Submitting to the Sultan Ch. 03

Note: This story includes M/F, M/M, piss play, dominance & submission, and incest, and all characters are at least 18 years of age. Also please note that this story is set in a historical fantasy world that, though it shares many similarities with our own, isn't intended to literally represent a specific area.

*****

Though it was earlier than they generally met on Market Day, his friends Ahmed and Rafal were already at their usual table at the coffee house near the university. Their dark heads were huddled close together, and he broke up whatever blasphemy they'd been babbling when he sat down next to them and heaved a sigh.

He'd chosen to walk over to clear his mind, and by the time he traversed the distance between the residential area to the bazaar the tenacious ache between his legs had at least calmed down to a dull throbbing. He replayed the sights in his mind - Khadija and Rajeeyah obediently opening their mouths to take his piss without a thought of protest. Laika's proud shoulders bowed in submission as he pissed across her breasts. The wicked gleam in Sufia's eye as he watered her freckles with his golden stream. And especially the lovely Nadia, who's face he'd almost forgotten because he kept imagining his sister Zehra's dove-eyes looking up at him in adoration instead as he relieved his need in her mouth.

Curse it. His manhood was fully hard again, here in this room full of his fellow students from the university and other great thinkers.

"We heard you had a visit from the Sultan, Tamas," Rafal said archly. Rafal was the brightest among their class at the university, and he prided himself on his spider's web of information. Like Tamas' father, Rafal's father was one of the Sultan's most trusted advisors, and he had taught Rafal well.

"How did he look?" asked Ahmed.

"Don't worry. I'm sure he didn't look as good as you," Rafal teased.

Ahmed was as handsome as Rafal was knowing. Or, Tamas supposed, you might almost call him beautiful. Ahmed, rather than Tamas, could have been Zehra's brother, what with how they both had liquid brown eyes, long lashes and delicate features. Women, and some men, would stop in their tracks and stare when Ahmed passed. Rumor had it that at least three noble girls had threatened to drink poison if their fathers would not promise them to Ahmed. Ahmed's father was a low-ranked courtier, but Tamas already knew for a fact that his friend's family was scheming up a way to use their boy's striking looks to their social advantage.

Ahmed punched Rafal on the arm playfully, which caused Rafal to punch him back harder. And Tamas was temporarily saved from talking about the Sultan because of their silly tussle. Given everything he'd experienced in the past day, his friends suddenly seemed so very young.

"Does the Sultan-" Tamas found himself asking. His friends stopped playing and looked at him. Tamas couldn't stop his treacherous mouth from spewing his question. "Does the Sultan use the women of your house when he visits?"

Ahmed blushed bright red to his hairline, and Tamas suddenly felt even more shame. Of course the Sultan wouldn't deign to visit Ahmed's house. That was thoughtless of him.

But Rafal didn't appear to notice either of his friends' discomfort. "He uses the Harem, yes." At the expression on Tamas' face, Rafal raised an eyebrow. "But that's not what he did at your house?"

It was Tamas' turn to blush.

Rafal pressed. "Well you have to tell us now! You can't bring it up without giving us the details. Whose throat did His Mightiness piss down at your house, hmm, Tamas?"

Tamas wished Rafal wouldn't be so impudent. Lesser words had earned men an appointment with the executioner's axe. However, the student coffee shops were known as a safe place to espouse modern ideas. But still...

"My mother," he mumbled. When Rafal was not mollified, he added, "And my sister."

He most certainly did not add, "and me."

He told Rafal and Ahmed everything, but confessing that he himself had also been used as the Sultan's personal toilet was a step too far.

Rafal let out a low whistle. "He must have been proving a point. Or else they are stunningly beautiful."

Tamas didn't want to dignify Rafal's speculation. Of course his friends had met his mother and sister, but they had never seen the women with their faces unveiled.

"Or both?" Rafal nudged.

Noticing that the blush still graced Ahmed's face - and made him look even more beautiful if that were possible - Tamas tried to change the subject.

"Will there be wrestling today?"

Somehow that question only deepened Ahmed's flush.

"I- I-" their beautiful friend stammered.

"It's Market Day. Of course there will be wrestling, just like there was wrestling the last Market Day and there will be wrestling the next Market Day and there will be wrestling every Market Day until the very end of time. We're all about tradition here, you know," Rafal said snidely. Of all of them, he was the most opposed to the notion of tradition. When the Sultan had revealed to Tamas that he'd heard Tamas speaking out against the old customs in the student coffee houses, it has probably been some of Rafal's fiery rhetoric that he was referring to.

Ahmed seemed to read his mind.

"Keep your voice down," he nudged Rafal with his elbow.

Rafal rolled his eyes, but Tamas noticed he did lower his voice as he continued.

"Why do you ask? Are you two looking for a rematch?"

New opponents facing Ahmed in the ring invariably underestimated him. His delicate looks belied the fact that he was also as wiry and quick as a monkey. He and Tamas usually passed the Market Day wrestling championship back and forth between them. Last week they had fought to a draw. Tamas thought that another match with Ahmed, which would require all of his strength, wit and skill, was just what he needed to take his mind off the shameful happenings of the past twenty-four hours.

His mind cast back to something the Sultan had said, "I should like to see you oiled up and in the ring."

Tamas gave an involuntary shudder, and both Rafal and Ahmed stopped their latest round of bickering and looked at him.

"Ahmed scares you that bad, eh?" Rafal teased. Rafal never participated in the wrestling matches. When asked, he would claim that he needed to reserve all his energy for thinking.

Tamas snapped back to attention. "Why don't we go and find out?"

Both Tamas and Ahmed progressed through the early rounds fairly easily, though a newcomer to town had given Tamas a run for his money in the last round. He'd almost beaten Tamas when a clever grapple left him gripping the tender inside of Tamas's thigh and a shudder of arousal had made Tamas momentarily lose his sense. But the newcomer had tried to claim his victory too soon and Tamas had slithered out of his grip and won the round instead.

In the final round of the day, Tamas and Ahmed faced each other in the circle of reeds that made up their ring. Tamas tried to not to listen to the shouting of the lower classes as they placed their bets on who would win. He saw a gaggle of veiled girls staring at their oiled-up bodies in wide-eyed wonder before their older chaperones ushered them away, clucking.

Tamas huddled and faced Ahmed, who mirrored him. "Do you think it's your day?" Tamas couldn't help but try to lighten the mood. Ahmed had acted strange ever since they'd talked of the Sultan earlier at the coffee shop. Tamas still felt ashamed that he'd been so thoughtless in assuming that the Sultan visited his friend's house despite their low rank.

But then Ahmed surprised him by saying, "Tamas, can I tell you something and you won't tell Rafal?" Where they stood, at the center of attention in the ring, was surprisingly private due to the clamor of the men all around them finishing up their betting.

"Of course," Tamas said quietly. "I swear I wouldn't share any secret you entrust to me, Ahmed."

Ahmed was blushing again. It was as if he had to get this weight off his chest before he could start the match.

"The Sultan-" Ahmed almost whispered. "He does visit my house. But- but- the person he uses is me."

Tamas felt as if all the wind had been knocked out of him. His mind raced. This meant Ahmed was also forced to kneel on the tile floor? Ahmed, with his beautiful face, had also wrapped his perfect lips around the Sultan's massive shaft? And just like that, Tamas felt his cock involuntarily harden again, until it jutted painfully almost as if it would snake out of the waistband of his trousers, and they were the only garment he wore for wrestling. He opened his mouth to say something - would he ask a question? Or be a good friend and try to reassure Ahmed that his secret shame was safe? Tamas would never know, because just then the gamesmaster choose that time to leap into the ring and signal the start of the match.

Ahmed had the advantage while Tamas, blood rushing to his groin, and mouth still agape, gathered himself. He went for Tamas's legs, and then rolled them both over. Before he knew it, Ahmed had him pinned, with his wiry leg between Tamas' own. Tamas felt Ahmed 's entire body stiffen at the hardness he felt there. His dove's eyes met Tamas' and they were both frozen for a moment.

Then the crowd was shouting: "What's happening?" "Pin him, Ahmed." "Get up, Tamas, I bet my whole purse on you!"

The boys sprang back into action, and Tamas used Ahmed's moment of uncertainty to roll him back over and pin him. The move caused his aching cock to brush Ahmed's hip, and Tamas, mortifyingly, felt the head of his manhood slicken. This type of spilling of the seed was involuntary and not forbidden by their custom as the intentional spilling of one's own seed before marriage was, but it was still embarrassing that it had happened as he touched another boy. Even a boy like Ahmed, who was as beautiful as any woman.

Then Ahmed rolled his hips. To the watching crowd, they were locked in bloody battle, neither of them able to get the advantage on the other. Tamas' eyes flew to meet Ahmed's. He had a small smile on his face when he bucked his hips again and Tamas let out a gasp. Ahmed had rubbed his own cock against Tamas'. And Ahmed's manhood was just as hard as his own.

"I must not spill my seed before marriage," Tamas moaned silently to himself. "I must not spill my seed right here in the ring in front of Ahmed, and Rafal and my fellow students and all of these low class men." Still, his cock had a mind of his own, and he felt it juddering. The events of the past day, and now this... Beautiful Ahmed telling him that he'd drank piss straight from the throbbing cock of the Sultan. And now Ahmed rock hard beneath him... It was too much. He was going to...

Tamas gave up. He submitted allowed Ahmed to pin him. It was all he could do not to come in his trousers as the gamesmaster counted out his defeat.

After the match one of the bettors spat at his feet. "That was a poor performance, boy."

Poor indeed.

He looked across the ring at where Ahmed, hands up in victory, glistened with sweat. It only made him look more delectable. But Ahmed was a boy. So was the Sultan. What had come over him?

Tamas and Ahmed both panted with exertion as they eyed each other across the ring. Custom dictated that they grip wrists after the match, and as they did they both gripped extra tight and for a moment too long. Something in Ahmed's dark eyes held a promise. Tamas wondered if it would be a blessing or a curse to find out what that promise intended.