The handsome blond boy struggled up onto the beach east of the town of Limassol, on the southern Cypriot coast. He turned and looked out into the bay, the waters calmer now than when the squall had passed through, tossing the vessel he’d been in onto the rocks. He had managed to reach his white stallion on the ship and free the beast, and, together, they had struggled to the shore.
Others were coming out of the surf as well, sputtering water and looking about them, wild eyed and confused. Some came over to the fourteen-year-old boy to ensure that he was well. He told them that he was, but as he heard the thundering of horse’s hooves, they all looked around in panic to see that a mounted group of warriors in Turkish armor was bearing down on them, scimitars flashing above their heads. The Turks were the allies of the Saracens the boy and his shipmates had just escaped on the Syrian coast.
The boy pulled himself up on the back of his horse and rode in the other direction. Leaving his men to cut down those coming up on the beach from the shipwreck, the leader of the Turks took out after the boy.
It was a merry chase, and normally the white stallion could have outrun the Turk’s mount, but both the stallion and the boy had exhausted themselves coming onto the beach. The Turk managed to ride up beside the boy and push him off onto the ground, where the boy had the breath knocked out of him. Jumping off his horse, the Turk, a large, fierce-looking warrior landed on top of the boy, pinning him to the ground. His scimitar flashed over the boy’s head and the boy closed his eyes, anticipating the worst. The Saracens and their allies were merciless to Crusaders.
That was not the worst that came however. He felt the Turk tying his wrists together with the belt of his robe and forcing the boy’s arms over his head. Placing the blade of the sword under the boy’s throat, the Turk reached down and bunched the boy’s tunic up around his waist, unbound the lad’s loin cloth, and rendered the boy’s perfectly formed lower body naked.
The boy gasped and made a motion to resist, being rewarded only with a couple of subduing backhands across his face and a nick of blood under his chin from the scimitar. The Turk roughly parted the boy’s legs, pushed a large hand under his pert little balls, and penetrated his anal opening with a thick finger. The boy cried out the indignation of the invasion. But the thickness of the finger caused him to spread and bend his legs, feet flat on the ground, positioning himself to better take the penetration. He was moaning and trying not to go hard from the pad of the finger working his prostate, but unable to resist his urges, he moved into rolling his hips against the invading finger, leveraging off his feet and going with the thrusts and withdrawals of the thick finger. He arched his back and became lost in the taking.
The boy lay there, involuntarily responding, moaning and groaning as the Turk fucked his passage with his finger. After a few minutes of this, the hand was withdrawn, but only to then encase the boy’s cock, engorge him fully, and beat him off to an ejaculation. Exhausted, the boy collapsed back onto the ground and just lay there and moaned. He put up a weak resistance when the Turk straddled him with his knees, gripped the blond curls at the back of the boy’s head, and pulled the lad’s head forward.
Forcing a thick and long, hard cock between the boy’s lips, the Turk made the boy suck him. When the warrior’s shaft was hard and throbbing, he untied the boy’s wrists, flipped him over on his belly, bound the boy’s thighs together with the rope, pulled his robe over his head, unbound his loincloth, and mounted the boy’s hips. The boy was sure that he would take the cock in his passage now, but he didn’t. The Turk forced his shaft between the boy’s bound thighs, high up, so that it slid under the boy’s balls. He dry fucked the boy there to an ejaculation, but he didn’t penetrate the boy’s anus. Once again the sensuality of the action was so overwhelming to the boy that he found himself involuntarily pushing his hips up with leverage from his knees and rolling with the sliding of the cock between his thighs.
After the Turk had come, he rolled the boy over, lowered his mouth to the boy’s trembling lips and took him in a kiss that went from tentative to demanding and then backed up to passionate when, reaching down and stroking the boy’s cock again, the lad surrendered to the passion. The kiss awakened need and desire in the boy for this masterful Turk who was awakening his body to arousal and desire for a muscular sensuality of a forceful man.
After he’d brought the boy to climax again, the Turk rose, dressed, and brought back other ropes from his horse. The boy lay there, panting hard, thoroughly cowed and frightened for his life, but awed at his surrender to the man. The Turk was so overpowering in sexuality that the boy knew that he would give in to the warrior over and over again if that was what the man wanted--and he knew that the Turk had him in thrall now too.
The Turk bound the boy’s wrists again behind his back and his ankles, leaving the rope binding the boy’s thighs together in place. He pulled the boy’s tunic back down to his knees; hoisted the boy up on the horse, on his belly; grabbed the reins of the white stallion, which had remained nearby; and started riding back to the shipwreck beach to regain command of his warriors and to show off the treasure he had captured, subdued, and mastered.
Two Weeks earlier, below the Crusader fortress of the Horns of Hattin, on the plains of Palestine:
Most of the mounted escort riders gathered around their leader were watching the small band of infidels, led by Guillaume de Chauvigny, as they rode out of the gate of the stronghold of Belvoir and moved to meet the forces of the Saracens and their allies on the hilltop overlooking the small lake below the Horns of Hattin. The Saracen chieftain, Ahmed ibn Malik, almost the peer of the great Saladin, sat majestically and comfortably astride his white stallion--a stallion of manhood in his own right.
Chauvigny’s small force in the saddle of the Horns of Hattin was the last holdout, save Guy de Lusignan’s hold on Jerusalem, of those from the north in the latest of a series of failed crusades. The Belvoir stronghold, sitting high on the Heights of the Horns, was proving very costly to dislodge. But Chauvigny had seen the futility of the Crusade, and this parley was to strike an agreement for the infidels to leave in exchange for safe passage to the Mediterranean coast.
The commander of the Seljuk Turk allies to the Saracens, Yusuf bin Salah’s, attention went to what Ahmed ibn Malik was looking at in the approaching party. The Saracen chieftain’s eyes were going to a single rider--and not to the infidel’s commander, Guillaume de Chauvigny, riding in front of his contingent. Malik’s gaze was concentrated to near the back of the group of riders, to a boy, riding helmetless, his mane of reddish gold curls ruffling in the wind.
Three of Guillaume de Chauvigny’s sons were in Belvoir with him. Two of the sons were grown men. The oldest, his heir, also was named Guillaume. The second eldest, a Jesuit priest, who made Yusuf, seeing the infidel church as the source of all their troubles, grip the hilt of his sword hard in bitterness, was named Marc. The youngest, fourteen years old, not yet a man but on the cusp of training to the sword, was the one with the reddish-gold mane. Small and slim of body, the youngest son, Andre, sat astride a white horse that he handled well but that seemed to make him smaller and more delicate that he actually was.
Yusuf wasn’t surprised that Ahmed had his eyes on the boy. The sight of him made Yusuf’s blood boil as well. Yusuf knew specifically why Ahmed was interested, as did the chieftain’s retinue that more than once had delivered a blond boy to Ahmed for him to debauch and then decapitate. As the infidels approached, Ahmed was drawing the attention of those near him, pointing out the boy, and declaring what he would like to do with him--what he intended to do with him if and when he could lay his hands on the boy.
“That is one to spit and twirl on my spear as his sire watches helplessly and then to serve the golden-haired head to Chauvigny on a banquet platter,” he growled. All around him laughed heartily at the image, knowing what form of weapon the chieftain was referring to as “my spear.”
Ahmed’s tastes in dipping his staff were well known in his contingent and were fed by the youngest and blondest of those captured in battle, soldiers or conquered villagers alike, holding off from putting them to the sword in the field in deference to Ahmed putting them to two swords in his tent--first the legendary sword between his legs and then his sword of steel as he lopped off their heads. Both acts were said to make Ahmed hard and to spout his seed.
The two of them, Ahmed and Yusuf, had conducted a reconnoiter of Belvoir’s defenses as the Saracen forces were first arriving in the area and before Chauvigny’s forces knew they were there. From this very hilltop they had observed a small group of infidel soldiers at the edge of the lake below, bathing themselves. Both had drawn in their breath when they had seen Andre de Chauvigny, naked, rising from and walking out of the lake. His perfectly formed blond body shimmered in the moonlight, and each of the men spying from the hilltop, as Ahmed ibn Malik surrounded himself with like-minded retainers, had reached for his staff and completed himself as they watched the young Chauvigny take his time drying off and redressing.
Ever since, as he was toying with a captive in his tent and in Yusuf’s presence, subduing them with his fist in their faces, bellies, and anal passages before putting them on the champion cock, the Saracen had been making comparisons with the body of the youngest Chauvigny son. He invariably found the captive inferior. Rendering him bruised and broken, Ahmed then had quickly dispatched the captive, separating his head from his body with one swift stroke of his Saracen blade, after torturing him with a fist to prepare his channel, fucking him, and shredding his passage with the cruel, vigorous, relentless thrusting of his monster cock.
“I would take more time with and pleasure from the beauty we saw rise from the lake below the Horns of Hattin,” he would declare to Yusuf when he had turned the sobbing captive over to Yusuf after using his first sword to also find relief in the hardness of his cock before Ahmed took the metal of his Saracen blade to the bound soldier’s neck.
As would I, Yusuf had thought, although he did not have the courage or foolhardiness to reveal that he was as much smitten with the charms of Andre de Chauvigny as Ahmed ibn Malik was.
The deal and logistics complete from the parley and Chauvigny’s men having turned and raced their horses back--temporarily--to the safety of the stronghold of Belvoir, Ahmed continued to bore his eyes into the slim back of the youngest son on the white horse.
“I must have him. I wish to hear his futile cries for mercy and to throb inside him, to be the first to stretch and split him--and then to give him the relief all infidels deserve. A thousand gold coins to the man who delivers Andre de Chauvigny, still a virgin of a man’s cock in his ass, to me.”
The declaration hadn’t gone unheard by the Seljuk Turk, Yusuf bin Salah. And Yusuf knew that the Saracen chief was deadly serious. If only I could enjoy his charms before he is wasted, Yusuf thought.
And he thought on the matter and thought and thought.
Three days later, when the forces of Guillaume de Chauvigny rode out of Belvoir and down from the Horns of Hattin toward the Syrian seacoast, Yusuf bin Salah was there, with his own contingent of hardened warrior Turks, ready to embark for the Turkish coast himself to his own stronghold in Antalya. He followed the Chauvignys all the way to the coast, never taking his eyes off the youngest son, Andre. He saw that Guillaume de Chauvigny was being smart when they reached the seaport of Tartus. He split his forces into four parts to take four different ships across the sea to the Lusignan lands on the island of Cyprus. And he placed himself in the lead ship and a son each in the other three ships. Ever mindful of family heritage and knowing that the Mediterranean was not a calm sea in this season, Guillaume was ensuring as best he could the safety of his linage. Losing one would not be losing all.
Guillaume de Chauvigny himself, of course, embarked on the sturdiest of the ships with the largest portion of his contingent and what was judged to be the most experienced captain. Progressively inferior vessels, soldier contingents, and crews went to the sons in descending order--first the heir, Guillaume, the second; then the priest, Stephen; and last, the “plus one” son, Andre.
Marking well which ship Andre had embarked on, Yusuf was delighted with the circumstances. It was far to the Cypriot coast for this day and age and the sail could not be negotiated without a period of darkness. It was a fearsome sail for infidels visiting from the north. It was mere trip to a festival for the seafaring Seljuk Turks, who knew these waters well.
And the sky was looking to form a storm of mighty proportions. Yusuf had often sailed the rocky coast of southern Cyprus. He wondered how much the captains of the ships Guillaume de Chauvigny had commissioned on the basis of the least costly the most desirable had done so and how hard they would resist a determined boarding party of hardened and blood-lust Turks--especially the ship of the youngest son.
Naked and cowering against the stone wall of the Antalya Castle dungeon, on the Turkish coast, his arms raised over his head and manacled and chained by the wrists to the cool, dripping-with-moisture rock wall, Andre de Chauvigny watched in fright and fascination as Yusuf bin Malik, also naked, towered over him, holding his huge, hard cock in his hand and waving it in front of the boy’s face.
Without further preparation, the tall, muscular, battle-scarred, hirsute--and cruelly handsome--warrior leaned forward, dug one hand into the reddish-blond curls at the back of the young prince’s head while gripping the young man’s throat with the other hand and forced the head of his cock between Andre’s lips.
“Treat it right, or I will have your head,” the Turkish giant growled, Having seen the glee with which the others on his shipwrecked vessel in Cyprus had been dispatched by Yusuf and his men, Andre had no reason not to believe him. With eyes watering, he took the cock into his throat. The boy gagged at first at the deep invasion of the thick staff, but, responding to the Turk’s barked commands and threats, Andre fell into a rhythm of giving the staff good suck as Yusuf fucked his face.
The phrase “a virgin to a man’s cock in his ass” kept running through Yusuf’s mind. That had been the requirement, and Ahmed had said he had doctors, with the powers of magic, who would be able to tell whether Andre still had a virginal ass when he was delivered. No other requirements for the condition of the boy’s sexual experience had been given--although it was a given that he must be delivered as beautiful and unblemished as he had been when he rose from the lake.
Yusuf couldn’t fuck him in the ass, but there were other opportunities. Before he released his seed, he pulled his cock out of the mouth of the sobbing and trembling boy and turned him onto his knees so that his arms were crossed over his head and his cheek was pressed to the cool stone of the wall. Approaching the young man low from behind, Yusuf’s flat belly pressed into the pert orbs of Andre’s buttocks, Yusuf pressed Andre’s thighs together close and commanded that Andre leave them pressed together, which he did.
After slapping his hard cock on Andre’s buttocks again and again and teasing the boy’s hole by running the underside of his staff up and down in the crack and repeatedly across the puckered rim--and being gratified to hear Andre’s low moan and his groans of “Yes, yes, please. Plow me”--Ahmad thrust his cock between Andre’s thighs, high, so that his bulb was thrusting against the base of Andre’s cock and into the boy’s ball sac.
Thus, by reaching around and milking Andre’s cock while he dry fucked him between the thighs rather than in the passage, both he and Andre achieved ejaculations but the boy’s ass passage had not been violated. Andre received release, so he didn’t beg for more.
Yusuf covered Andre close from behind and put his cheek next to Andre’s. When Andre turned his head, allowed Yusuf to take his mouth in a kiss, and responded hungrily to that kiss, surrendering to the sexual prowess of the Turkish giant, Yusuf knew the luscious young infidel was his. He only wished he could take him fully. He unlocked Andre’s chains, lifted him up in his arms, and carried him to his bed chamber several levels up from the dungeon.
Over the following weeks, while news of Andre’s capture and availability got back to the Saracen chief, Ahmed ibn Malik, in Damascus and before an anxious Ahmed arrived in Antalya, Turkey, to claim his prize, Yusuf held Andre a perpetual captive in his bed and took him in every sexual way he could think of short of thrusting his cock up the boy’s ass--although not being able to do so became a frustration to him.
It frustrated Andre too, who increasingly responded to the sexual ravishment of his body and took up the mantra of “Inside me. Put it inside me.” The inability to do so, of course, only added to Yusuf’s frustration.
But a thousand gold coins was a fortune, and being on the wrong side of Ahmed ibn Malik would be a disaster.
Yusuf found inventive ways for the two of them to achieve mutual ejaculations in each other’s arms. He turned to exotic uses of their penises. He also unexpectedly received quite a bit of cooperation from Andre.
The Turk worked his way into the exotic cock play exotic acts. He had left Andre in his bed and gone off to douse himself in wine in celebration of the successful kidnapping, having maneuvered the fleeing ship carrying Andre onto the rocks off the Cypriot shore with two of his vessels at the height of a storm. They had landed their ship safely farther up the coast, taken their horses off their ship, ridden back to the Limassol beach, and lustily put every man to the sword except for Andre, raping the more comely of them before Andre’s eyes before dispatching then and leaving him fully traumatized and compliant. Until or unless Yusuf or Ahmed wanted to inform the older Chauvigny otherwise and torture him with tales of the boy’s ordeal and sexual taking, Andre’s father would believe that he perished in the shipwreck, which, when the storm lifted, could be seen off the Limassol coast.
When Yusuf came back to his bed, he found Andre stretched out, masturbating himself. Yusuf stretched out beside him, watching. Andre didn’t stop. Yusuf turned on his back beside Andre and joined the boy in working his own cock. The boy was lost to him, his sexual slave now, the failure to fuck him in the ass only adding to Andre’s expression of need for Yusuf’s attentions.
Yusuf was no less the slave to the boy, though, and he increasingly regretted having sent the message to Ahmed ibn Malik that he had captured the prize and would deliver the boy to him.
Eventually, as the days progressed, the two moved from pulling themselves off to reaching over and finishing the other. After kisses and fondling and Yusuf regretfully demurring on fucking Andre in the ass, he gave the young man some sort of idea--minus Ahmed’s habit of decapitating his young blond men, many of whom considered that a mercy, after he fucked them and split their passages asunder--of what lay in store for Andre and why they couldn’t fully couple. Sensing that Andre’s interest was piqued rather than horrified by the possibility of being laid by the legendary Ahmed, Yusuf almost regretted not telling the young man all. But, in the end, given the opportunity, he would dispatch the infidel as well after debauching him and send his head to his father. Only such cruelty would keep the infidels from launching crusade after crusade.
“I did see him. He’s a magnificent man,” Andre murmured, “But you are younger and more muscular--and more handsome. I wish to be schooled by you.”
“And so you shall be, my little prince--just in ways you cannot now imagine but that will bring us both great pleasure.”
With that, he rolled over on top of Andre, pushed his cock between Andre’s closed thighs, and, while kissing and fondling the young infidel, pumped himself to completion, bathing the base of Andre’s cock and his ball sac with his cum while stroking off Andre’s shaft.
In the morning, Andre woke up on his back, with Yusuf straddling his pelvis and holding both of their cocks together in his hand. While he squeezed and rolled Andre’s balls with the other hand, Yusuf frotted their cocks--stroking them together with one hand until, first Andre, and then he had spouted seed.
Later Yusuf was crouched higher on Andre’s chest and feeding his cock into Andre’s mouth. In the weeks of waiting for the Saracen chief to arrive, Andre became proficient in sucking Yusuf’s cock and Yusuf frequently returned the favor. On this occasion, though, when Yusuf was trembling from the need to explode, he pulled his cock out of Andre’s mouth and thrust it under the young man’s arm pit, holding Andre’s arm close to his body, while Yusuf pumped the armpit to an ejaculation.
Ahmad proceeded to use every crevice and curve of the young man’s body other than the entrance into his anal canal to get his cock off, including rubbing his cock on the undercurve of the young man’s pectorals until he bathed Andre’s nipples in cum, and holding the soles of the blond’s feet together as he rubbed his shaft to completion between them. And, there being no requirement for the use of Andre’s cock, he even, on occasion, slid his own channel down on the Andre’s cock and rode it--although Andre made quite clear that he would prefer Yusuf doing this to him, and Yusuf only did it so that he could beat his own cock on Andre’s belly as he rode Andre’s cock and so that Andre would stroke Yusuf’s cock to a completion.
In all of these acts, Andre accepted and voiced the wish for more.
The most refined act they did, one that caused Andre to purr, arch his back, and dig his claws into the bedding, was when Yusuf crouched astride Andre’s pelvis, moved the two cockheads to kiss each other, pushed the foreskin of Andre’s cock over the bulb of his own circumcised cockhead, and stroked the two cocks together until they both came, their cum mingling and burbling out of the rim of Andre’s enclosing foreskin.
All pleasures come to an end, and Yusuf held out to all of Andre’s pleading, and had not filled the young man’s ass passage with so much as his fingers after the first time in Cyprus when the sails of Ahmed ibn Malik’s fleet were sighted off the opening into the harbor of Antalya.
The time had come when some man’s cock was going to open up Andre’s ass.
It was as Ahmed and his entourage were disembarking from their ships that, ignoring the entreaties of young Andre, in which he was reduced to sobs, Yusuf put a silver chastity belt into place that allowed Andre’s cock freedom but locked away his anal hole and turned the key.
“You must tell him that you’ve been wearing this, except when freed to shit, ever since I snatched you off the Cypriot coast,” Yusuf commanded him. “Otherwise we both will die.”
“I understand,” Andre answered through his tears.
It’s a pity, Yusuf thought, that this luscious, ripe body will be rendered with the sword after Ahmed is finished with him. But Yusuf wasn’t a sentimental soul, and this was an infidel. As perfect as his body was, there always were young slaves available to debauch and dispatch. The irritation was that he hadn’t been permitted to totally debauch this one and to break him down with the power of the cock inside him. Yet, Yusuf told himself. He did mean to have his chance at this with Andre, though. It just would take careful planning, courage, and audacity. He had to devise a way of having his own time with the boy between when Malik raped him and decapitated him.
One thing was perfectly clear. The saucy little male cunt wanted Yusuf’s cock inside him.