The tent of the Bedouin
by Bedouin
Part 15
The Lair Of The Sodomite
Within, the opulent interior belied the plain fascia of the building, the main
chamber was strewn with richly piled rugs and lined by deeply cushioned couches,
along the walls more carpets were hung and occasionally an elaborately carved or
written piece of Arabic calligraphy. Subtle lanterns had been placed to pick
out favourite areas and corners and the room would have had an altogether
pleasant glow had it been unoccupied. But, alas, any ambient comfort had been
dispelled, for the room was filled by the catamites of the Mulaazim Awil.
A dozen or so barely clad youths lounged languidly, draping themselves across
the fine divans. Some plucked at cherries and other exotic fruit in nearby
dishes, others drew lazily on long pipes and sent large clouds of scented smoke
into the air that rose and hung like a levanter across the ceiling. They seemed
content in their idleness yet a sinister atmosphere tinged the scene. Perhaps
it was the manner in which the eaters of fruit spat out their cherry and olive
stones onto the rugs, or at the young boys who stood by and scurried to clear
away the mess, or, the lewd poses assumed by all the young men, deliberately
exposing their genitals with casual disdain, and how they often touched
themselves or scratched some itch. It may even have been the narcotic scent of
the chamber, and how it mingled with the odour of perspiring flesh, the room had
a tangibly decadent and malicious air.
It was amongst this group of uncaring souls that miel was placed, laid down, as
she slept, quite softly on the central carpet of the room, her naked and bound
body displayed to the occupants and the subject of their sudden interest.
A small mercy for miel then, that in her dazed condition, she could not hear the
scornful babble of the youths, nor their gleeful laughing as they pointed out to
each other the reddened or swollen areas of her flesh, speculating on what had
been done to her, how she had been beaten, and why she, an unwelcome woman, was
now here in the Mulaazim's lair.
One man knew instantly why she was there, he sat quietly, ignoring the nudging
and lewd comments about the prostrate, sleeping girl. His eyes glowed with
fierce hatred and within, his heart rejoiced malevolently at seeing her again.
Mahmood's anger grew, and he knew now that the opportunity had come to take his
own revenge.
His lips curled as he imagined the tortures he would impose on her, how sweet it
would be to hear her screams of agony, surely that was why the Mulaazim Awil had
brought her here? His face darkened as he thought of the Moor, the man he was
now forced to call 'Master', a shiver of fear and revulsion ran along his spine
as he recalled how he had begged to be spared, had fallen to his knees and
clutched at the Mulaazim's hem for mercy. The Mulaazim Awil granting him
clemency, but at a terrible price, he had suffered the Mulaazim's demands and
caresses, had forced himself to show eagerness and affection for the Moor, and
all the time despising the intrusions and indignities. Now he was amongst the
sodomites, and would be forced to remain so, would have to vie for favour with
the Mulaazim, and it was all the fault of this girl spread on the carpet before
him.
Mahmood never once considered that his position might be of his own making,
conveniently brushing aside his selfish and foolish actions, preferring instead
to focus his ire and antipathy on miel.
The Mulaazim Awil, oblivious to the commotion in the main chamber, was
luxuriating in a warm pool. The heat of the night and the dust of the desert
quickly dissipated in the relaxing waters and he motioned for the two boys to
begin soaping him.
He had calmed significantly, he knew that his rages were becoming more frequent
and the thought concerned him. He would pay another visit, he decided, to the
Tabib and seek his advice.
The Tabib already knew what ailed the Mulaazim Awil, and some months previously
had told him precisely what his problem was. He had been smartly beaten for his
insolence.
The medic had told him how syphilis could now be cured, (though on inspecting
the Mulaazim he saw that sadly, the condition was indeed advanced) and, unless
rapidly treated it would soon devour the Mulaazim's mind and body, eating away
at his sanity and chewing his flesh. Another stroke of the Mulaazim's riding
stick had silenced the Tabib and he realised, with regret and fear, that he
could say nothing to appease or convince his patient. He had instead offered a
balm and a draught that he knew would suppress the Mulaazim's tirades, and
offered up a short prayer of thanks when the fearsome man had snatched the
medication from him and disappeared into the desert.
The Tabib reflected on what a fine man the Mulaazim Awil had once been, true, he
had always been a pederast ever since he could remember, but that had not swayed
him from his nobler causes. He recalled how he and Bedouin had brought order to
this wildest of regions, working together to cast out the troublemakers and
raiding tribesmen, often engaging in bloody encounters, so that the handful of
people that could face the rigours of living so deep within the desert could do
so quietly and in peace. A dutiful and religious man, the doctor prayed quietly
for the Mulaazim, knowing that the madness of the disease was now ravaging him
and that those around him would suffer, perhaps, he sighed, they would all
suffer.
The Mulaazim Awil luxuriated as the servants washed him gently but thoroughly,
he turned his thoughts to the girl. He felt uncomfortable about something, he
could not quite grasp what it was, he knew that he had taken a liberty by taking
her from the Bedouin's tent, and also knew that Bedouin would not be pleased.
It might be better, he speculated, if he merely cared for her and return her
unharmed, of course it would, he convinced himself. After all, the Bedouin was
his closest friend and ally and he guarded his girls closely, to abuse one would
be a grave error and endanger their friendship.
'How foolish of me!' He thought with sudden alarm. His mind, now completely
calm, realised that he had been in the clutches of one of his ever more frequent
rages and they were becoming more dangerous, making him behave like an
unthinking lunatic.
miel too was relaxed, blissfully unaware of the taunting and prodding lavished
on her by the slothful youths. One had parted her knees to gaze at her sex, for
he had never seen a female thus exposed, he peered closely at the folds of flesh
between her legs until the jibes and jeers of his fellow courtesans made him
blush and, pushing miel's thighs together as if in distaste, he went to recline
again and rejoin the torment.
Composed again, the Mulaazim enjoyed his bathing, the expert hands moved
efficiently over his skin, cleaning and rinsing.
The boy paused, soap in hand, and looked meaningfully at his partner, his friend
read his look and nodded discreetly for him to continue. His tongue thick in
his throat, the boy gazed at the Mulaazim Awil's genitals, with trepidation he
began to lather the Mulaazim's scrotum. He dallied, taking an inordinate time
to clean the area, washing it with tentative strokes, to the boy's horror the
penis, the one that he could not turn his gaze away from, began to thicken.
He knew that he would have to touch it, even as it unfurled like a wakening
serpent, normally this would not bother him, but it bothered him now. The
rousing of the Mulaazim Awil displayed the weeping sores along his shaft more
clearly, it was these yellowed chancres that had transfixed the boy and caused
him to dread his duty.
His friend noticed his hesitation and cast another urgent look at him, he had
already explained to him that he would not be at risk from the Mulaazim's
disease, though in truth he was not sure. His eyes pleaded with his frightened
friend again.
With fearful fingers the boy dabbed soap gently onto the Mulaazim's shaft, he
heard a tiny growl of contentment from the Mulaazim at his touch, and continued,
covering the penis with thick lather to hide the wounds.
Indeed, the Mulaazim Awil was relishing the slippery caresses, his thoughts had
drifted once more to Mahmood and the pleasant promise of the coming hours.
In a night of curious occurrences, it would now be one more peculiar event that
would change the course of miel's fate.
With the Mulaazim now content, sane and rational, miel could have been kept safe
until the Bedouin collected her, no doubt to abuse her again in any number of
ways. Perhaps she would have been compelled to perform her humiliating duties
again for the Bedouin and the Mulaazim Awil, or forced to pay, in pain and
torment for her rash kicking at the Mulaazim's head.
It might all have been exactly thus, had it not been for the boy's careless
slip.
His hands trembled due to his nervousness, he was not thinking, not
concentrating. He would never remember exactly why or how it happened.
The Mulaazim, his mind misted by agreeable thoughts, felt the needle sharp pain.
He snapped his head upwards, opening his eyes, trying to make sense of what had
happened.
The boy stood back in horror, shocked by his own stupidity, he had felt the
slight resistance as he stroked the Mulaazim's shaft, and had continued, he
looked at the end of his finger with terror, saw the thick scab that he had
pulled from the top of one of the Mulaazim Awil's sores.
Hot, stinging water jabbed at the raw wound on the Moor's penis, he quickly
understood the carelessness of the boy, his member deflated quickly, recoiling
with pain. Blind rage filled the Mulaazim Awil instantly, instinctively he
lashed out violently at the boy, sending him sprawling. Steaming water
exacerbated the incessant needling in his penis and he hauled himself from the
pool, gasping with shock and anger.
The errant boy ran from the room in terror, wailing and fearful for his life.
The other boy thought of fleeing also but instead forced himself to quickly
grasp a soft towel and press it gently to the Mulaazim's groin.
The Moor let the boy dab at the seeping wound, the pain lessening. He knew
though, that now it would be too painful for him to spend time with Mahmood, his
flesh would take days to heal. His anger grew steadily, his face as dark as
thunder, and he directed his ire at the cause of all his woes, the one who had
begun this unfortunate chain of events.
With all his earlier reason gone the Mulaazim Awil thought only of the harlot.
Taking unguent from a chest, the boy gingerly covered where the scab had been
lifted, working calmly and carefully under the Mulaazim's glare. The man he
feared even managed a grunt of gratitude as, his work done, he began to towel
the rest of the Mulaazim Awil.
He did not show his dread, yet his heart skipped a beat when the Moor gave his
instruction.
'Tell the Mulhaka, .....' '....I have someone for him'
And so, Gentle Reader, because of a boy's careless slip, things went quite
differently for miel.
The tale of miel and her fate is not yet done: visit again to read more ..
travel safely.
