Cairo Surrender Ch 05 06

Chapter Five: Interlude One

His story complete, and Michael snoozing in a deep, exhausted sleep in his arms, Abazar ran the tip of a finger around the young man's nipples, first one and then the other. Michael sighed and trembled in Abazar's arms, but he didn't awake. Slowly Abazar ran a hand down the marble-smooth skin of the young man's chest and belly and then on under the waistband of his drawers, raking lightly through the downy hair of his pubes and then cupping his balls and cock. Abazar leaned down and kissed a nipple and then started to tongue down Michael's sternum.

But he stopped, with regret, disengaged, rose, and moved over to his own cot.

It was entirely too easy. No challenge, and he didn't want to take the youth that way. He wanted Michael prepared and open to him.

Later, as Michael was coming out of his deep sleep, he heard cascading water and for a moment thought that he was free and standing near a sylvan waterfall. But he opened his eyes to the same oppressive stone walls.

He was still hearing the water, though, and as he looked to the source of the sound, he sucked in his breath and almost forgot to breathe again.

Abazar was standing in the corner, under the cistern, and was pouring water over his body. He was naked and it was his nakedness that shocked Michael so and made him start almost to hyperventilate. Abazar was hung like a horse. He stopped the flow of the water and soaped his body up. Michael's eyes traced every movement of Abazar's hands as they floated over his curves and crevices and centered between his hips. He was soaping up a cock that was impossibly long and thick and began to engorge and curve up toward his belly as he worked the soap into it with both his hands.

Abazar stood three-quarters to Michael, seemingly oblivious to the young man watching him work his body—seemingly. He had never looked more like a satyr to Michael than now—now that he was naked, and Michael could see that, below the waist, Abazar was almost as heavily pelted as the satyrs in the drawings Michael had seen. And when he turned his head toward Michael and tilted it down and gave the youth a secret little smile, while still working his cock with his hands, Michael felt sensations he'd never felt before.

"I hope you had a good nap—you slept nearly the whole day away," Abazar said, never losing his smile or the grip on his monster cock.

Michael's eyes moved with great difficulty from Abazar's cock to the high window, where he saw that the daylight had, in fact, fled the sky. "I'm sorry. I don't know what made me so sleepy."

"It's the tension. The not knowing, not being in control. It's to be expected. Don't worry about it. Sleep is an escape in our situation. I slept nearly the whole time too."

Abazar had rinsed himself off and was patting his body dry with his linen drawers, after which he put them back on. They clung to him and were almost transparent in their dampness—little use at all in covering anything up. He slowly walked over to Michael's cot and sat down beside him, whereupon Michael popped up in embarrassment and started to wander aimlessly around the cell, hugging himself with tightly embracing arms as if it were cold in the room, although it was closer to sweltering.

"I suggest you clean yourself as well—while there's still enough light to see by. I believe it's important to not let yourself go to spoil, even in situations like this. And I think it will calm you; you seem so keyed up."

"Perhaps later," Michael said with a shaky voice. "Perhaps when it's a bit darker. I'm not used to . . . I've never . . ."

"Don't be afraid of me," Abazar said in his most soothing voice. "We have been thrown together, but I would never want to do you harm—and I will do whatever I can to protect you. I'm sure you will be free soon. I'm sure your family won't let you stay here much longer."

"My family," Michael said bleakly. "I have no family to speak of. And those that I have are like vultures—pecking at me, wanting what I have and doing all they possibly can do to get it. I don't think I'll ever get out of here."

"How can that . . .? Ah, yes, I see . . ."

"What do you see?"

"Ah, nothing. But you mustn't fret. I'm sure there's someone. That gray suited—"

"Sir Cecil?" Michael burst out with snort. "Yes, I suppose I do represent an investment by him. But someone who cares? No."

"I doubt that. I would say you are a very valuable young man myself. But then, I suppose we are in Cairo, not in America. Why, here in Cairo you would be seen as a Greek god. Here, what you could give would be worth—"

Abazar couldn't be sure Michael was even listening to him now. The young man was pacing and still hugging himself tightly. His voice was reaching a hysterical pitch in what was one of the longest and most revealing of his statements to his cell mate.

"They all look at me with hate and disdain. They want what they think I have, yes, but what do I have? What have I ever—?"

"This is ridiculous," Abazar said, and then, with a voice of authority, as if instructing a child, he continued. "You are coming unglued. That's the last thing that will help you. Come, sit. I will massage your shoulders. You have to do something to calm yourself. I won't bite."

It was the authoritative voice that did it—and Abazar was quick to take note of that. Like an obedient child, Michael came back to the cot and sat down, turning his back to Abazar, who started to work the muscles.

"I feel how tense you are. Tell me about your family, about your life. It will help you relax."

For the next hour, as Abazar rubbed his back in strokes that turned almost into caresses, Michael poured out his woes of being an only child of cold, calculating, ambitious parents, who had been killed in a railroad accident, of his grasping relatives who remained, and of the highly structured, limiting life he'd had—until they were almost in total darkness.

He came back to the reality of how much he was opening to Abazar—much more than he intended—at the sound of the flap in the door opening, and food trays sliding across the floor.

"We eat now," Abazar instructed in the voice of a parent. "Then you clean yourself, while I do some exercises to keep fit—it should be dark enough for you now. And then I will tell you another story. That will soothe you, and I predict you will sleep again like a baby. Tomorrow they will release you. I'm sure. That Sir Cecil sounds like a powerful and resourceful man who will not let you languish here for long."

They started to eat, but Abazar only ate half of his and pulled Michael's away from him half eaten as well.

"I'm not finished," Michael said in surprise.

"Yes, you are," Abazar said, the voice of the parent. "We aren't active in here—can't be as active as we normally would be. You need to eat, but you need to regulate yourself too. Go clean yourself now. And I will exercise my body. It would be best if you did so as well."

As Michael rose and moved tentatively over toward the shower and privy corner. Abazar picked up the trays of the half-eaten food, placing Michael's on the floor in front of the food delivery flap in the door and taking his own over and placing it on the floor at a corner of Michael's cot. Then he stood and stretched out his arm and leg muscles and moved to the center of the chamber.

Abazar gave a little grin of amusement, as he saw Michael huddling in the corner, now clothed in darkness, and rinsing and then soaping and then rinsing himself, being careful not to expose himself. At the same time, however, he was surreptitiously watching as Abazar did some sort of dance-like movements in the middle of the cell to stretch and work his muscles—nothing strenuous. But he talked in low, soothing tones as he worked his body, explaining to Michael what each graceful movement did and how it kept his muscles well worked.

Michael watched in fascination but also in increasing embarrassment, as he felt his body tense up and his cock going hard. This shouldn't be happening to him. He had no idea what was happening to him. He just knew that he couldn't stop watching Abazar's graceful, sensuous movements—and that his gathering thoughts about Abazar were ones he should not be having.

He also was growing groggy. There was a ringing in his ears and he felt lightheaded. Not as bad as he had felt after the earlier meal in the day, though. Just in a haze and sluggish.

Abazar had to repeat himself and raise his voice for Michael to hear him. "Come over to the cot now, Michael. I will tell you another story."

Michael walked toward his cot, slightly stumbling, and mumbling to himself. He knew there was something he was forgetting, but the voice of authority had called. And he wanted to hear the story. What he really wanted was the massaging to start again. That had made him melt.

What Michael forgot when he left the shower was to put his drawers back on, so he came to Abazar dazed and naked.

He sat with his back toward Abazar and Abazar started to gently work the youth's back muscles, while in low, mellow tones, quiet enough that Michael had to arch his back toward the storyteller, bringing his ear close to Abazar's lips, to catch it all.

Michael's senses were suspended in some sort of nirvana, where he could hear Abazar's words and where he could feel what Abazar was doing with his hands—and knew that he'd been taught men didn't do this to other men. But that he didn't care, that he was enjoying sensations he'd never felt before and that he was exhilarated in his inner being that it was Abazar who was touching him. That all of his defenses were down.

Thus, when, during the telling of the story, Abazar's hands moved around to Michael's chest and belly, Michael just sighed and leaned back into Abazar's chest. He lay there, murmuring and moaning, and watching his own cock stand straight up and start to throb. Listening to Abazar, getting the gist of what he was saying, absorbing it, as Abazar's hand slowly glided down and wrapped itself around Michael's cock, and stroked him, with Michael's instincts kicking in and his pelvis slowly rolling to the rhythm of the stroking until with a little cry and a sigh, he released his seed, watching it burble up between Abazar's fingers and dribble down his hand.

All the time, Michael was observing, disconnected from his body in all but the sensations of the calming milking, as if this was happening to someone else entirely and he would wake from the trance never having had this experience.

While Abazar continued speaking, spinning his little story out of the air.

Chapter Six: The Secret of the Aura

Called from his hunt among the mortals below, the minor god Sirith soared into the firmament of the gods on his golden chariot as the wails of grief from the maidens below at the sudden loss of the mighty club they rode in the night screamed up toward him. The coming year would be one of famine and crying in the houses of the Earth-bound wives whose wombs would remain flat and barren no matter how much plowing their husbands gave them—because mere mortals did not understand that when their husbands took them, the golden god Sirith must be taking them too to seed their wombs.

Of all the minor gods of the firmament Sirith was the most handsome, the only one who could have any woman he wanted, goddess or mortal alike. His was a perfectly formed visage, skin white as alabaster marble, his head wreathed in golden-white curls, his lips full and sensuous.

But in his strength was also his weakness.

As he entered in the alternate universe floating above the mortal Earth, everything in mirror image of Earth but manifoldly more magnificent, he heard the hiss and kicked with his heels at Apep, as the snake monster attempted to entwine him and pull him into the world of the in-between. Barely free of Apep, Ammit the destroyer swung his might club at Sirith's head, and it was only the hand of father god Ra, slicing through a beam of light, that stayed Ammit's hand as Sirith rose to the circle of the gods.

"Why did you call me, father god?" Sirith asked as he bowed before the sun disk throne, Ra's consort Hathor at his right hand and the teasing vixen, Bastet, purring at his left. Standing off, and watching the proceedings were Geb, the god of the Earth, Thoth in his wisdom, and Anubis, god of the passing over.

"You have been among the maidens of Earth too long, Sirith. You have lost something, not learned something, and it is sinking you into danger. Did you not feel the bite of Apep and the glancing blow of Ammit's club? You are becoming weak, losing your protection. You must make amends."

"How so, father god Ra? I feel as strong as ever. I can cover Egypt in a night and seed the wombs of countless women. Horus, the pharaoh god, has sung my praises. The banks of the Nile are teeming with new life. The land of the Egyptians becomes ever stronger, its armies ever larger, from my nocturnal visits."

"Look around you, Sirith. What do you see that the other gods and goddesses have that you do not?"

Sirith looked, but he did not see. He felt Aprep rising through the clouds and wrapping his coils around his ankles. But Sirith kicked free—and he looked harder.

"Is it the brightness?" The gods and goddesses within Sirith's vision did indeed have a presence that he did not. "Is it the aura?" he asked.

"Yes, it is the aura, Sirith," Ra answered. "When you have been too long with Earth, your aura fades. If it were not for the reflection of my light on your golden curls, you would have no more now than a mortal. Your aura is your protection from the world of the in-between and its scavengers, Ammit and Apep. You must regain your aura."

"And how do I do this, father god Ra?" Sirith asked. He was beginning to realize the error of taking his pleasures too long with the mortals of the Earth.

"You must attain the ultimate pleasure, the ultimate love, the ultimate coupling," Ra answered. "Then and only then will your aura shine brightly and protect you."

"I don't understand. I already know the heights of pleasure with the maidens of earth."

"You have no idea of the ultimate coupling, the ultimate pleasure, my son."

"Please then, tell me what I must do."

"The path to ultimate pleasure and the secret of the perpetuating aura lies through earth, wisdom, and death leading to the heat of the sun."

"And that means—?" Sirith started to ask. But when he looked up to the sun throne, Ra and his full retinue were gone.

"It starts with earth, the father god said," Sirith muttered to himself. "And so, back to Earth and a renewal of the nocturnal visitations."

There was great rejoicing and an abundance of expanding wombs when Sirith returned to Earth, but everywhere he went snakes assailed him and monsters flailed at him with their clubs. Clearly this wasn't the answer.

Sirith flew up to the firmament and went straight to his mother goddess, Hathor, who greeted him with a broad smile and open thighs—no goddess being able to deny the plowing golden shaft of the fairest of all the minor gods. But Hathor had no answers for him, only clutching hands trying to hold him fast inside her. Ammit rose into the firmament and chased him to the chambers of Bastet, the cat goddess, purring in her basket of silver weave. Sirith took refuge and sought answers between her trembling thighs, but Apep, who had coiled around the basket raised his head and flicked his fork tongue at Sirith, and Sirith fled back toward the earth.

At the gates of Earth stood Geb, the god of all that was below.

"Earth?" Sirith thought. "Could Ra had meant to start with Geb?"

Geb smiled upon Sirith, having heard his thoughts as clearly as if he had spoken them.

"Yes, it is true. I am the first step to regaining your aura. The first gate is through me."

"Through you? But how so?"

"You must lie with me. You must let me breed you. And then you will be on the first step."

"A god with a god?" Sirith asked in shock. "How can this be?"

"This can be a greater coupling, a greater pleasure, a nearer approach to perpetual aura than lying with any female, Sirith. You only doubt it because you have never experienced it. Gods know no bounds, no limitations. You have limited yourself. And this has weakened you—and faded your aura. Come bend over and spread your legs for me."

Sirith cried out as he was entered for the first time, and then he moved into realms of pleasure he had never experienced before—and felt a slight glow about him after Geb had moved his staff in and out of his golden channel and buried his seed deep inside the minor god.

"Such is earth," Sirith said when Geb was done with him, "and I see and feel the deepening of the pleasure, the warmer feeling, the glow. But what of the next step, wisdom?"

"You know where to find wisdom, Sirith. And after you have, you will not need to ask such a question again."

Sirith found Thoth, the god of wisdom, who, fortunately, was conferring with Osiris, god of the dead. Apep and Ammit wept with frustration, as Thoth and Osiris gathered Sirith between them and shared his golden channel, thus granting Sirith, highly favored and loved by the gods, two rises in level of understanding and aural protection in one, shared seeding.

Now Sirith didn't have to ask where he needed to go. The father god, Ra, master of the sun, granter of the ultimate understanding, the ultimate pleasure, and the epitome of coupling was sitting on the sun throne, awaiting Sirith, knowing all, knowing Sirith was coming to him. And such was Sirith's blond beauty that even Ra himself was trembling in anticipation of an even higher level of pleasure than he had ever experienced. His powerful staff rose up from between his thighs, Sirith, now having gained the wisdom of what he must do, knelt before the throne and opened his mouth to the staff of Ra.

For forty days and forty nights Sirith gave Ra's staff suck and the heavens opened up to higher levels of understanding and pleasure. And Sirith's aura appeared and expanded. For another forty days and forty nights Sirith's channel rose and fell on Ra's staff as the sun shone ever brighter and Sirith's aura shimmered. Upon the release of Ra's precious seed, a great flood rushed down the Nile, purifying the land of the plague that had beset Egypt in Sirith's absence.

Knowing all now, Sirith realized that there was a balance to be had. In the night he descended on his chariot onto the land of the pharaohs and bestowed his precious seed on the women of Egypt who were ripe for it. But by day, he was in the firmament, at the throne of the father god Ra, rising and falling on the sun god's staff—and experiencing the ultimate of pleasures that he would never have known if he had not grasped life and lived it to the fullest.

And never again was he touched by Apep or Ammit.