Date: Fri, 26 Aug 2016 11:56:14 +0000 (UTC)
From: simon peter <simon23232@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Prince and his Harem Part 12

Dear Reader

Many of my other stories have elements that are based on real personal
experiences.

However, the names and places are all fictitious.

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simon23232@yahoo.com

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Simon


The Prince and his Harem Part 12

By Simon Peter


"He's here," Rasheed barged into the tent where Prince Hamed, Ivan the
Russian-Hungarian, Igor the Hungarian, and Imre the Nigerian were lounging
around a game of cards.

The boys gazed in anticipation. Omar the eunuch led the new boy in. The
boys inhaled.

Hamed almost teared up. How could anyone take this boy as a slave? How
could they kidnap him? The young prince gritted his teeth in anger and
frustration. He had to do something about this.

There was silence in the tent as Ian, the new boy, was introduced. When
Hamed asked him whether everything was all right with him, Ian broke down
and cried. In heaves. His slim teenage body shook with grief.

Immediately, Rasheed jumped up and held the crying boy in a hug. They were
almost the same height, but the contrast between Rasheed's dark skin and
Ian's very white skin was very evident. Slowly, Ian settled and his heaves
quieted a little. Rasheed led him to the cushions and laid him down gently.

Once the new boy regained his breathing, and seeing the friendly and
concerned faces of the boys around him, his age, non-threatening, his story
came out flooding. He had lost his parents while they were on holiday in
East Europe. All he remembered was having been grabbed by two strange men
who had covered his nose with a piece of cloth and shoved him into a
van. When he woke, he had seen some twelve or thirteen other boys, around
his age, in a dark room, their hands and feet tied. He hadn't been able to
communicate with any of them because none of them spoke English.

He and the other boys had been hauled onto a private plane and had been
transported directly to Sheikh Fahed's palace. Two big guards had taken him
to Sheikh Fahed where he had been made to strip. Sheikh Fahed had examined
him, held his balls, stroked his boy dick and made him bend over to finger
his boy ass. He had felt so ashamed and so miserable. Fresh tears streamed
down his smooth cheeks as he choked on the words.

It was very difficult to keep the other boys' tears in, and, after a few
minutes, all five boys were crying their eyes out, like a group of teenage
girls. Rasheed wrapped his arm around Ian's shaking shoulder, trying to
comfort him, he himself dripping tears down his face.

"Are you hungry?" Rasheed finally asked Ian. Somehow, it was taken for
granted that the black Nigerian would take Ian under his wings.

Ian nodded.

"Let's all go and eat and then Ian can settle in," Hamed suggested.

Actually, Hamed had lost his appetite. He was in deep thought as he watched
the English boy swoop large bites of food into his mouth. There had to be a
way. Things couldn't go on like this. Why was it normal for those people he
had thought of as good people, like his uncle, and for sleazy people, like
the minister, to maintain a boy-harem of slaves bought with money and used
as sex toys?

It was true, though, that Prince Hamed did buy the boys in his own
harem. But they had become companions and friends and he loved them
dearly. They were having fantastic sex only because they all craved for it,
not like the boys in Sheikh Nahed's and Sheikh Ramzi's villas. How many
other sheikhs had boy slaves that were being abused? It was not right. Or
was it? Hamed was confused.

Ian was taken to the "slave" quarters in the prince's parents' villa. The
house was now occupied by Hamed only, ever since his parents were killed in
a car accident a few years back. Omar the eunuch took care of everything
the prince needed and his uncle, Sheikh Nahed, took it upon himself to act
as protector of the young prince. Hamed left the boys and returned to his
tent.

For the following few days, Ian was being bonded into the group. But there
was no sex, nor any hint of it. The boys acted as normally as any other
boys of their age would. Most of the days were spent in the oasis, a
walking distance from the prince's tent, and the evenings were spent in the
tent. They only visited the villa to eat, shower, use the bathroom, and
sleep. Invariably, one of the boys would stay back in the tent and spend
the night with Hamed, enjoying deep sexual delights.

Around a week after Ian was brought into the group, Igor suggested that
they should let the new boy into their secret. Rasheed was against this,
but he was out-voted by the others. That evening, in spite of the chill in
the air, the boys lounged in the tent in their underwear.

"What?" the English boy asked in surprise as he entered the tent and saw
the boys almost naked. "Is this going to be some weird game?"

Igor smiled: "You could call it a game if you like, Ian. We like to
play. Would you like to join us?"

"Sure. But you have to tell me how to play," Ian innocently said.

"First," Igor smirked, rubbing his balls, "you have to strip."

Again innocently, still not noticing that the boys had bulging crotches,
Ian stripped. His skin was smooth and white as snow. His underwear bulged a
little, but nothing impressive.

As Ian squatted next to the boys, he noticed their erections inside their
underwear.

"Whoa," Ian exclaimed, jumping back up. "What the f...?"

Rasheed immediately wrapped his arm around Ian and said, "Don't panic,
Ian. No one is going to hurt you or make you do anything you don't want to
do."

Ian relaxed a little bit. He had gotten used to trusting the kind Nigerian
boy.

Igor rubbed his erection and asked, "Well, Ian, do you like boys?"

"Yea, of course," Ian answered innocently, still gazing at the bulges. "I
mean yea. Like why wouldn't I? I have many friends back home and we play
soccer and go to places together."

Igor stood up and pulled his briefs down around his thighs. His cock
erected upwards.

"I meant boys, Ian." Igor thrust his pelvis out, his cock throbbing.

"Oh, man," Ian took a step backwards, startled, eyes bulging. "No way!"

"It's ok," Rasheed said. "It's ok, Ian. Igor, for god's sake." He scowled
at Igor.

Ian looked at the faces of the other boys, then down at their bulging
crotches, and then up at Hamed's face, meeting his eyes.

"You are all gay? Do you have sex together? Is this why you bought me? To
fuck me?" Ian was on the verge of tears.

Hamed was silent. The expression on his face was pained even though the
English boy reminded him of Robert, his first love from England.

"No one is going to fuck you, Ian," Rasheed reassured the trembling
boy. "Have you ever done anything with another boy?"

Ian shook his head, trying to control the tears welling up behind his eyes.

Hamed stood up and went to the boy. "Tonight, you shall spend the night
here, in this tent," he said, trying not to sound too princely. "I will
send you some company. You will not be alone. You will have fun. Let's go
boys."

The boys collected their robes and left the tent, following the prince.

Ian sat on one of the cushions, still in his underwear, feeling more
miserable than ever. A few minutes later, the flaps of the tent opened and
he smelled a strong scent of sweet perfume. His eyes went wide as a
beautiful young houri entered, carrying a tray of grapes and a ewer of
wine.

"Who are you," Ian's voice trembled. "Why are you here?"

"I am here to make you happy, young man," the houri said. "My name is
Jamila," she added as she placed the grapes next to the boy.

It took Ian a little while to accept Jamila's advances. He was overwhelmed
by her femininity and closeness. He erected as she lounged next to him,
filling his nostrils with her perfume, her hands rubbing his smooth and
bare chest. When they kissed, the young boy shivered all over and felt his
full balls ready to release. But Jamila was an expert in the art of love.

The night was spent in delight. Ian fucked. He wasn't a total virgin,
really. He had a girlfriend back home, but he had never had the chance of
really making love to her. Most of the time, he had ended with a hand
job. This, however, was a new experience for him. When she guided him into
her wetness, he almost fainted. Ian enjoyed the woman like a man would.

"So he is straight," the prince asked Omar the next morning.

Omar nodded.

"And you peeked," Hamed added, more as a statement than a question.

Omar was silent. Of course, the eunuch had peeked.

"Jamila did a fine job," Omar finally whispered.

"This settles it," Hamed said to his friends. "Ian is straight. No one is
to come near him and force sex on him. Do you understand, Igor?"

"I'll make sure of it," Rasheed said protectively, eying Igor meaningfully.

After breakfast, Hamed went to see Master Hooman, the 75-year old man who
tutored him in philosophy.

"Master Hooman," Hamed said after he deferentially greeted his tutor. "What
does it take to free a slave? And why would a man find it pleasant to lie
with another man?"

The old man raised his eyebrows and regarded the prince with
interest. "Free a slave? How can you free someone who already is a free
soul? Lie with another man? Who is to say when there is pleasure?"

"You speak to me in riddles, Master. But I need to know if freeing a slave
can be done and if it is right to do it."

"What is right and what is wrong, my prince, are the same thing. An action
will be right or wrong after its result is seen."

"But, Master, my uncle and other respectable men in the princedom buy and
sell slaves. How could this be wrong?"

"In your heart, young prince, what do you feel?" the old man smiled
knowingly. The boy was maturing with instincts that all princes should
have. "Follow your heart, my boy, and you will never be wrong."

Hamed spent the morning alone in the oasis, thinking. When he returned to
the tent, he called for Imre and they talked.

"How about paying another visit to Sheikh Ramzi?" Hamed asked.

"Oh, no," Imre wailed. Imre couldn't stand the sleazy minister. He fucked
the man's ass as a punishment rather than as an act of love. His pleasure
came from the pain his horse dick inflicted on Ramzi, not from the release
of his balls load inside the man.

"Listen, Imre. Ian cannot stay with us. He will not be able to blend
in. There is no way that he can leave the country. He will always be
miserable no matter what we do for him. Are you with me?"

"You mean that you are going to set him free?" Imre asked, incredulous.

"He is already free. He was free before and will always be free. No man can
enslave another." Hamed was vehement.

"But you bought us," Imre said.

"That is true," Hamed conceded. "I had thought that this was the way that
normal things were, that sheikhs and princes can buy slaves. The Almighty
decrees it. But now I realize that all of this is not true."

"But what has fucking the asshole Ramzi to do with all of this?"

"You don't understand. Sheikh Ramzi is Minister of Interior," Hamed said,
the look at his face pregnant with meaning.

"I get it," Imre smiled after a few moments. "You are going to get Ramzi to
let Ian go back home, right?"

Hamed nodded, feeling tears threatening to flood out of his eyes.

Imre hugged the prince. "I can't believe you are this good, Hamed. Let's go
fuck Ramzi!"

"No, young prince," Sheikh Ramzi said as they sat in his grand hall an hour
later. The minister was wearing his white robe, apparently with nothing
underneath. The two boys were also on robes. Ramzi picked at a grape and
added: "It's against our culture."

"All I'm asking, Minister, is to find a way to return a boy to his
parents. How can that be against our culture?" Hamed surreptitiously placed
his hand on the sheikh's thigh.

"Believe me, prince, it is," the minister shook his head, his eyes glued to
the prince's hand rubbing his thigh.

Hamed pondered for a few seconds and then looked up and addressed the
minister in a regal attitude, "Your Eminence, I am sure we can come to an
agreement. Imre, here, whom you very well know, is at your service. So am
I." He squeezed the inside of the man's thigh to stress what he meant.

Imre reached over and slid his hand up the sheikh's robe, reaching the
hairy crack. Ramzi moaned and closed his eyes.

"You drive a hard bargain, Hamed," he grunted as Imre's fingers rubbed up
and down his crack slowly and pressed under his balls.

"And you will get a hard rod or two in return. Very hard, very young, to
your satisfaction," Hamed smirked, rubbing his crotch invitingly as he
moved his hand up onto the reclining minister's chest, squeezing a nipple.

Hamed knew he was blackmailing. Most probably, Master Hooman would frown at
this. But he had to do something to free Ian. He had to change things. If
he had to prostitute himself to do so, he would, willingly.

Ramzi reached for Imre's crotch and fished out the black boy's monster
cock, semi-hard. The minister bent and unhesitatingly and hungrily gulped
the snake cock in one swallow. On the other side, Hamed hitched Ramzi's
robe all the way up to his waist, exposing the man's lower body, and
fingered the minister's hole. It twitched hungrily around his middle
finger. With his other hand, Hamed stroked himself to erection, trying his
best to control his aversion.

Ramzi slobbered on Imre's hard cock as he squeezed his ass muscle around
Hamed's probing finger.

Slowly, Hamed raised his own robe, his dick now hard, and placed it at the
twitching hole. He thrust in to penetrate without using any lubricant or
spit. Ramzi's scream at the rough invasion was muffled by the black cock
filling his mouth, and by Imre's hand pressing on head, forcing him to
swallow the whole shaft.

Hamed fucked hard and deep, his nails digging into the man's hips, knowing
that the minister liked it this way. Imre choked Ramzi by thrusting deeper
inside his throat. It took a few minutes for the boys to drop their young
seed inside the minister's two holes.

"Look," Ramzi said, wiping semen off his lips, regaining some kind of
composure. "We have to be very discreet. There might be a diplomatic crisis
because of this."

"Don't you see, Minister?" Hamed said, pulling up his undershorts and
lowering his white dishdash.

"Everyone is a winner. You will be in good stead with the foreign embassy
for finding and returning a kidnapped boy. The boy will return to his
parents. And I and Imre will be servicing you whenever you need a special
serving."

The minister nodded. "I will arrange everything. No word to anyone,
especially to your uncle. You know how Nahed feels about having slaves. He
buys them like clothing. And there is also Sheikh Fahed: his whole business
depends on trading boys. It will all have to be very discreet."

"Sheikh Ramzi, rest assured. My uncle will know nothing of this. Nor will
anyone else." He patted the minister's wet and slimy butt.

And so, two weeks later, Ian went home.

The boys returned to their frolicking, but Hamed was becoming more and more
concerned. He wanted all the slaves to be freed and sent to their
homes. But this couldn't be done. At least not yet, the young prince kept
thinking. Not yet!

Hamed grew fond of Imre the most. He loved all his friends, but for some
reason, Imre held a special place in his heart. Both Hamed and Imre kept
fucking Sheikh Ramzi, the sleazy minister. They even double-fucked him a
couple of times. The sheikh had a fuck tunnel wider than a highway in the
desert.

When the two boy-cocks invaded his ass, Sheikh Ramzi almost fainted. That
did not stop the boys from mercilessly ramming their cocks deep into the
sleazy man.

"I love you, Imre," Hamed once whispered in the black boy's ear as he
squirted his last sperm inside his friend's black ass. "So much. You will
not leave me, Imre. Please say it," Hamed pleaded.

Imre's rim muscle tightened around the prince's cock as he turned his
head. "I love you, too, my prince. Now, can I fuck you?"

Hamed laughed and slapped the black, firm boy butt playfully as he slid
out, his cock dripping.

"Ride me, black boy," he said, getting on his hands and knees and offering
his ass.

Imre mounted the prince and fucked: gentle, long, sweet and full of
emotional love. The seed spilling inside the prince's body was filled with
a mixture of passion, appreciation, and even respect.

Igor, Ivan and Rasheed must have sensed this special relation between Imre
and Hamed. They were jealous, of course. But at least, they got to play
around with the prince every now and then.

Hamed kept thinking of ways of getting these boys home as he lay next to a
sleeping Imre. Not Imre, though. Imre was his. More correctly, he was
Imre's: the prince turned slave. He held the naked Imre in his arms tightly
and placed a gentle kiss on the black boy's exposed neck before he drifted
to a dreamless sleep.