, like so” Geoff winces. “And this, so thick and long, and these, no doubt capable of continually delivering a steady output of the finest ambrosia. And these(rubbing the boys buttocks), gateway to paradise. Delightful. You should consider yourself lucky to have been the first to explore such wonders, to delve into such young and tender mysteries. My young Crusader, can you not find a position that affords you some much needed comfort?” A glance at the older Arab’s crotch reveals how much his exploration of the young Crusader pleases him.
Laughing, the father lightly slaps the Caliph’s face saying, “I hope I don’t keep you up. Ah, my dear Fatima, my son has graciously consented to send the young Crusader to my chamber tonight. What say you?” Fatima, smiling, always smiling, looks at her master and says, “I am sure you he will delight you, my Lord.” Turning to Fatima, the father says, “Let us go and choose some toys from my son’s extensive collection.” Fatima tries hard not to show how pleased she is, fearing she will anger the Caliph who has promised that she will have time with the boy. “What do you require, my Lord,” she asks the older Arab. “Oh, one or two for stimulation, one or two for motivation, and perhaps three for persuasion, just in case.” He laughs heartily, knowing the effect it has on his son.
“Tell me, Fatima, speak plainly; are not his charms exquisite?”
“Why yes, my Lord they are indeed as you say, exquisite, and I have just the toys to stimulate, motivate and definitely persuade… just in case.”
“Excellent. I cannot wait to try them. Son, he has endured the plank for well over two hours. Release him so that he may recover sufficiently. I want him to remember his time with me as something memorable.
That night, instead of one, there were two tortured souls in the palace. The dark, velvet desert night, warm and sultry, was again treated to that most sweetest of sounds, the torturous moans of a young man.
Chapter 12: A Long Overdue Visit
“Ah, my boy, come, join me. Your cooks have prepared a sumptuous breakfast and I seem to be quite famished.”
The Caliph takes his seat and begins filling his plate.
“Did you sleep well, father?
Slyly smiling the father answers as if telling a secret,
“Truth be told, I didn’t sleep a wink but I do appreciate your concern. Funny, although I haven’t rested I feel quite refreshed, as if I were once again a young man.”
He notices how his son seems pained by his answer.
“Foolish boy! Stop your sulking this instant. Allah has indeed blessed you. You are a most fortunate man to have one so beautiful, so perfect, so young at your disposal, day and night, bringing untold pleasures to you. After all you have subjected him to, he still resists. How wondrous is this? In spite of it, his resistance, it is all for naught. A young man is no match for an older man experienced in such matters. The more he resists the sweeter is our victory when we rip from him moans of lusty pleasure. Oh, he fought, valiantly I might add, to deny me, but your father is rather well-equipped to handle the situation. Nothing gives a man greater pleasure than forcing supple flesh to yield to his will. You have done well. His body remains strong from his daily activities, for nothing ruins a body as completely as war. The sun has colored him a most seductive golden brown. If I were you, my son, do you know how I would spend this glorious day?” “How, my father?” “HURT HIM. Be merciless. Punish him for his moans of pleasure. You know you want to.”
“You are right. I will flog him to within an inch of his life. That will teach him.”
“No, son; you will not. Even with your expertise with a whip, we both know his skin will heal, showing only a blemish or two, but his muscles will be scarred. I find nothing pleasurable about fondling a boy and feeling his scarred muscles.”
“What do you suggest I do.”
“Bring me that box. Yes, yes that’s it. Open it.”
“You bring me a fly swatter? This is how you would hurt him?” The Caliph holds a whip-like devise which is used to swat flies off camels. It consists of many thin tendrils which move the flies without hurting the camels. “Why thank you, father.”
“So smart are you, with your Dungeon of Pain. Listen to me. To relieve yourself you need to hurt him, and striking him would be most ideal. You would work up a sweat with each lash. Do not let the tendrils fool you. They can find their way into the tightest crevice; wrap around the most delicate appendage without ripping it open when pulled away. Once I saw a Templar, older than your Crusader but quite a man, well-endowed and an ass that cried out to be violated. Bound between two poles, we sat around waiting for this man to be tortured. The torturer began striking him with the swatter. Some of us laughed. Your father thought differently. I knew I was about to witness something I had not yet seen. As we talked, marveling at the naked body, we paid little attention to the whipping. The torturer was sweating as was the Templar. We continued to dine and talk when a moan, though soft and barely audible, filled my ears. Turning, for I had been engaged in conversation, I saw a sight I was not prepared for. I have witnessed many interrogations; seen blood spilled needlessly and heard terrible screams, but this was different. That moan, coming from this specimen of manliness, stiffened me. His body, soaked with his own sweat, began twitching. The many conversations ended as each of the others turned to view this erotic spectacle. The Templar became aware of our interest which added to his humiliation. One-by-one, we picked up our cushions and drew closer to the Templar. To a man, we each began masturbating to the sight, sound and smell of this perfect being so cruelly tortured. Later, many of us commented on how this simple item, one we all possessed and used countless times, and would continue to use as it was intended, could give such pain to the Templar and such pleasure to us.”
Holding the gift in his hands, the Caliph thanks his father.
“And now, your mother asks that you come for a visit. It has been quite some time. Now that the invaders have been driven back, you will have time. She expects you next week. Bring the boy. We will work on him together and, if my son is not modest, perhaps we can find a more intimate setting for us to play.”
“And what of mother? Will she not object?”
“Your mother has long since known of your father’s proclivities and that the son does not stray so far. One look at the boy and she will not place many obligations on us. Do not concern yourself. Dote on her for she loves you. I will handle the rest.”
“Father, I am looking forward to it, to all of it and I welcome the opportunity to share the young Crusader with you, in any way you see fit.”
Several hours later…
He looks exhausted; naked, his hair dripping with sweat, his body glistening, his muscles burning, the Caliph finally drops the swatter. He gazes at the Crusader, hanging from his wrists, limp, wasted, a sexual feast for the eyes, his skin a new shade of red yet no ugly marks. He walks to the bound boy, their naked bodies touch. Twice that day, his lust burning, he takes refuge in the boy’s delightfully beckoning portal. Now, his hands explore the boy’s chest and waist, sliding down further, his hands causing new pain for the highly sensitive skin.
“You are mine, young Geoff. I own you, possess you. Your parents have done their work well and have created a most handsome boy. But now, you belong to me, and me alone. Do you feel me, my young one? Do you feel how you excite me? Yes, I know you do, for it is quite unmistakable and most unforgettable as you are by now aware. I have enslaved your body, and soon I will enslave your mind as well. All in good time. For now, I will content myself with your body. Yield, my beautiful, young slave and except your master.”
Barely a whimper escapes the Crusader’s mouth.
Chapter 13: Enjoy It While You Can
Bound on his back, Geoff contemplates his fate and what new and painful torture the Caliph has planned. He does not have long to wait.
“Today is a special day my young Crusader. I trust you enjoyed your bath.”
The young Crusader spent an hour with Fatima’s daughters as they once again bathed his muscular body, taking great pains to excite him.
“I have a little surprise for you, one I am most confident you will enjoy. Enter.”
The boy turns his head to see Fatima enter the bedchamber and tugs at his bonds.
“You said you would not harm her. You said that if I moved the stones each day she would be sent home.”
“Geoff, I did not harm her. She was under the care and guidance of Fatima.”
Next to Fatima is the baker’s daughter. Fatima made certain that the girl was properly bathed and groomed.
“Tell me,” says the Caliph, “is she not a beauty? So young and firm. Yes, I can see that you find her appealing. Now, what could you possibly be thinking. I am not sure your God would approve.”
It was becoming obvious what the bound boy was thinking as his desire grew.
“Now, I am certain that you do not want anything unfortunate to happen to her. Am I correct?”
Geoff glares at the Caliph. “What do you want?”
The Arab smiles for once again the boy has delivered himself into his cruel hands.
“Good. You are learning that all that matters is what I want, that you are to give me want I want whenever I want it. Now, repeat after me; ‘My Lord, I am your slave and you may do as you wish with me. I beg you, take me to your bed and make me moan with pleasure like a young maiden.’ “
The Crusader remains silent, a response the Caliph is prepared for. Nodding at Fatima, she unveils the girl’s firm breasts. The bound boy cannot help but look, for this is but the second time he has seen such feminine charms.
“Geoff, I know you are familiar with these.” He holds up a fresh branch of nettles and hands them to Fatima. “Strike each orb three times, slowly.”
“No,” screams the boy.
“Too late. Now she will suffer because of your selfishness. Your continued defiance will cause this young beauty to feel unbearable pain. You are a disgrace to teachings of your God. Is it any wonder why he has delivered you to me?”
Fatima, smiling, begins to strike the young girl’s firm breasts. Geoff, not able to stand the sight of another suffering, shouts for her to stop. She does not until she delivers three blows to each.
“Now listen to me, my foolish young boy, this beauty has a more sensitive area for the nettles to kiss, and I assure you that the pain will last for many days. Say the words and I will spare her this needless pain”
Looking at the girl, who is now crying, her breasts starting to show the effects of the nettles, Geoff is besides himself. He knows if he gives in, the Caliph will once again win. He knows that if he does not, the girl will suffer terribly.
“Fatima, begin.” Fatima removes the last remaining covering and the girl is as naked as Geoff. Forcing her hand between the girl’s legs, Geoff yells for her to stop.
“My Lord, I am your slave and you may do as you wish with me. I beg you, take me to your bed and make me moan with pleasure like a young maiden.”
“Not quite, my young Crusader. Now, say it again, but this time look into my eyes.”
Turning to the Caliph, Geoff repeats the words.
“My Lord, I am your slave and you may do as you wish with me. I beg you, take me to your bed and make me moan with pleasure like a young maiden.”
Brushing the golden hair from the boy’s forehead, the Caliph in a calm and gentle voice says, “Have no fear, my young slave boy for I will grant your wish; I will take you to my bed and make you moan with pleasure like a young maiden.”
Both the Caliph and Fatima beam with sadistic joy; the Caliph notices a small tear in the boy’s eye, a sign that the boy has moved a step closer to accepting his fate, that soon he will be a slave whose only purpose will be to give pleasure to this man. Now, the Caliph, true to his nature, will hurt the boy beyond his young comprehension. Herein lies his true sadistic self.
“Well, my fine young slave boy; now that you have freely consented to come to my bed, I think it only fair that you taste what you will be giving up. I want you to know the delights you have yet to experience, the delights you will never again have. Come here, girl.”
Now the Caliph, at his most jaded, most depraved, forces the girl onto the bed. With the help of Fatima, an expert in all manners of sex, they seat the girl over Geoff’s hard penis. Without any ceremony, they impale her on his organ. Both she and Geoff emit screams of pain which soon give way to pleasure.
“Feel her, my young one. Feel what you will never feel again. Feel how she grips your manhood, claiming it for herself. What pleasure. She is delightful, made for a boy like you. Yes, my young Crusader, you were meant to take her to your bed, to love her, to ravish her. That will never be. This is a joy you will never again feel. You are now mine and you will feel other joys.”
All this time, the young Crusader and the girl, both driven by the passions of youth, though humiliated and shamed, are powerless to stop. Regardless of your feelings, reader, the sight is quite erotic and sensuous. Two young bodies driven by uncontrollable lust.
Late in the evening, the palace, quiet and peaceful, Geoff lies in the Caliph’s bed, bound and awake. He feels the man next to him, sleeping soundly. He wonders what has become of him? How has he allowed all that has happened to take place? Where is his God? These are torturous thoughts and they fill him with a deep sadness, for he is no longer who he was. He thinks of the girl, knowing that she is now with Fatima and that her tender opening has, by now, tasted the nettles. He feels all this deeply, befitting his good and noble nature.
“So, you are awake. Good, for I still have need of you.”
Now, it is not only his thoughts that he feels deeply.
Chapter 14: You Catch More Flies With Honey
“My darling boy, I am so happy to see you. You look exceptionally well. Your victory over our enemies has made you powerful. Come, kiss me.”
The Caliph hugs his mother and sits at the table. She has prepared a savory lunch for her son and, as all mothers, longs to see him enjoy it. They talk and laugh as any mother and son would do.
“You seem anxious. Is anything troubling you? You can tell your mother.”
“No, mother. I am fine.” The Caliph was not fine. His prized possession was in the hands of his father. He wasn’t concerned for Geoff’s well-being; no, he didn’t want to miss a moment of his father’s creative torments.
“I noticed you had a young man with you. I assume he is one of the European invaders.”
“Yes, mother. His name is Geoff and he is from Britain.”
“Well, he is most handsome.”
“Yes, that he is.”
I should tell you, reader, that the Caliph’s family speaks several European languages, English being one of them. Though not fluent, they understand and have no trouble being understood. This is an educated family, wealthy, a family that takes its pleasures seriously.
“My son. I will not keep you any longer. Come, give your mother a kiss. Your father, no doubt, waits for you. Now, go to him.”
Kissing his mother, the Caliph thanks her. She smiles as he leaves, proud of him and all he has accomplished. He is, to her motherly heart, a good son.
“Good morning, father. I see you could not wait.”
“Come, sit. I fear today will be brutally hot.”
Both father and son are seated quite comfortably under a canopy while a mere several feet from them, our young hero is staked out, his legs spread uncomfortably wide.
“Honey, father?”
“Yes. It seems as I grow older my preference for sweeter delights grows. Is it my imagination or are the flies exceptionally aggressive today?”
“As if you didn’t know. And, is that one of your wooden toys?”
“Yes. I chose one of the longer ones: after all, he is a big boy; don’t want to stretch him too much. Seriously, you did well to exercise him. His muscles show more definition, as if he were sculpted from marble and his color is greatly improved, golden like the treasure he is. Remarkable. Notice his inner thigh. There, see how you can see the fibers of his muscle, you can count them. Yes, look closely at his abdominal cavity. See how clearly delineated the muscles are; like bricks. I have often said that a boy’s body is more beautiful when under some form of stress. Magnificent.”
The two men spent most of the morning talking of the merits of nineteen-year-olds; of how Geoff’s body responded to the assault of the flies as they nipped at his tender flesh. Father and son were quite stimulated by the sight of this beautiful boy twisting and turning, flexing and sweating and moaning. Since his capture, Geoff has done much moaning. As they watched, they made plans for the evening, their lust growing more demanding as Geoff twisted for their pleasure. Tonight, they would take the boy where he has yet to go as these two experienced men, working in tandem, bring the boy to the very brink of insanity. Tonight, a father and son will bond in a most unusual way, and by tomorrow morning, a beautiful young boy will move inexorably toward his ultimate fate. For now, both men were more than content with watching the sexy body of young Geoff as it undulates in a most lewd and seductive way, trying in vain to avoid the bites of the many flies that have gathered. Each twist of the boy’s body showcases another muscle group flushed with blood.
After several hours, two guards enter the courtyard carrying buckets of water. A nod from the Caliph’s father and the guards douse the bound boy. Flies scatter and our young hero coughs violently.
“Now, I must tend to your mother. You, my son, will tend to the boy. See that he is revived. Give him food and water and let him rest.”
The Caliph orders the guards to untie Geoff and place him in a chair. The boy can hardly move and stumbles as if intoxicated. Reader, how seductive must it be to see this young, virile specimen stumbling, trying to maintain his balance in all his youthful glory
“Tie his wrists behind the chair; then tie his legs apart, wide.” Pouring water into a cup, the Caliph, with one hand to support the boy’s head, helps him to drink. “Easy, young one; there is plenty. Good; drink. Like a little boy who needs to be fed by his father.” Bending forward, the Caliph whispers into Geoff’s ear.
“Never. Never,” says the Crusader, trying to summon his strength.
Smiling, the Caliph leans close to the boy’s face. “Yes you will. It is only a matter of time before your resistance toward me fails you, as your God has failed you. We both know this to be true. There is no other way. You will, ultimately, relent.”
Geoff tightly closes his eyes and turns his head. Not to be ignored, the Caliph grabs his head and forces the boy to look at him.
“Turning away and closing your eyes are the ways of a little boy, and you are not a little boy. There is nothing about you that is little, nothing. I have made your beautiful body give up all its secrets. I live for your screams of pain, your moans of pleasure. You are mine now and I will never let you forget it. Do you hear me, boy, I will never let you forget.”
Our young hero stares into the eyes of the Caliph, and although exhausted from his morning torment, sees the depths of the man’s depravity. He sees, for the first time, just what this man’s true intentions toward him are. He is, finally, afraid.
Chapter 15: Acceptance
“Good morning, Father. How do you feel?”
The father smiles, “Quite well, thank you. I see you have the boy exercising. He has worked up quite a sweat, almost as much as last evening. You certainly made the pussy purr.”
“Why, thank you, as did you. So, how shall we amuse ourselves on this fine day?
“I must say that this was a brilliant idea. So appropriate. Father, you are an evil bastard.”
There, in the courtyard, the young Crusader hangs from a cross. Not wanting to damage the boy, the Caliph’s father, instead of nails, used strong rope to secure him. A small wooden dowel gives support to his feet. The father, not content to merely crucify the boy, adds one more torment: Geoff’s young muscular buttocks are impaled on a rather long, smooth wooden shaft.
By now you know that these men live for the sight of a man being tortured; how the straining makes his muscles bulge, his veins ready to burst. It is no coincidence that a man being tortured mimics a man in the heated throws of sex. Surely you don’t believe that the torturer is interested in gathering information. Anyone can cause pain, but only a true torturer, one who derives great pleasure, can create art. The torturer is more like a musician than a painter, for the musician derives his greatest pleasure from playing a piece a music; the many nuances, the phrasing, the pitch, all strive to create the whole composition. And, unlike a painting, when the musician is done playing, nothing is left…until he plays again. This is true for the torturer as well. He studies the body, and how best to place it in bondage. How wide should the arms be spread? The legs? Should he rip the garments from the boy or slowly remove them? All this is part of the creation.
Words are carefully chosen to instill fear, despair, a sense of hopelessness. Should the torturer speak loudly, fortissimo or speak softly, piano? All this depends on the opus he decides to write. And each session allows him to create a different work. He knows what a man feels when another grips his genitals; the humiliation and shame as he strokes him to erection. He knows only too well, what his victim feels as he slips around to grab a firm globe of ass flesh, kneading it. The victim feels more than humiliation and shame; he feels apprehension; he hopes that this man will not go any further, yet he feels the fingertips clawing at his crevice, pulling it apart. Still, he hopes, but soon realizes that no part of his body will remain untouched. The mere hint of a finger can convey so much. And it never ends, as days become nights, until the victim no longer knows what day it is. Something we take for granted. So it is with the young Crusader hanging upon the cross.
Looking down, he sees these men; he knows what they have done to him and others; he knows that he can expect more of the same with no end in sight, his body used for this man’s sexual pleasure. The Caliph was right. First, he would control his body; he would take ownership of it. Once accomplished, it would be a matter of time before his mind, his will, his very being followed. Now, he can no longer find comfort in the cross, a once powerful symbol for him. His God has deserted him, or worse; perhaps there is no God. Reality for Geoff is gazing down at the two men as they admire his body; as they orchestrate his suffering, all for their sexual delight.
Several weeks later, and more of the same for our young hero. Geoff is being escorted to the Caliph. True to his word, the Caliph granted Fatima her wish and delivered Geoff to her for three days. The baker’s daughter willingly participated in further humiliating the boy. Geoff, in spite of his age, needed two full days to recover from Fatima’s tender mercies. Now, he walks the familiar route to the Caliph’s quarters. The sight of him is breathtaking. He is not bound, but walks between two guards; his finely honed body standing tall and proud, as it should, for it is a singularly perfect work of nature. Seeing him pass, I am privy to another view; a view that cannot help but ignite my desire. Reader, somehow I believe that hidden deep within the boy, a spark of his former self remains. I have no proof, nor have I seen any indication, but it is a feeling, a feeling from one who has come to know this boy.
“Good evening, my young Crusader. Kneel before me and worship your new…God!”
The End…for now.


  1. Beautifully imagined, beautifully written, seductive and sly. I kept right on reading, even though, as a story to aid my own J.O., it frustrated me. Over and over we’re in the garden being told either that the Caliph WILL SHORTLY torture, will shortly bring the boy to sexual bliss by incredibly rough sex, or that the Caliph HAS JUST FINISHED torturing etc., etc. This was teasy and arousing at first, but long before the end I began to feel cheated out of hot scene never delivered. The dynamic between the Caliph and (wonderful character) Fatima was so fraught and her “control” of him so carefully built up that, again, I came to feel cheated, expecting a twist or a payoff or at least a hot lengthy power-sex scene that never came. Compelling short story, but, for me, lousy torturesex porn. C’mon, Hamilton, you’ve got power to burn. Take off the kid gloves and write us a spectacular, extended climax to this.

Leave a Reply.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s