The best hunting for lions in the Kingdom of Urartu was south near the border with Assyria. This area was not the safest place to be in those years of Assyrian expansion into the region between the Caspian and Black seas, but it was where the lions were. So, when the prince of Urartu took his hunting party from the capital at Tushpa on the Nairi Sea in search of Asiatic lions, the Assyrian border area was where they went to hunt, set their tents, and take their pleasures. The young prince of Urartu was one for taking his pleasure with other men.

The prince took the hardiest warriors of Urartu for the lion hunt, but his tent harbored the most beautiful of young men for the pleasures of the evening and the night after the hunt. No entertainer or servant in the prince’s tent could be younger than fourteen nor could he yet have attained his fifteenth year. The cream of the boys transitioning into men of the kingdom were dedicated to the entourage of the prince.

Night had descended on the royal encampment after a bloody and invigorating day of the hunt in which the count of lions killed barely exceeded the count of Urartu warriors lost in the pursuit of dispatching the lions. Only short spears and close combat between man and lion were permitted at the final kill of the noble beasts.

Lusts and juices were high in the prince’s tent. The young musicians and dancing boys were performing their art as best they could in the intervals in which warriors of the prince’s house guard were not dragging them off into the corners to perform wanton acts upon them, acts that the boys were trained to and readily accepted in exchange for the privilege of living in the king’s palace. The servants, as well, had to balance their service to the prince and his lover with the attentions of their own lovers. This was all part of the beautiful young men’s duties, however. The lion hunts were primeval and lustful. Only the most fit and commanding warriors and the most desirable and yielding fourteen-year-old servants and entertainers went on the lion hunts. It was a privilege to be included to serve at the pleasure of the prince and his guard.

The royal bed dominated the middle of the lounge section of the tent. The beautiful young Aramu was bent over the iron footboard of the bed on his belly as the magnificently muscular Menua crouched behind him; grasped the hips of the small, perfectly formed body between his strong, calloused hands, still marked with flecks of lion’s blood; and buried his face between the moaning Aramu’s buttocks cheeks. The gold bracelets snaking around the young Aramu’s biceps and calves were all that the young man, about to be spitted on Menua’s thick, throbbing shaft, was wearing.

Aramu wriggled his hips and groaned his surrender as Menua rose up over the young man’s back, covered him closely from above, grasped the fourteen-year-old boy’s wrists as they held onto the rail of the footboard, mounted the boy’s ass, and started his long journey up into paradise. The boy held, steady, panting hard, his attention focusing on the depth the cock was reaching inside him and the sensation of his channel walls giving way to the insistent invasion. As they did so, the talented young man set the muscles of his passage walls rippling over the assault by the shaft and Menua’s grunts and groans harmonized with Aramu’s moans and pants as well as with the music of the musicians playing for the dancers undulating before the copulating couple’s eyes.

One of Menua’s beefy, muscular arms encircled the young boy’s slim waist and he turned Aramu’s body, placing the boy on his back on the bed. Grasping the boy’s legs and spreading them, the massive warrior knelt between them, kissing the boy’s inner thighs, kissing up to where the legs merged and Menua could take the still-boyish, but erect and throbbing cock of the boy in his mouth and give it suck. Aramu moaned, arched his back, and ran his fingers into the thick lion’s mane of the older man’s head.

“Indz hima dur yekek’: Verts’rek’ indz, duk’ karogh yek’ uzhegh arryuts mardaspanin--Fuck me. Take me now, you mighty lion killer!” Aramu cried out.

And Menua obeyed, moving his knees in between the boy’s thighs, holding Aramu’s legs spread and raised, as he positioned the bulb of his magnificent thick, long, and throbbing cock at the boy’s hole, already open to him, and thrust forward and up, deep into the passage. Aramu cried out, “Ayo, ayo, spanir indz k’vo hzor nizaki het!--Yes, yes, kill me with your mighty spear!” as he arched his head, gazing wildly up into the ribbing of the tent overhead and reached out to his sides with his arms, grasping up wads of the silk bed covering.

His chest raised, his hands grasping the young boy’s waist, as Aramu hooked his legs on the muscular man’s hips, Menua cried out, “Yes dzez yem talis im nizakin `ays ory spanvats arryutsi patvi!--I give you my spear in honor of the lion I have killed this day!” and started to pump.

“Ayo, ayo, indz p’at’at’ek’, lav heros mardaspan yek--Yes, yes, fuck me well, you mighty lion killer!” the young boy responded, his concentration going to the cock working deep in his gut.

Menua thrust and thrust and thrust. He tensed and cried out. Aramu turned his head to look at the magnificent chest of the man hovering over him, to see a blossom of red in the center of the man’s chest and the point of a small spear emerge. Menua’s eyes rolled up into his head and his body collapsed on top of Aramu, covering the boy in blood.

Pandemonium reigned in the tent as warriors of the Assyrian raiding party flooded in. The lithe young musicians, dancers, and servants who weren’t otherwise engaged were quick enough to flee to the adjoining curtained-off section of the prince’s tent and many were able to escape under the tent walls and fading into the trees surrounding the encampment--and thus back to safety to report on the Assyrian raid. Those who were caught were put first to the swords between the Assyrian warrior’s thighs and then dispatch by spear, sword, or knife. The prince’s guards were not as quick, already having their personal spears engaged in young boys. Before the invaders covered the young servants and entertainers they’d captured, they double teamed the surprised guards of the prince, who had no chance against the raiders in hand-to-hand combat.

Aramu was discovered late in the carnage, after all were subdued and other catamites his age were being ridden to oblivion. When they did discover him, pulling him out from underneath the body of the noble, but quite dead, Menua, there were enough of the muscular and randy raiders not otherwise engaged to give him, the fairest young boy of all in the tent, their full attention.

More nimble than his attackers, Aramu was initially able to break away from their grip. He spun away from them and moved, not toward the main entry where they had come in from, but toward a chest where he knew a short sword was encased. He could at least take a few with him, he thought. He had no idea who these attackers were, but in the back of his mind he thought they might be part of a palace coup that had been rumored of late--a cousin of the royal family taking out a prince before making a bid for power. Regardless, Aramu would not die without a fight.

He nearly made it to the chest, but one of the raiders had a bullwhip and knew how to use it. He cracked it out, the leather wrapping itself around Aramu’s slim torso, and pulled the youth back into the clutches of a group of the raiders. One of the attackers had a hand whip, which he used to subdue Aramu, as the boy curled up into a ball to protect himself as best as he could. The panting and whimpering young man, the fight in him beaten out of him, was hauled back up on the edge of the bed and laid down, panting and groaning, on his back.

Five of them fucked him in rotation, with four of them holding him down on his back on the bed, in Menua’s blood, one gripping and stretching out each extremity, and the fifth between his legs, making sport of him. When the fifth had had his satisfaction, he withdrew a knife from a sheath on his calf and raised it to send Aramu to the gods with his noble lover, Menua.

A stronger hand than the Assyrian warrior’s grasped his upheld hand with a grip so powerful that the Assyrian warrior yelped and dropped the knife. When he turned to see who dared interrupt his sport, though, he blanched, backed off, and went down into a bow. So did the other four warriors. The Assyrian lord of Kirrui, Tilglath, had arrived in the tent to survey the work of his raiders. There was no doubt he was the commander here. He was taller, heavier, more magnificently built, more handsome, and more of commanding presence than anyone else.

He also was more magnificently hung than any of his warriors, and seeing the five raiders working on the beautiful small catamite, Aramu, had put him into erection. He had saved the young boy from the knife because he wanted his turn with him while Aramu was still alive.

Tilglath fell upon the boy, back-handing Aramu across the face so that he fell back, exhausted; crouching over him on the bed; gathering the panting boy into his embrace; and breached his passage with one cruel, brutal up thrust of his massive shaft, which would have split almost any other man or boy in the tent asunder. But Aramu wasn’t just any other man or boy. He was trained to take a massive cock. He barely took this one, though, crying out, “Shnorhakalut’yun: Dandagh, im tery: Duk’ indz hamar ch’ap’azants’ mets yes: Tramadrel indz harmarets’nelu hamar: Oh, Oh! Ch’aghlik!--Mercy! Slowly, my lord. You are too big for me as yet. Give me a moment to adjust ... Oh, Oh! Yes, fuck me!”

Aramu was taking the cock. Aramu wanted the cock. Not understanding the Urartu language, Tilglath didn’t understand that Aramu’s cries were as much in passion and surrender than in pain and being shredded inside. He fucked on, cruelly and brutally, expecting to, as usual, feel the blood of his lusty work to flow around his cock and the boy’s eyes to roll up into his head and his body to collapse as the captive he held and fucked slowly gave up his life in the ravishing. But Aramu didn’t give up his life. Aramu adjusted to the copulation and went with it, putting his hips into a rocking motion and becoming one with the Assyrian lord in the fuck.

Tilglath was amazed and conquered in turn. They fucked and they fucked and they fucked, coming almost together, and when Tilglath let Aramu fall back on the bed when he finished him, they held there, panting, looking in each other’s eyes in wonder, in awe of what each had given to and taken from the other.

Aramu didn’t fall under the knife. When the raiding party went to their horses to race back into Assyria before their deadly attack on the royal house of Urartu just within the borders of Urartu was discovered, Aramu was traveling with them, bound hand and foot and draped belly down on Tilglath’s steed in front of the lord. Aramu was bruised and totally fucked, but he was still alive, taken, along with a great deal of finery and just one or two other fourteen-year-old boys as booty. The other boys would be passed around by the campfires in the fortress of Kirrui for sport until they were all used up as the raiders relived the raid and extended the exercise of their shafts. Aramu, though, was destined for the personal sport of Lord Tilglath and of a prolonged ordeal by magnificent sword before being released to the heavens.

Lord Tilglath didn’t save Aramu from death in the Urartu prince’s lion-hunt tent as an act of kindness or for romantic interests. It was for his sport, because the boy could sheath his cock without expiring and could pleasure him in the process. The Assyrian chieftain didn’t intend to let the Urartu catamite live, just be played with as he was terminally used.

Aramu was tough for such a delicate looking boy, but he was being worn down. It was two weeks later, and the lord of Kirrui had summoned the boy for playtime in his chambers at the top of the fortress for the third time. Each time he had both beaten and brutally fucked the lad. He then had let one of his chamber servants, the sixteen-year-old slave, Ruben, who had been captured in the Assyrian conquest of the Kingdom of Israel, take the boy and nurse him back to enough health to serve the lord’s sport again.

On this day Aramu had been tied, naked, to the whipping post on the stone terrace of the fortress battlements outside the lord’s bed chamber, and Tilglath had whipped him until the Assyrian lord was gigantically erect, and then he’d had Aramu taken to the kneeling rail of the stocks, with a wooden yoke to immobilize his wrists and head, a cross bar to raise his belly to put his ass in the air, and ropes to bind his ankles in a spread-leg position. Then he had mounted the boy’s ass, penetrated him before the boy had been able to fully open to him, stretched the boy’s channel to the limit, and fucked him hard and deep.

As he did so, the young boy had disconcerted the lord by taking the assault in stride and calling out “Blh, ma skht khdawnd bh fake!--Yes, fuck me hard, My Lord!” What was most disconcerting was that, finding that the Lord Tilglath knew none of Aramu’s language, Aramu had tried several that he knew and found that they could converse in Persian. Tilglath didn’t necessarily see the need to converse with a Urartu captive he intended to fuck to death, but it both put him off his stride and intrigued him that the boy knew so many languages and also claimed to enjoy the fuck. This curiosity is probably what had kept the boy alive for the past two weeks. Tilglath was a brutal taker, but he had, on every occasion, including the one in the prince’s tent, not gone over the edge in his taking of this strange and delicious boy.

At the moment he had another worry on his hands, though, and thus he once again didn’t go over the brink in using the Urartuan catamite, and the boy was still breathing and able to walk with only the assistance of Ruben when Tilglath had ejaculated and pulled out of him.