A Slave Muses
By Emcee
It's well past time for the evening meal, but he's obviously too immersed in what he's doing to notice if we eat or not.  I guess I'll get up in a minute and collect something from the kitchens. My Lord keeps unusual hours, but the steward always ensures that enough food and drink are set aside for the needs of my Lord, ready for his pleasure any time of day or night.

I'm the one who keeps an eye on the passing of the hours and present him with a meal, whether he has asked for it or not.  He's amused by this mothering streak in me, I know it by the mocking twinkle I catch in his midnight eyes, but I don't care.  It's my job to look after him, and I take my job seriously: I take care of his wardrobe and person, make his desires known to the rest of the household, run whatever errand he cares to give me, and I warm his bed.

I'm his property; he bought me many years ago and I know for a fact he paid a lot of gold for me, and more besides.  My last master didn't want to sell me, but he was no match for his own greed and my Lord's determination.  Besides, there's no one alive on this earth that dares say nay to my Lord: everyone is afraid of him, and with reason.  Except for me.

I know my place: I'm his to do with as he wills, I have no rights except those he gives me, I only exist to do his bidding.  But I also know he values me above all his possessions; he takes care that I lack for nothing, and would destroy without a thought anyone who would threaten me.  So how can I fear him? I love him.  He is my world, a safe, comfortable world where my place is assured, and as long as I do my job, will always be there for me.  And that's very important because you see, I'm immortal.  So is he.

I must be at least one hundred and fifty-five years old, and that's only counting from the time that I remember.  My memories only go back to the moment I woke up in the slave pens; before that, I recall nothing.

A servant belonging to the slave trader took a fancy to me and told me how I had been found.  It seems his master had been on a collecting expedition near Smyrna when his people found me lying unconscious on the roadside.  There had been blood and bits of brain all around me, as well as many dead men, but apart from hair missing from half my head, I was untouched.   When I came to, I found myself chained to other unfortunates, destined for the slave markets of Bursa.

I knew nothing about myself, my name, my history, or my reasons for being in Smyrna.  It was as if I had been born fully grown that day, for that is when my present life began.

All I know is that I'm big and I'm strong, incredibly strong, far stronger than any one except for my Lord; but he  never bothers to show it unless to make a point.  Why should he?  I'm there to do whatever needs to be done for him.

At the slave market, I was snapped up by a wealthy landowner who needed slave labor to build a palace for his new bride.  She was some kind of princess and demanded suitable accommodation from her prospective husband-- or her father did.  They soon discovered I could lift much heavier loads than the other slaves, and I spent most of my waking hours carrying stones and bricks wherever they were needed.

After the building was completed, I was given as a gift to the new father-in-law.  He in turn gave me to one of his generals, who gave me to his son. It seems this son was unhappy in his marriage;  he had done his duty and produced the next generation but what he liked was cock, and his wives couldn't give him that.

I forgot to mention that my other attribute is my appearance.  All my owners have admired my looks: blue eyes, light brown hair that bleaches dark blond in the sun and a tall, heavily muscled body.  All this is considered very desirable by men who like to fuck other men.  I soon realized this when the slave trader took me to his bed three days after finding me.  I didn't know whether I had ever had sex with a man. Well, I didn't even know what I liked to eat at that point; but my body seemed to be familiar with it, so I guessed I must have done it before.

That pretty much set the tone of my life. It was either heavy manual labor or getting  fucked, sometimes both.  The head overseer at the building site became infatuated with me and had me on night duty nearly all the time I was under him, and I mean that in every way.  At least it meant better food rations; he wanted to keep my strength up, so he fed me after he had fucked me a couple of times.  I preferred that to giving head; I could even doze off while he fucked me, but I had to do the work when he wanted a blow job.

The general's son liked to take me any time of day so he kept me near him, naked most of the time.  After a while, I began to get pretty restless; well, I was used to physical labor, and bed work just didn't give me enough exercise.  So he let me help around the kitchens and private gardens.  It wasn't a bad life really, the only fly in the ointment being his dislike of body hair.  I had to spend an inordinate amount of time having my chest and groin waxed by the eunuchs, or what was worse, plucked out.  I hated it with a passion.

After his unexpected death from the sweating sickness, I went back to his father the general, who kept me until his death. The old man did this for sentimental reasons I think, as his son had been quite fond of me.

I passed from hand to hand, mostly given as a gift.  Luckily, being a slave, no one took any interest in me once I had left them, for I never aged.  Anyone who seems to be unusual in any way, is likely to be labeled as the Devil's spawn and burnt at the stake.  Fortunately, the followers of Allah are less obsessed with the Devil than their Christian counterparts or I would probably be a pile of ashes by now.  But because I was considered valuable, I was always given to people of wealth and importance, which meant I usually ended up in different parts of the Ottoman empire, often secreted away in the private quarters of my masters.  Thus, I managed to keep my immortality a secret.

  Luckily for me, none of my owners ever wanted to castrate me.  Some of them liked to be fucked and all of them liked my cock.  Well, it's a nice one, long and thick, though my second owner had me circumcised, not something I would ever recommend. Castration was a real possibility for pleasure slaves, and perhaps that would have been my eventual fate, if I had been less masculine in my looks.  But I am a big hulk of a man, nothing effeminate about me, and my masters wanted to preserve that aspect; I think they relished the idea of having a big creature like me under them.  The smaller my masters were, the more they seemed to enjoy fucking me, usually with me on all fours, sometimes wearing a leather collar and chains.  They also liked to have me on my knees sucking cock.  I got pretty good at it too; I've had lots of practice.

My last master was a short, slim man who really enjoyed my attributes. He would have me splayed out on his bed, sometimes chained, sometimes not, depending on what he wanted me to do that night.  He couldn't always get it up you see, so he would sometimes have me fuck someone else or come all over him.  That would sometimes do the trick, specially after I had licked my come off his body.  He really loved to watch me masturbate, as I could keep going for a long time, and be ready for more soon after.  He was the one who taught me how to elevate self-pleasuring to an art form.

I think he used me as a surrogate, doing all the things he couldn't.  He loved to fuck me but couldn't always manage it, so he would use a variety of dildoes on me instead.  He would keep me on the edge for hours, using a cock ring to prevent me from coming, while he played with my body until I was sweating and gasping like a winded horse.  At these times, I would silently pray for him to get an erection, for then he would want to fuck me and end the torture.  Unfortunately, he usually couldn't.  Instead, he would play with my cock  until I was whimpering in frustration.  He would then ease off, wait until I had calmed down a bit, and then start on my anus, may be licking it, or rubbing the hot spot inside with his fingers, or slowly fucking me with a dildo.  By the time he let me come, I would be so exhausted the eunuchs had to carry me to my bed if my master didn't want me in his that night.

It was a lot easier when he wanted me to fuck someone else instead. Sometimes, I would have to do it three or four times in one night--not a problem for me, I have a quick recovery time.  He liked to direct every move, the speed, the kind of strokes I would use, the position, watching every move up close, as if he would breathe it in.  But he would never permit anyone else to fuck me.  He was the only one allowed anywhere near my ass; that part of me was sacrosanct.  I never told him, but he was just one in a long line of masters who had enjoyed my asshole.  My body recovered almost instantaneously from any injury I received, so my anus never got permanently stretched, as happened to the other pleasure slaves.  I was always tight and virginal, something all my masters appreciated.  I was his fucktoy, and using me for his pleasure was his favorite activity, after intrigue.

 He was an important man at court and had a finger in many pies, as well as a great deal of influence, for he collected any and all information that he could use to further his position and power.  I think he liked to manipulate people, much as he manipulated my body; only Allah knows what inadequacies he was trying to overcome there.

For my part, I had learnt to cultivate ignorance as a means of ensuring my survival.  Too many people would have tried to use me to get to him, so I pretended to be a little stupid. I even pretended I couldn't read or write--not true, one of my masters had me taught so I could read erotic stories to him.  Getting involved in the politics of the Ottoman court was a sure recipe for a nasty, slow and painful death.  Ignorance was best. When you're a slave, you get very good at knowing what will keep you alive and what will get you killed.  And I had been a slave for over ninety years, so I was an expert at surviving.

It was these twin obsessions of his: intrigue and myself, that eventually led to my master losing me to my Lord.

 My master had been trying to win the favor and support of a great lord called Maresaid,  a very important yet enigmatic man who yielded enormous power, though he always stayed in the background.  He was a master manipulator whom everyone feared and courted, and obviously the man my master modeled himself on.

My master had been trying for years to come to the attention of this powerful and elusive man and had finally obtained some information that Maresaid desired.  It was the most glorious triumph for my master when the dread lord agreed to visit him, and of course, he couldn't resist showing off his favorite toy: me.

They had finished the evening meal when my master called for me. I arrived as instructed while the servants served the coffee and sweetmeats.  After prostrating myself, I knelt at my master's side as he reclined among richly embroidered silk cushions, and awaited his pleasure in the proper position of submission: head bowed and hands on spread thighs, showing my gold burnished nails.  I had heard a hiss of indrawn breath from his exalted guest, but I was not allowed to look into their faces unless expressly ordered, so I could not see his expression.  I guessed he had been surprised by my appearance.

All my masters took great pride in my body, so I never wore much in the way of clothing.  Quite often, they preferred me naked except for some piece of jewelry, and this master was no exception. Round my neck there was a collar of aquamarines, pearls and sapphires; round my ankles, I wore chains with little bells that tinkled as I walked.  I was wearing sheer loose pants that hid nothing, my cock and balls, glittering with gold dust, were perfectly visible. I wore nothing else.  Of course, all my body hair, including that of my groin, had been removed, as my master preferred, and my entire body glistened with patchouli oil.  My waist-long hair was held back off my face by a circlet of wrought gold. I was on show.

"You have a very unusual and beautiful slave.  Have you had him for long?"

I heard an infinitesimal tremor in the deep, rich voice of my master's guest.  I had made an impression.  I was pretty sure my master would be preening, proud as a peacock that his possession had found favor with Maresaid.

"I've had him for some years now.  He was a gift from the grand vizier Mustapha Pasha for a favor I was able to perform for him.  He is a prized possession, skilled and obedient."

"Skilled?"  The visitor's voice was low, almost soft, yet it resonated with power and subtle menace.  I shivered with something like fear. This man was dangerous; I hoped my master had not taken on more than he could deal with.

"Yes, he is my personal pleasure slave.  He was quite skilled when he came to me, but I have trained him myself to a much higher standard of excellence."

"Indeed.  He is a truly favored slave to have received your personal instruction."  Maresaid sounded amused, almost mocking, though I wasn't sure whether it was my master,  me or my skills that were being mocked.

I could almost feel my master bridle at the implied criticism.  He was going to have me show off my abilities, that was for certain.  It seemed to me that he was being manipulated into this.  His guest wanted me, it was becoming obvious.  You get very good at reading the signs when you are in my position. Maresaid was craftily intent on getting my master to offer me without having to ask.  It was neatly done.

"Perhaps you would care for a small demonstration?"  Yes, my master had taken the bait; it was going to be a busy night.  So what was new? Apart from his obligatory connubial visits to the official wives, I was in his bed every night.

"I would be honored, but if he is your personal slave, I would not want to encroach."  Maresaid was playing my master like the expert manipulator he was famed to be.

"No, no, it is I who would be honored if you would consent to have my slave show you some of his skills." My master's voice sounded eager.  I could not believe he was simply going to hand me over, it was unheard of.  However, I could sense his trepidation as my master added, "But perhaps you would not mind my presence at this demonstration, just to make certain he performs as he should."  He meant so he could watch.  My master loved to see me go through my paces.

"Of course, I would not have it any other way.  He is your personal pleasure slave and I would not want to do anything that might not please you."  Maresaid knew my master wanted to watch, I could hear it in the mocking undercurrent in his honeyed voice.

"Then let us retire shortly to my private quarters if you please.  We shall be more comfortable there."  The exalted guest must have nodded his assent for my master continued, "Bayazaid, go prepare yourself and await our pleasure in my chambers."

"Yes Master."  I prostrated myself once more and with bowed head I retreated from their presence.  I had yet to see what Maresaid looked like.  That's one of the problems of never being able to look at one's master or his visitors in the face.  I could only judge by the voice and a glimpse of a black-clad presence.  If Maresaid looked anything like his voice sounded, he would be a powerful, sinister figure.

I hurried to my master's quarters and stripped off the pants, then, after the eunuchs had given me an enema, I oiled my anus with vanilla flavored almond oil.  I did not know for certain what would be required of me, but it was best to be prepared for any eventuality, and my master liked to rim me on occasion, and he loved the taste of vanilla.  The rest of my body was already oiled but I massaged some of the vanilla oil onto my cock until it was fully erect, then knelt, knees apart, to reveal my erection and gold speckled scrotum.  Thus I waited for my master's arrival.

I didn't have long to wait; I had scarcely arranged myself when I heard the doors to the bedchamber being opened.  I thought I heard another indrawn breath from my master's guest, but I wasn't certain.  I felt satisfied my efforts had had an effect though.

"Excellent Bayazaid.  You are ready to perform any command you receive from me or Lord Maresaid?"  He wanted to know whether I was clean inside and out.  Don't know why he bothered asking, I knew  what was required of me.  I suppose he wanted to prove how well trained I was.

"Yes my Master, you have but to command me."

"Well, Lord Maresaid, what would you like my slave to do?"

The black figure approached me and I glimpsed long legs encased in black silken pants.  He was wearing the embroidered slippers everyone wore indoors, but judging by his ankles, his skin was golden hued.

"May I touch him?"  Up close, Maresaid's voice was even darker and richer, like very sweet black coffee.

"Of course, he is here to please you."

A shapely hand with perfect almond-shaped nails came within my field of vision then veered to my right ear and began gently playing with my hair.  Then, his long fingers ghosted over my throat, and up to my chin.  The thumb settled over the cleft and he lifted my face to look at him.

I stared into unfathomable eyes, black as a moonless night.  They glittered at me with a strange expression, half sneer, half amusement, as if he expected me to know him.  Of course, I had never seen him in my life.  He had a beautiful, sensuous face, and cruel.  He reminded me of a black wolf.

He looked fixedly at me for a long moment, then frowned when he saw only obedience and submissive expectation in my face.  He let me go abruptly and stepped back as if in sudden doubt.  "Perhaps we should let him show me what he can do."

I looked at my master for directions.  I knew how important this man's approval was to him, so I didn't want to do anything that might displease the dark lord.  My master understood my unspoken request for instructions.

"Bayazaid, why don't you help the Lord Maresaid get more comfortable. My Lord, perhaps you would like to rest on the bed?"

Now I knew how to proceed.  I waited for Maresaid to sit on the edge of the sleeping couch and getting to my feet, I approached him then knelt once more between his parted legs.  Very gently, I began to undo his belt, then loosened the cuffs of his robe and eased it over his head.  I traced the tendons and ridged muscles of his long neck  with my fingertips,  gliding across his broad shoulders, down rock-hard pectoral muscles, and delicately drew circles around his nipples.  Then, I leaned up and traced the same path with my lips, lightly brushing them over silken skin, then gently licking the same spot and softly breathing over it, feeling the muscles jerk and tremble under my mouth.

When I took a nipple very gently between my teeth, he hissed and flung his head back, while his hands shot out and pressed my mouth to his chest.  I understood his desire and bit and sucked his nipple until it was a fiery red, then moved to the other one, giving it the same treatment while my fingertips worried at the wet, throbbing nub I had just been feeding on.

Before it became painful instead of pleasurable, I moved down Maresaid's chest, fingers light as thistledown, tracing patterns over sensitized flesh which I would gently  bite, then wet with my tongue.  The mixture of gentle licks and stinging nips soon had him breathing hard and fast, a rumbling purr deep in his chest vibrating on my roving lips.  As I approached his navel, I gently eased open his pants releasing a thick, glistening cock, hard and hot; I could feel the heat coming from it in waves.  The rich, musky scent was intoxicating.  I was becoming so aroused, I was having problems keeping my concentration on the job.

 Before reaching his erection, I worked my way back to his neck with wet, sucking kisses, then nuzzled behind Maresaid's left ear while gently encouraging him to sit further back on the bed.  He fell back on his elbows but watched me with smoldering eyes as I removed his trousers.

 I licked and nibbled a path from his feet up to his thighs, and parting them a little more, I fed on the soft, soft skin between his legs.  He smelled delicious, sweet, spicy, all male.  I loved it.

When I took his moss-soft testes in my mouth, his breath hitched and stuttered, I thought for a moment he would come.  Somehow he held on, though his breathing was becoming labored.  After teasing his hardening testicles with a wicked tongue, I nibbled his cock from the base to the copiously weeping head and back again. Then, without warning, I swallowed him to the roots.  With a shout, he came so hard his whole body jerked violently under my hands.  I swallowed his come, at the same time massaging his cock with my throat muscles, and he bucked and came again no less violently.

Finally, Maresaid slumped back on the bed while I sucked his still hard flesh.  It must have been very sensitive for he twitched with every sweep of my tongue on its throbbing tip.  But he didn't stop me, so I carried on, slowly releasing it, blowing cool air over the tip, then licking the velvety flesh with delicate swipes that had him moaning in tandem with every lapping stroke.

He seemed ready for whatever I did to him, so I eased my hands beneath his buttocks, and nudged his thighs till he parted them further.  I slid my tongue down the underside of his cock, past the testes and into the sweat-damp cleft until I touched the puckered rosette of his ass.  He cried again, and I felt the muscles under my hands tensing then relaxing, his clenched pucker fluttering open for my seeking tongue.  I fucked him for a few minutes, then eased a finger inside and stroked his tight channel with it as continued to tongue him.  He was moving his hips in rhythm, and growling deep in his throat.  I was breathing hard myself.  He was so beautiful and so passion racked, that I just wanted to plunge my hungry cock inside him and fuck him forever.

Instead, I worked a second finger in and took his cock back into my mouth at the same time as my fingertips found the bump inside him.  I rubbed it ruthlessly and sucked him hard and fast at the same time.

"Fuck!  Shit! Aaagh!"  Maresaid went wild under me, thrashing  and writhing in ecstatic agony, spurting into my mouth again and again.  It was at this point that I lost it, and came as well.

I wasn't the only one affected: I felt my master pushing me up until my ass was in the air and then he plunged into me, thrusting madly for a few seconds, then shooting deep inside me with a keening moan.

As my master slumped over my back, I took the opportunity to study my Lord Maresaid's magnificent body.  He was perfect, with flawless silky skin now gleaming with sex induced sweat.  I could not resist tasting it, it smelled so good.  He was very much like me in build, heavily muscled but generously endowed with black curly hair.  I had been without any body hair for so long that I had forgotten what mine looked like.  Not as dark, that's for certain.  He had a beautiful neck, and his beard framed the most sensuous mouth I had ever seen in a man.  I would have loved to kiss him, but that wasn't allowed.

I gazed upwards at his prominent cheekbones and found myself caught in his scorching gaze.  His coal-black eyes acknowledged my skills and promised retaliation.  I quickly looked down and stared at his chest, my cock once again rock-hard with expectation.  I had not desired anyone so much for a very long time. I really wanted him to fuck me, but I doubted my master would allow it.

Finally, my master straightened and moved back from me.  This gave me the chance to retreat from the tempting body spread out before me.  I sat back on my haunches and waited for what would come next.  I knew it wasn't over yet.

"Well, my Lord, what do you think of my slave?" My master asked expectantly.

I listened to the sounds of silk sliding over flesh as Maresaid sat up, his movements sending a heady wave of musk and sweet semen scented air into my lungs.  I licked my lips hoping to taste him still.

"He is indeed as skilled as you had promised." Husky with pleasure, his deep voice was a little raspy now, not surprising after all the shouting.  It gave me great satisfaction to know I was responsible for it .

My master radiated gratification from every pore.  He had proven his claim, and if he had been wiser and less insecure, he would have left it at that.  But he couldn't resist showing me off.  "Would you like to see him do something else?"

"You are indeed generous.  I would be pleased to see further proof of his skills.  Perhaps he could show us how good he is at fucking, and then be taken in turn?"  Maresaid wanted to do it himself, I could tell.  And I wanted him to.

"We can have him take on one of the other pleasure slaves.  He performs well with Salima, a very responsive female.  As for the rest, I never allow anyone but myself to take him."  I knew it; not even for the great Lord Maresaid would he break that rule.  Pity.

Maresaid's reply was smooth and agreeable, I would not have expected anything else from him.  "Of course, you are absolutely right to reserve that privilege for yourself, specially with such a magnificent specimen as this."

My master preened again, greatly relieved that Maresaid had not insisted on it.  I think it was at this point that my fate was sealed.

While we waited for Salima's arrival, one of the slaves  discreetly cleaned the come leaking from my ass.   Then I arranged myself at the bottom of the sleeping couch as instructed, binding my long hair away from my face.  Maresaid entertained himself by idly caressing my nipples, my back, gently pumping my erection, tickling my balls and generally teasing me until I was panting with arousal, my skin shining with more than oil.

I heard Salima arrive with relief, for Maresaid's attention were  all too enjoyable.  She was a plump, sensuous female, pretty and eager to please.  I always enjoyed working with her for she was very responsive and could orgasm often, which pleased my master.  I guess his wives were not so easy to satisfy.

She was wearing a long shift of the same material as my pants, so she was as good as naked, her gold-painted nipples poking perkily through the sheer fabric.  She was also entirely hairless so the pubis and vulva were clearly visible, glistening with her juices.  She had obviously been stimulating herself, for our master liked to see us aroused.

After prostrating herself, she glided gracefully towards the bed, and removing her shift, she climbed up and got down on all fours, facing me.  She opened her bright red lips and sucked on the tip of my cock for a while, then released it and started licking it with cat-like lapping swipes.

Meanwhile, my master slid two fingers in her cunt stroking into her, and she started working herself on them, moaning faintly.  He knew Salima loved that.  As I had said, she was very responsive.

Then, my master removed his fingers and brought them to her mouth; she sucked them in the same way as she had sucked my cock.  Sometimes I was the one who licked them clean-- whatever took our master's fancy.

We knew the routine and myriad variations by heart, so unless told otherwise, we then went on to the next stage.  She lay down on her back, legs opened wide, feet flat on the bed, and tilted her hips up so I could have easy access to her engorged vulva and cunt.  The folds around her opening had been painted red as her lips, and they shone glossy and wet.

I leaned down, my hair bound in a braid so my master could get a full view as I licked and sucked Salima to orgasm.  I would do this several times until her body gleamed with sweat, which my master liked to lick off, specially between her breasts, and her juices would run into my mouth and down my chin.

During all this, Maresaid had stood to my left, playing with my hole while Salima had been sucking me, and later with my cock so that I had to really concentrate on my task and not get lost in his caresses.  He was taking his revenge for my making  him lose control earlier on.  He wanted me to either come too soon or forget what I was supposed to do. Fortunately, my earlier lapse in coming without my master's  consent had taken the edge off, so I hung on to my control somehow.

The next step in the performance required that Salima get up on all fours again, but facing away from me.  My master liked me to take her from behind in the same fashion as a stallion takes the mare, so he could see my cock sliding in and out between the  bright red, dripping labia.  He loved to watch every detail, making me go very slowly, enjoying the smell, the juicy slide of wet, oiled flesh as I filled her then pulled out to the tip, again and again, while he played with her swaying breasts or rubbed her clit.  She would spasm around my cock every so often as another orgasm hit her.

That night, it was very difficult to keep the slow pace my master demanded, for Maresaid had three fingers inside me, fucking me fast and furiously while he fisted his cock just as fiercely, the tip bumping into my hip every time I pulled out of Salima.  My master saw what was happening, and Allah be praised, became so aroused that he stuck his semi-erect cock (two full erections in one night were out of the question for him) into Salima's mouth and kept rhythm with Maresaid--which meant I could do the same.

We raced towards orgasm pumping furiously, all of us groaning louder and louder as we neared completion.  Amazingly, we all climaxed at the same time, Maresaid's hot come splattering me from chest to thigh, while I emptied myself into Salima's spasming cunt.  My master got his second orgasm of the night for I could hear his keening moan above Salima's shrieks. Maresaid had clamped down on my shoulders so only I heard his growling moan.  It had certainly been quite a show.

My master was exultant and exhausted by unexpected successes, so he didn't notice Maresaid rubbing his come into my skin, while he murmured into my ear, " You 're mine; I'm marking you with my scent so you don't forget.  I will have you soon, Bayazaid."  I knew then that I would have a new master before long.

The very next morning, my life changed forever.  I know Maresaid paid a huge amount of gold, but I never learnt the details of what else he gave for me.  I doubt it benefited my master in the long run, for  Maresaid was good at making concessions that came back to bite the recipient, and he had not liked my master.  I came to believe my Lord resented his ownership of me.  Of course, I could be wrong, but Maresaid is extremely territorial where I'm concerned.

As a result, before noon that day, I was in his litter on the way to my new home.  I had thought that he would send his slaves to fetch me, but when I stepped up to the litter and parted the curtains, Maresaid was sitting there waiting for me, his expression at its most feral and menacing, the blazing hunger in his eyes foretelling my immediate fate.

Part 2

I knelt by his side in the covered litter, gaze respectfully lowered, and tried to slow down my breathing--but to no avail.  The heat and lust radiating from the man sitting next to me were breaking down my controls; besides, I wanted him just as much as he seemed to want me. Mercifully, we didn't have far to go: his compound in the city was a scant fifteen minutes from my previous master's.

The litter stopped in the inner courtyard right by an open doorway. Maresaid jumped out and hurried into the building, not even bothering to look back to see whether I was following.  I was right behind him, my cock pointing the way.  Slaves ran before us opening doors, so that we made our way without pause into his personal quarters.

The minute we were through the door, he whirled round, grabbed me by an arm and flung me against the nearest wall.  He didn't even spare a glance for the trembling slaves by the door but growled, "Leave us." Then he tore my pants off.

I had known this would happen.  The moment the chief eunuch had called me to his office and informed me I had a new master, I knew what was coming.  He showed surprise when I didn't ask who my new owner was.  Who else could it be but Maresaid?  All I was interested in was how long I would have in which to prepare myself.   I had just time enough to clean and oil myself inside, taking care to do it thoroughly as it was all the preparation I was likely to get.

I was right.  His hot hands parted my ass cheeks and then he plunged his desperate cock in to its root.  He hardly paused before pounding into me fast and hard, crushing me into the wall.  He came almost immediately, then carried on until he came a second time.  He was holding my engorged cock in an iron fist, not allowing me to come; I was sobbing with frustration and pleasure as he hammered my hot spot over and over.  He came a third time, then almost pulled out, allowing the semen to gush out of my flooded channel, hot and richly scented, and I moaned as I felt it run down my inner thighs.

Finally, he eased up and began to stroke into me slowly, his cock slithering wetly in and out, while his gentled fist pumped me at the same speed.  I leaned back on my forearms, giving him room to pleasure me.  We were both huffing like mating bulls, our lungs desperate for air but with no thought of stopping.  Suddenly, he groaned in my ear, bit hard on my shoulder and came a final time.  I shouted and erupted, spurting semen all over the wall, my guts clenched like a fist with the force of my orgasm.  My vision whitened and I think I blacked out for a few heartbeats.  It was incredible.

We slumped forward still joined by his shrinking shaft, the wall being the only thing holding us up.  He rubbed his face against my hair while we tried to suck in air into our starved lungs.  My muscles jerked and shivered in reaction and he wasn't much better.  I could feel his thundering heart reverberating through my spine in perfect counterpoint to mine.

Eventually, he withdrew and half-led, half-carried me to the bed where we both collapsed in a boneless heap.  Even then, he would not release me, but pulled me into his arms so that my face was hidden in the crook of his neck.  His clothes had disappeared somehow, so our sweaty flesh stuck together wherever we touched.  He smelled so good that I was soon nuzzling and licking the sweat pooling at his throat, while he snickered at my insatiability.  I didn't care, I had what I wanted, and so did he.

Eventually, he took my face in his left hand and made me look at him. His black eyes gazed at me with a look I could not interpret: watchful and expectant, as if he were waiting for me to say something important. Danger lurked in their depths, ready to pounce at the first sign of...rebellion?  Not a chance; I was happy to be there, happy to belong to him.

Not knowing what was expected of me, I turned my head and kissed his hand; it smelled of me.  He hissed in surprise and wrenched my face back, his scorching gaze demanding answers to questions I didn't know. After a long moment he frowned in puzzlement, and I would swear, in uncertainty.

"Tell me about yourself."  He commanded.

"I am your slave, to serve you in every way I can."

" No, tell me about yourself before you became a slave."

Now I knew what he wanted, but I couldn't answer him.  "I do not know, I have no memories before then."

"Oh?"  He murmured skeptically.  So I told him how I came to be a slave, how my life was a mystery before then.

He frowned thoughtfully at my explanation, his skepticism fading as he heard my story.  Then he placed a hand on my head and seemed to look inwards, as if he were seeing inside me.

"You suffered severe head trauma, and most of your memory centers were destroyed.  The regenerating brain matter would have held none of your old memories.  That's why you don't remember anything prior to the injury."  Well, it sounded like and explanation, not that it made much sense to me.

He looked at me speculatively. "Wouldn't you like to know who you were before?"

My answer was unequivocal.  "No, my Lord, it would serve no purpose.  I know who I am now, and am content.  Knowing who I was before would only disturb me.  Perhaps the person I was would not have liked what I've become."

He gave a bark of laughter at this. "You're so right; I'm sure he would have hated it."

"You say it as if you knew that person."

He looked at me enigmatically, his eyes dark with secrets. "Do I? I think no one wants to become a slave, however valuable or treasured."

"Maybe I was always a slave."  I had thought about this in the beginning, when I was trying to find out who and what kind of person I'd been.

"No, I don't think you were a slave."  He seemed certain about that. More than I had been.

"Perhaps you're right.  It did not feel familiar, I would have known how to behave instinctively."

"You had problems adapting?"  He was interested in my answer.

"Not problems exactly,"  I replied hesitantly, " It was more a case of not knowing what was expected of me.  As if I were playing a role that was unfamiliar to me."

" That proves my point."  He gave me a hard stare.  "So, you're happy not to know."

"Yes, my lord.  Does it bother you?"  He laughed again, smirking at the thought.

 "I?  No, I'm happy with the way things are.  Very happy."  He gazed at me with gleaming eyes, amusement giving way to possessiveness.  "You belong to me now, to do with as I wish, and I will never let you go." For as long as he lived, I thought, and the prospect of his death filled me with an odd pain.

"How long have you been a slave?"

I stared at him, uncertain what to say.  I did not think it wise to lie to him, but how could I tell him the truth?

"A long time, my Lord."  I lowered my eyes, afraid to meet his searching look.

He forced me to look at him again. "How long?"  He repeated softly. I stared at him mutely, afraid to speak, afraid not to.  He noticed my fear, for he caressed my face to reassure me and said, "Don't be afraid, nothing you say will surprise me."

I swallowed nervously and answered, "Ninety-four years come the spring."

His eyebrows hitched in surprise.  "That long?  I had not realized.  No wonder you're so accepting, you must have become reconciled to it long ago."  I nodded in agreement. "You must have had many masters before me.  You're lucky none of them realized you're immortal."

"Yes, my Lord."  He did not seem at all surprised or shocked at the concept of immortality.  He was a strange and unusual man, as if I hadn't already realized it.

"Well, you will never have another master but me, I am immortal too,  so you'd better get used to me."

I stared in amazement.  No wonder he had not been surprised at my age. Praise Allah, I had found a master who could take care of me from now on.  I speculated on his age; was he much older than me?

"My lord, may I ask how old you are?"

He looked at me with his black eyes suddenly full of untold knowledge. "I'm much, much older than you.  In fact, I'm thousands of years old."

I gazed at him in awe, thousands of years!  My mind could not grasp it. What he must have seen and experienced! No wonder he seemed so all-knowing, all-seeing to the rest of the world.

"Will I live that long, too?"  The idea seemed unreal.

"Maybe you're already thousands of years old."  He looked at me with that searching stare.

"I don't remember it, so it doesn't count."

You're quite right, it doesn't, and yes, you will live for a long, long time.  Always at my side.  Does that bother you?"

Bother me?  I was ecstatic.  I turned my head and kissed his hand again.  "No, my lord, it fills me with joy."

His black eyes seemed to darken even more and he pulled me to him, clamping his sensuous mouth over mine in a searing kiss.  I opened my mouth wide and let him possess me, branding his ownership on my trembling lips.  By the Prophet's beard, this man could kiss.  I had indeed been blessed: an immortal master, an amazing lover, and he liked to kiss me too; none of my previous master had ever allowed it.

A new life began for me then, though some things stayed the same. Maresaid would not allow me to appear outside his rooms without covering my body, but wanted me always naked when I was alone with him.  I had spent most of my life that way, so it was no hardship.  I still had to keep myself oiled and hairless, ready for his pleasure.  But knowing how I hated the hair removal process, he did something that prevented it from ever growing again.

My Lord possesses some wondrous powers that he is careful to hide from others, but not from me.  I think he is some kind of sorcerer.

He demands absolute obedience, which I always give him, and he expects me to be at his disposal whenever he wants me.  I have no problems with that either.  He likes to fuck me at the most unexpected of times, but always makes sure that I enjoy it too.

It became one of my tasks to mediate between my Lord and the people who serve him,(and there are a great number of them for he is a wealthy and powerful man).  They brought their problems to me hoping I would intercede on their behalf with our dreaded master.  I could not ignore their plight for I was one of them, however privileged my position.  So I would plead their case to my Lord, and because he liked to indulge me, he would often grant what I requested.

"You have a tender heart, Bayazaid, always ready to fight for the underdog."  He would tell me, giving me one of those enigmatic looks that I never understood.  Sometimes my Lord is hard to read.

"They have no one else to plead for them my Lord.  Besides, I am just like them, a slave, how could I not try to help them?"

"Yes, it's not in you to think only of yourself.  It's part of your nature it seems.  Interesting."  As I say, my Lord is hard to understand at times.

 Sometimes, I would kneel at his side while he lounged back on an ottoman, and regale him with some of the more amusing incidents in the lives of his household.  He would idly listen while playing with my hair or softly caressing some part of my body.  He liked to get me aroused but would insist I carry on with my tale, often sprawled on his lap, my head laying on his shoulder while Maresaid would run his fingertips up and down my throbbing cock, then slip a finger in my eager hole, slowly fucking me as he bit and nibbled at my nipples, my lips, my neck, till I was trembling helplessly in his arms, panting and incoherent with desire.

He would patiently wait for me to struggle to the end of my tale, often interrupting with silly questions, all the time licking or nibbling some part of my body.  Then, oh then, he would take my leaking cock into his hot mouth and suck me into oblivion.  Afterwards, pleasure-ravaged, I would be pliant and relaxed as he bent my legs to my chest, opening me wide to his hungry gaze, and slid his hard flesh into my slick channel. He would fuck me for a long time, very slowly, watching his cock sliding in and out of my stretched opening.  Eventually he would speed up, plunging deeper and faster until he came.

 Half-way through, he sometimes turned me over and sat me on his lap, his cock deep inside me, my own jutting out into the air, hard and leaking again.  I would lean back on him turning my head so he had access to my mouth, and he would rub me inside with the tip of his cock, fisting me in tandem, devouring my mouth, so that I was filled with him at both ends, utterly his.

He would make me come first so my internal muscles would clamp on his cock, then he would pump wildly into me, biting the soft flesh between my neck and shoulder as he emptied himself and filled me with his come. Sometimes I would be allowed to stay like this, my head tucked between his shoulder and neck, and doze for a while, his cock still inside me. I liked those times the best.

On very rare occasions, he would allow me to fuck him, though it was more often a case of his riding my cock as I lay underneath him.  But it was after some of his more violent outbursts of anger that he would allow me to take him.

Very rarely, one of his most important plots or plans met with a setback, and he would erupt in fury, destroying everything in his path. Blazing with rage, he would storm through the rooms of the palace, smashing furniture and statues, ripping tapestries from the walls. Everyone would flee in terror, for he would attack and seriously injure any one who got in his way.  I would follow in his wake, waiting for the storm to abate.  He never hit me, though he would sometimes order me to leave, obviously not trusting himself at those times.  Usually, I would go down  to the stables and visit my beloved Albayad.

He was white in color as in name, a beautiful stallion my Lord had given to me so I could ride by his side when he went hunting, or ventured out on some journey.

He was my pride and joy, second only in my heart to my Lord, for he belonged to me, the only thing I had ever owned; slaves were not allowed any possessions.  Even the clothes and jewels I had worn belonged to my masters.  But Albayad was all mine;  my lord had told me so, and he never lied to me.  I would pet Albayad and croon into his sensitive ear, while my Lord raged somewhere in the palace.  The tinkle and crash of breaking glass and china could be heard in the distance and Albayad and I would twitch nervously, seeking comfort in each other.  Our Lord was fearsome at these times.

Eventually, I would go back to his rooms, knowing he would want me once he had calmed down somewhat.  He would come into the bedchamber where I awaited, dark and brooding, menacing in his silence.  I would prostrate myself at his feet, utterly submissive, and this, more than anything, seemed to calm him down for some reason.

He would be gentle, lifting my head to his groin so I could suck him, holding my face between his hands and gently caressing me as he worked his cock in and out of my mouth.  He would never come then, but would lead me to the bed, lay me face down, knees tucked in, and fuck me slowly, going in as deep as he could and drawing out until only the head would remained inside me, then sliding in again, over and over until he came, never stopping  until he had climaxed three or four more times. Finally, he would sprawl on his side and allow me to take him.

I loved to prepare him, for he would lie quietly, almost passive, letting me pet him, sliding my fingers into his tight channel and slowly opening him so he would feel only pleasure when I entered him.  By then, he would be erect once more and I would lie behind him, stroking into him, murmuring endearments in his ear as my hands brought him to completion.  It was at these times that I would whisper his name, "My Lord Ares, come for me now,"  and he would convulse crying, "Herc, gods, Herc."

He had revealed to me that once, long ago, his name had been Ares.  Not an Arabic name, but Greek.  It seems he originally came from that part of the world, long before it had become a province of the Ottoman empire.

The first time he called me Herc, I wondered what it meant.  He would use odd words from other languages, some of which, he said, were not spoken any longer, but had been lost in the mist of time.  But when I asked about it, he told me it was a shortened version of the name Hercules, another Greek or Roman name, I don't recall which.

"He must have meant a lot to you for you to remember him still."  I was jealous of this unknown man that had stayed in my Lord's memories for so long.

He laughed sharply. "He certainly played a significant role in parts of my life."

"But you still miss him?"  I asked doubtfully.

"Miss him!  No!  Why should I?"  He looked at me, his eyes warm and amused.  "I have you, don't I?"

"Yes my Lord."  He had me now and that man must have died a long time ago, so there was nothing for me to fear.  Eventually, I came to regard it as an endearment, for my Lord would only call me Herc when in the throes of an orgasm, and only if I had called him Ares.  The two names were somehow linked in his mind, that was all.

I just had the slaves take the remains of our meal away.  In the end, I had to fetch something from the kitchens and feed him personally, or my Lord would have forgotten to eat.  He likes me to feed him, eating directly from my hand; he says it adds flavor to the food.  I like it too for he will lick my fingers, playfully nibbling and tickling them with his lips, making me giggle. I love it when he lets me do things for him.

I am planning to seduce my Lord tonight.  He has been at work for two days now on some big plan involving the Sultan's grand vizier, one of his favorite puppets. I have heard rumors that the Sultan is planning a campaign of conquest north of the Danube, or perhaps in Anatolia, I don't know.  Suleiman is always waging a war somewhere.  I know my Lord is deeply involved in some way, but it does not affect our lives here so it is not my concern.

While he went back to his work after our meal, I prepared myself for my own little campaign.  He hasn't taken me in the last two days, and I need him.  So I have rubbed my body with a subtly scented oil that contains rosemary, lavender and sage, and as my flesh heats up with arousal, the mingled scents are released.  I know he likes to smell them on me, I think it reminds him of his ancient homeland.

I have lubricated my hole and cock with neroli and cinnamon flavored oil, in case he wants to taste me; I have rubbed a little on my nipples too, for I'm hoping he will feast on me tonight and I want to taste good for him.  Finally, I have washed and brushed my hair until it shines, and sprinkled a little gold dust all over it for good measure.  It hangs to my waist, swaying with every move I make.  He sometimes wraps it round his cock and brings himself off with it.

Now I'm kneeling by the fountain, slowly teasing myself into arousal, sighing gently.  I have my favorite dildo ready at hand, it's an exact copy of his cock.  He gave it to me when I complained how I missed his on those rare occasions he traveled without me.  It doesn't often happen for he hates to leave me behind.  My Lord wants me by his side all the time, as it should be.

I lightly brush my fingertips over my lips, my throat, down to my nipples.  I delicately scratch them into pebbled hardness with a gold-tipped fingernail, then pinch them into red peaks.  I'm beginning to pant softly, moaning as the pleasure travels down to my twitching cock.  I let my fingers trail along my smooth, oiled chest and stomach, down to the soft, bare flesh around my hardening shaft.  I fondle the velvety skin enclosing my balls, squeezing and releasing them in tandem with the strokes I'm giving my cock, now fully erect, flinging back my head and groaning deep in my throat with the pleasure that ripples through my nerves.

I hear his indrawn breath hissing through clenched teeth.  He is watching me.  I continue stroking my shaft with a fisted hand; it's now slick and slippery with pre-come, while I slide my other hand over the flesh of my hip and buttocks, dipping my fingers into the cleft and teasing the puckered entrance to my body.  Then, I ease a finger tip past the tight rings of muscles and slowly fuck myself with one, then two fingers.  My hips are swaying gently forward, driving my cock into my fist, then back so my fingers sink further into my hole.  I'm now panting hard, my body shaken by fine tremors that ripple over trembling muscles, and a fine sheen of perspiration covers my entire frame.

I reluctantly pull my fingers out and pick up the dildo.  I slowly suck it, wetting it with saliva, teasing the head with my tongue, pretending it's his cock.  I hear a growl coming from him.  Yes, I nearly have him now.

I slowly drive the glistening shaft inside me with easy strokes, working my erection at the same speed so that I'm undulating between my hand and my toy.  Ah, his control has snapped.  I can hear him coming towards me, shedding his robe on the way, breathing harshly with arousal.  I wonder if he will wait until I come, then plunge into my body while I'm still shaking with pleasure.  No, he stands before me with legs apart and pushes his cock into my mouth.  I suck and taste him, wetting his length with my saliva, teasing the head with tongue and careful teeth.  He grabs my head and thrusts deep into my throat, groaning hard as he shoots into me.  He pulls out, still rock hard, falling to his knees in front of me.

 His eyes are molten pools of arousal, and my flesh burns as his scorching gaze rakes over my engorged cock and the pebbled nipples, which he gently scratches with his nails then pinches hard, wringing a sharp cry of mingled pain and pleasure from me.  He bends his dark head and soothes them with a hot tongue, then nibbles the throbbing nubs until I'm whimpering and writhing in enraptured agony.  He releases the tortured flesh and bites and sucks his way to my throat which he ravages with a merciless mouth, at the same time lacing his fingers with mine around my achingly engorged shaft.  I'm sobbing helplessly, frenziedly thrusting into our joined hands, rushing madly towards a shattering orgasm.  When he suddenly sinks sharp teeth into the tender flesh on the side of my neck, I shatter into a thousand pieces as ecstasy smashes into me.

His mouth fastens over mine, swallowing my strangled screams of anguish as exquisite agony rampages through my body.  I sway drunkenly, held upright by his devouring mouth and the hand that is still clamped on my painfully tender cock.

He reluctantly  releases my mouth, biting swollen and tender lips, then wraps an arm round my waist supporting me against him while he brings his other hand up for me to lick clean.  I lean my head on his shoulder, too heavy for my neck to hold upright, and delicately lap my semen off his fingers.  He watches transfixed as I suckle on each digit in turn, then he swoops down and ravages my mouth again, sucking on my tongue then thrusting his in my mouth, to suck in turn.

Then he grasps my shoulder and turns me around pushing me forward so that I collapse on my elbows, holding my buttocks high, the dildo still buried in my ass.  He eases out the impostor and replaces it with the real one.  He will stay inside me now for the rest of the evening, losing himself in my body.

He likes to have me impaled on his cock while he fondles and plays with my body for hours, periodically bringing us to orgasm until he is mellow and at peace and I am a boneless puddle of satiation.  He often has to carry me to bed for I am so weak and exhausted that I cannot even stand.  But I'm happy that I am able to bring some measure of peace to his volcanic and turbulent nature, for I live to serve him.  This is now my life; this is who I am: his, body, heart and soul.  I wouldn't want it any other way.

The End