by Sean Michael
He had felt nothing, been nothing, but now ... now he was Amut's deep into his soul.
The sensations built, grew in dunes so huge he could not see the crest of pleasure, could do nothing but stand, gasping, in the shadow of what his raya had offered him. Mindless pleasure moved through him over and over again, as if he were enjoying the gifts of climax, though he did not, he would not without Amut's command.
When it came, the whisper of ‘give me your pleasure, Imani', he almost missed it, he was so lost in his raya's touch.
Feyer might have screamed. He might have whimpered. He might have cried out to his raya. He might even have remained silent.
He knew not.
He might have shook or flailed or arched up.
He knew not.
All he knew was pleasure.
Pleasure that felt like his raya.
Pleasure that sounded like his raya.
Pleasure that smelled like his raya.
Pleasure that tasted like his raya.
Pleasure that was his raya.
There was nothing but Amut and then even that faded.
He roused to his raya's heartbeat beneath his cheek, his body cradled in strong arms. “You have pleased me, Imani. Would you stay here and have the chadani tend to you tonight or would you stay with your raya?"
There was no question which he wanted. “You, Raya, I would stay with you, if it pleases you."
"Nothing would please me more, Imani.” He was given a soft, honeyed kiss before his raya lifted his head. “This is an Imani. One who is most favored. One who is honored."
Then they left the silent tent, the chadani kneeling low to the ground as they passed.
He barely noticed the trip back to Amut's tent, except for the night air, which seemed cold after the heat of the chadani tent. He curled into the arms that held him, his raya's hot skin keeping him warm. He felt small and fragile and yet loved and honored above all. He did not think he could have borne being away from his raya right now.
His raya took him into the tent, where the lamps burned slow and the air was scented sweet with incense. They curled into the furs, strong dark arms never releasing him. A cup of honeyed wine was pressed to his lips, cold and sweet, quenching a thirst he did not know he had.
Feyer blinked as the cup was taken away and he stretched against his raya's skin. A soft moan passed his lips, he could still feel his raya's hand inside him.
"You pleased me, Imani. So obedient, so good.” The words were as much a caress as the huge hands.
"I would do anything if you asked it of me, my Raya."
"As it should be, Imani. You belong to me.” He was given a long, slow kiss, tongue pushing deep and easy into his mouth.
Amut tasted like happiness and Feyer opened his mouth wider, hungry and eager.
Feyer was stretched out, body stroked in long, steady motions. His raya's hands were firm, pushing hard, pumping his body. He shuddered—he could still feel his raya's hand inside him, even as Amut's fingers slid over his skin. It didn't seem real and yet nothing else seemed as real as what his raya had done in the chadani tent.
It was as if his raya had turned his entire body into an erogenous zone, adoring him, making him fly. He couldn't find his breath, couldn't stop shaking with the pleasure that moved through him. He reached out blindly, hand wrapping around Amut's arm. Now he could fly, for now he was tethered to the earth and would not get lost among the clouds.
"Mine, Imani.” His raya's body pressed close, hard and hot. “Mine."
"Yes, my Raya.” Oh, yes. He was Amut's. There was no doubt in his mind or his body that this was so; he could feel it in every part of his being.
Amut began to rock with him, hard, needy cock pushing against his stomach, as hot as a brand. Crying out, he pushed up into that cock, needing to feel its burn against his skin. He would wear his raya's mark, let everyone see the proof of his devotion, a permanent scar to mark the memory of his raya's hand inside him.
For a moment he wished Amut's cock were leaving such a brand on his skin, something to match the mark upon his soul.
A hand slid beneath his hip, pulling him closer, harder, tighter. Grunts and moans filled the air, his raya's thrusts coming faster. He looked up into Amut's face, watching pleasure move over the dark skin.
Dark eyes held him as close as the thick hands. Voice rough and swollen with need, his raya growled. “Come with me, my Imani."
Oh! Oh, he could do that and he did, eyes never leaving his raya's gaze as pleasure made him shake with the sweetest climax. His raya's seed joined his, splashing over his belly, hot as fire. It was sheer bliss—he had never felt pleasure so pure, so his own even as he gave it up to Amut.
His raya settled around him, warm and heavy, surrounding him with dark skin. “Sleep, Imani You have done well."
"You honor me, my Raya."
He closed his eyes, body heavy and full, sated and happy beyond measure. He could feel Amut's touch everywhere, within and without and it was good, right. The way had not always been smooth and it was rarely easy, but he had truly earned the title of Imani and now, finally, he understood what that meant. Honored, treasured, held in the palm of his raya's hand, he slept.
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