The filth of a scum, he thought wrathfully. Imagine having the nerve to come into his presence with prostitutes for his guest, as if he asked for it. And Gal, was he pleased by the offer? Yes, he had rejected Badru’s offering, but who was to say he hadn’t merely done that as an act of modesty in the presence of the prince? Soldiers such as he were legendary for their insatiable appetite for what lay between the thighs of women. He may very well have requested for Badru to return the girls to his room after he, Atum, left to retire for the night.
Images of Gal’s huge frame positioned over the nubile women flashed then through his mind. He grimaced as he saw in his mind’s eye that panther skin glowing in the dark as he drove deep into the sex of one of them harlots with vigour, while she screamed, her breasts joggling this way and that in tandem with his thrusts. The imagination gave Atum a jolt.
He sat up on his bed, his anger getting replaced by something darker – jealousy. It rose like a visible mass, beclouding every corner of his mind, and etching itself on his face. He reached for his robe and then made his way out of his room, through the secret passage that would lead him to Gal’s room.
If the war lord was having sex, thought Atum, definitely he would hear it. He had to know.
Making his way through the secret passage made him feel some strangeness. He remembered when he was much younger, and the time when he would walk through this same passage to peer into the quarters of the cook. The statues of Egyptian gods stood against the walls in the chambers of every servant. Only very few were aware that the glass ornaments which served as eyes on these art sculptures were in fact spy objects which granted full views of the quarters, only assessed by whoever was in the secret passage. Atum smiled as he remembered his initial shock when he first espied one of the palace cooks, a smallish, usually reticent woman, acting in a crazed manner, bouncing up and down in a frenzy as she met the hard thrusts of a palace guard. It was clear to Atum, as he watched, that those two were caught in the hold of great pleasure. And that made him wonder how it would feel for him to be with another man, and have his manhood occupy him within. He remembered feeling startled by the thought. He hadn’t seen himself as the palace guard, pumping away at the cook, or any other female. No. He had seen himself as the cook, with his back arched, as he received the thrusting pleasure of another man.
He went back to his room that first night after watching them, and pleasured himself. He raised his legs and played with the entrance of his rear with his fingers, while he stroked with his other hand his hardened member which stood at 8.7 in length and 6.4 in girth at full rise. And the ecstatic pleasure he felt each time he did this to himself, and the wild satisfaction he felt with every orgasm his hands brought to him, made him envy the two lovers in the servants’ quarters.
Every night thenceforth, he would make his way through the secret passage, hoping he would see them in pleasure again. And whenever there was no session, his night of self pleasure was ruined. Seeing the way the palace guard closed his eyes, slowly moved his head from side to side with his mouth slightly opened, as if belting a music note while his thick manhood disappeared totally into the cook’s behind with such fierce but graceful ease was such a marvelous sight that made Atum envy the cook. Deep in his heart, he earnestly hoped someday the gods would grant him such an opportunity.
Presently, as he made his way quietly through the stone passage, the images of Gal and the harlots continued to flash in his mind. And each time they did, he found himself fighting the odd sick feeling it brought him.
Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks. This should be the place. Mentally calculating six cubits, he turned to face south, approached the wall and pressed his ears against it. He didn’t have any access to look into the room; only the Pharaoh’s private secret passage could grant such an access. But this wall held the guest quarters inside it. This was Gal’s room.
Why then was it so silent?
Atum pressed his ears harder against the cold wall, hoping to pick up even the faintest whisper of an ecstatic cry, or the lightest slap of skin against skin. There was nothing. He looked around to confirm that he was in the right place. Of course he was. This was the spot. Once again, he leaned against the wall and concentrated on listening for any sounds coming from beyond the wall. Still, nothing.
He figured then that he must have missed the action. Gal must have already been done with the harlots. Cursing under his breath, he made his way back to his room. As he laid on his bed, he was madder than he was when he left.
Somehow, he managed to sleep. And he dreamed. He was dressed as the cook, and was positioned in the same sitting posture. And he was slowly going up and down, meeting gentle but firm thrusts below. The sensation of being occupied completely by a phallus, one which stretched him fully and went right deep inside of him, felt so good. Huge, roughly-hewn hands ran all over his body tenderly, their thick fingers finding their way into his mouth so he could suck on them. He threw his head back as those hands came down his neck to his slender chest, the fingers, still moistened by the wetness of his mouth, locating his slightly prominent nipples and playing with him. He groaned with the pleasure of it and brought down his face to meet the gaze that was just as heated as his. The eyes were hooded with passion upon the most striking face – Gal’s face.
Atum woke up with a mild start, to the feel of wet sensation on his thighs. He had his ejaculate smeared all over his thighs and the bed sheets. His manhood was still very turgid, and he ran his hands over his face as though to clear away the cobwebs of his sleep and the dream he’d had. He couldn’t quite believe how vivid the dream had been. It had felt so very real, the first of its kind that he would ever have. The pleasure, the sensations, the passion – they had all felt so real.
And then, he realized with a gamut of warring emotions, that he wanted exactly those same things with the war lord. He knew now that the only battles he ever wanted to fight with the Shebite stranger from Babylon was not in the dusty terrains of Egyptian land, but between the silken sheets of an Egyptian bed.
Written by Joe Alex