Date: Tue, 19 May 2015 20:20:39 +0100
From: Harry Palmer <soupdragonspider@gmail.com>
Subject: The Alexandrian Mysteries Chapter 3: A doctor in the house

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The Alexandrian Mysteries

by Harry Palmer

Chapter 3: A doctor in the house
(or perfer et obdura; dolor hic tibi proderit olim)

Alexandria, Egypt

335 AD



It was two days after the banquet and life in my mistress's villa had
already resumed its more usual pace; quiet, orderly and largely unexciting.
All the guests had departed except for one man, Malach, a rather stern,
middle-aged Jewish dignitary, a devoted friend of my mistress, her personal
physician and it was rumoured, her sometime lover, who had taken up
temporary residence in one of the guest quarters. He had now been joined
there by his two servants, a pair of 15-year old twins, Adnah and Talia,
who mostly kept themselves apart from us and were rarely seen in the main
house. They were, in fact, something of a mystery to us and a subject of
gossip amongst the regular household servants, who whispered furtively
together whenever either of them were glimpsed going about some task -
although, in truth, to glimpse one was to glimpse the other, not only
because they were so alike, if not technically identical, but rather more
due to the fact that neither of them ever seemed to appear in public alone,
preferring, as if by some strange, secret agreement, to act as one body, as
it were.

Malach was, in fact, a highly congenial guest, taking a great interest in
myself and my work, always asking after this or that aspect of the
household and its administration and he and I would often take an early
morning stroll together in the south garden, discussing different topics of
interest. It was during one of these rather leisurely conversations that he
quizzed me intently about the new boys and how their initial training was
progressing. I was happy to provide him with the information; he had, after
all a professional interest in them since he had agreed to conduct medical
assessments of their fitness, this being the principal reason both for his
staying on at the villa and for the presence of the twins, who were to
assist him in his endeavours.

He was very keen to discover everything he could about the boys and even
the smallest observation on my part concerning them drew a knowing smile, a
raised eyebrow or sympathetic laugh. I amused him with anecdotes arising
from our attempts to introduce the boys to our customs, our ways of
dressing, of eating, our domestic arrangements, our rules and regulations.
He especially enjoyed the story I related of how, on the very first day
with us the two younger boys, Kallistos and Pamphilos, had been puzzled by
the toilet arrangements, their blank faces and incomprehension on being led
to the back of the communal washing area and shown the long, raised
platform with six deep holes set in a companionable semi-circle, a pile of
dried cabbage leaves strewn to one side. No amount of pointing and
gesticulation seemed to work in conveying to them the idea of what
functions were here to be performed and in the end Cyrus had made an
exaggerated pantomime of eating, before pulling his tunic up above his
waist, baring himself unashamedly to all, and sitting over the nearest
hole. He proceeded to make truly disgusting noises with his mouth in an
all-too-realistic imitation of shitting. Amidst gales of laughter from all
present, myself included, the two little boys had hiked up their own long
cotton tunics and copied the action, vying with each other merrily in
producing the most revolting noises. Even Lucius allowed himself to put
aside his sense of Roman superiority and laughed heartily along with
everyone else.

Soon the day had come for all four boys to submit to their medical
examinations and they were packed off to stay in the guest quarters where
Malach could conduct his trials in private, something he had very much
insisted on for reasons, I assumed, of protecting his professional
integrity. It was a difficult moment seeing them slink unhappily away from
the tender care of their mentors to an uncertain fate at the hands of the
good doctor. They all looked pretty miserable and Nereus and Theron in
particular were touchingly solicitous of their charges, hugging them
lovingly, assuring them that it would all be alright, that they would soon
be back amongst us in the main house. Cyrus was sulking somewhere after I
had told him off for making Pamphilos cry by telling him that the medical
consisted of cutting him open to find out if his internal organs were in
the right places. It had taken a lot of hugs and kisses from the others to
restore even a vestige of the little boy's customary smile and happy
demeanour. Now that they were gone, the main house was quieter than ever
and a kind of sadness hung in the air. The fact was, we missed them and
couldn't wait for them to return once their health and fitness had been
officially confirmed.

****************************************************************

Now it was a few hours later and Malach was pulling tentatively at his
beard, a gesture which he tended to make whenever any kind of decision was
required of him. He ran his eyes again over the four columns of neatly
recorded figures, the initial, basic information that had now been compiled
by his servants under his watchful supervision; height from top to toe,
length of arms, length of leg from thigh to knee, from knee to ankle; chest
size when expanded and when at rest, distance between the eyes, between ear
lobe and shoulder, length of each finger. Waists had been measured, teeth
had been counted, angle of noses noted, movement of the eyes inspected.

Malach pulled again at his beard, allowing his own eyes to go crossed for a
second, making the list of numbers blur. He took great pride in the depth
of knowledge that could be deduced from such a precise statistical
enumeration of physical properties as he now had recorded in relation to
the four boys before him. However, he knew full well that the true test,
the true measure of the fitness of these children for what he purposed, lay
elsewhere; lay in their responsiveness, in their sensitivity, their aptness
in mind and spirit as much as in body. How truly deep and holy, he mused to
himself, were the ways of his calling! How mysterious the secret voice that
led him on! How untranslatable the extremes of feeling to which his worldly
task gave access! He sighed deeply, realising that he had let his eyes
close for an instant and that in that instant he had been transported.
Slowly, the words, the numbers re-formed before him on the parchment. The
names of Sulong, Sayid, Kallistos, Pamphilos; the measurements, the
well-defined, the incontestable; the history of each living child reduced
to so many numbers. And all the while, the eager face of Adnah, his dark
eyes bright, a finger, perhaps in unconscious imitation of Malach's own
gestures, touching now and then the few dark hairs that had so recently
begun to appear above his upper lip.

"You may begin!" said Malach at last and Adnah turned instantly to the
girl, Talia, a beaming smile lighting his face.

"We may begin!" he announced with some formality.

"Yes, so I gather," said Talia rather tetchily as she turned to the four
boys spread out in a row in the centre of the room.

They stood alike, entirely naked, facing away from the doctor and his two
assistants, with their hands on their heads, a few feet apart from each
other. In front of each boy was a small, square table of plain, rough-hewn
timber, the thick legs of which, however, were alive with images of deer
and crocodile, snake and rat, of herons and of sparrow-hawks and many other
animals beside, this already-exotic menagerie made more fantastical by the
presence of a number of strange, possibly mythical creatures, whose carved
faces seemed intent on reaching out into the living world beyond the flat,
dead surface of the wood.

Talia moved casually along the line of boys and helped them assume the
required posture. Guiding them by the arm, or with a gentle pressure on
their backs, she positioned each boy carefully until he was bent over the
desk, his fingers reaching as far down to the floor as his height would
allow, chins resting either on or over the far edge. In this, her actions
were precise and very gentle and with each boy, but especially with the
younger two, she whispered kind encouragement and assurance as she made
them bend over. Finally, she moved down the line again making some minor
adjustments, ensuring that the boys' legs were set well apart, the head
kept down.

"You must all stay in that position - no moving allowed," she said sternly,
although had the boys not had their faces stooped towards the floor, they
would have seen her smile and would, perhaps, have been somewhat mollified
by the tenderness in her eyes as she surveyed the row of bottoms raised up
in front of her. But the truth is, no boy can with hopeful heart or calm,
unagitated mind, assume such a position, baring behind, bumhole, privates,
all, to three complete strangers, one of them a girl! The fact is, their
nervousness, evident enough during the first part of the examination, when
knotted cords, used to measure their limbs, were all they had to fear, was
now increasing tenfold with each breath as they contemplated their helpless
vulnerability in the face of whatever unknown fate it was awaited them.

Sayid's nervousness expressed itself most eloquently in a short, rather
musical fart that actually had the effect of reducing the tension somewhat;
four tables rocked gently as four boys repressed giggles. Even Adnah had to
stifle a guffaw, still of an age, as he was, to find such things amusing.
Talia shot her brother a disapproving look. She held Adnah and his gross,
toilet humour to be embarrassingly immature although she experienced no
revulsion in relation to the act itself and in fact, felt nothing but
tender concern towards Sayid.

"Settle down!" she ordered, pacing up and down the row of bared posteriors.
When she came to Sayid, she ran a hand gently over his lower back, soothing
him, aware that the laughter was probably a poor disguise for the
mortification he was, no doubt, feeling inside.

"It's alright, sweetheart," she whispered in his ear. "Don't you worry
about that, there's a good boy." She paused a second, rubbing the 12-year
old child's flank with her thumb, feeling him relax under her touch.

Finally Talia assumed a position directly behind Pamphilos, the first of
the boys, who were, in fact, arranged in ascending order of age. Adnah had
moved silently to her side bearing a tray with a flask of oil, sponges, a
large waterbowl and a curious collection of short leather thongs. They eyed
each other briefly and smiled deeply, twins sharing again their secret
understanding, like lovers. Malach watched intently from his desk, taking
notes all the while, missing nothing, murmuring to himself from time to
time. He paused, his stylus raised in mid-air, awaiting, so it seemed, a
final confirmation of some arcane point or other, a reckoning whose
arbitration rested solely on the outcome of whatever would unfold before
him in the next few minutes.

"Well," he said impatiently, "get on with it!"

****************************************************************

Meanwhile, back in the main house, I was busying myself with a practical
project, plans for a new pathway, complete with a mosaic design featuring a
variety of astrological symbols, which was to be laid along the west
terrace, one of Miriam's favourite spots and where she was often to be
found during the day. It was Miriam herself who had overseen the design and
chosen the images and she had personally instructed the craftsmen she had
employed in order to ensure that the final effect was created exactly in
line with her wishes. It fell to me to see the task through to completion
and I was even now approving the schedules that had been prepared by the
foreman of the proposed works.

I studied the plans before me, referring all the time to the detailed
drawings of the site, comparing timings, costings and estimates, realising
as I did so that the project had, in fact, grown substantially and was now
a fairly major undertaking which would cause far more disruption than had
initially been indicated. One thing struck me immediately; the plans now
required the new path to extend some twenty yards further than originally
intended, taking it to the far side of the rear of the guest quarters. This
was inconvenient now that those quarters were occupied by Malach and his
servants but the inconvenience was relatively minor and certainly not
enough to require either the plans themselves to be altered or the work on
them to be delayed.

However, it was only common courtesy, I supposed, to inform Malach that the
back entrance to his quarters would be out of bounds for the duration of
his stay, during which the whole area was to be dug up and the new path
laid. He would not be put out, I was sure and I quickly scribbled a note
along the lines of: "would he please ensure that only the front
entrance....blah, blah, blah...apologies for the unavoidable
disruption....blah, blah...would not be too inconvenienced...blah."

I walked briskly through to the adjoining room where I had left Cyrus to
work on some ledgers relating to certain kitchen expenses which I had
noticed were not being managed as closely as I would have liked. He was
sitting there dreamily looking up at the ceiling, picking his nose with
great determination and purpose. I cleared my throat loudly and he turned
round, not even bothering to remove his finger from his nose until he had
cleared it out to his own satisfaction. He looked at me with a happy smile.

"Sorry," he said, not sounding sorry in the slightest. I looked down at
him, my eyebrows arched, waiting.

"I mean...I'm sorry, master."

He rose bashfully and awaited my latest orders.

"Leave what you are doing...including the excavation work on your poor,
little nose..."

He smiled again, that smile; he really was a most handsome lad.

"I need you to take this note over to Malach in his quarters. Do it now.
Deliver the note. If he has any reply, you are to memorise it and come
straight back to me, you understand?"

"Yes, master." The boy hesitated. "Sir, his quarters, sir? I mean, am I
allowed, sir? I thought we had instru..."

"Never mind that," I said briskly. "I need you to do this now. It's called
an order, boy! You remember what an order is, don't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you remember how servants such as yourself are expected to respond to
orders?"

He smiled wide, catching the teasing tone in my voice.

"Yes, master!"

"And you know very well what happens to servants who fail to obey a direct
order, don't you? In particular, what happens to their backsides!"

He positively grinned now, taking the note from my hand. Before he could
turn away, I gripped his still-boyish wrist lightly, a thought forming.

"Actually, lad, when you are there...have a quick check on the boys."

"Master?" He looked at me quizzically, his head cocked to one side.

"I'm sure they're fine but if you happen to see anything, then report back
to me, you understand? Just to let me know what's going on over there, yes?
But discreetly, mind. Be discreet, lad."

"Yes, sir," he mumbled, as if strangely troubled by this new imposition.

"Well, go on. Hop to it!" I said, encouraging him with a light swat to his
rear end. Cyrus positively hopped in the direction of the guest quarters,
behind the doors of which, the medical examinations continued unobserved.

****************************************************************

Talia had taken a sponge from the tray which Adnah had now laid on the
floor and had soaked it in the low-grade olive oil. With the greatest of
delicacy, one hand resting lightly upon his back, she began to wipe
Pamphilos' bum, covering his hole with a generous slick of oil.

"There's a good boy," she crooned, sweetly. "Nothing to be scared of..."

She glanced up at Adnah who now stooped on the other side of the little
lad, a wicked grin on his face, a single, long digit raised. Slowly, he
felt around the boy's bumhole with his finger, eased it in a quarter inch
and held it there. Pamphilos gasped and tensed across the desk. He let out
a little whimper, not of real distress but calculated to communicate his
worry to Talia. She, sensitve creature that she was, recognised this at
once and stroked the boy's head gently.

"Don't fret, little one," she whispered. "Here, let me help you."

With these words, she placed both hand on Pamphilos' buttocks, ever so
gently easing them apart, opening his hole and allowing Adnah greater
access. He took the opportunity to push his finger in a bit deeper, half an
inch, an inch, felt the muscular response around his oily digit, heard the
yelp of surprised discomfort from Pamphilos.

"Eyes front, all of you!" The voice of Malach rang out in response to the
attempts by all three of the other boys to crane their necks sideways and
see what was going on, to discover the fate that, no doubt, awaited them.
After a short pause to allow everyone to settle again, Adnah made a few
exploratory movements of his finger, wiggling it gently in a circular
motion, after which he looked across to Talia and nodded briefly.

"Good boy," she said to Pamphilos, leaning forward and kissing him lightly
on the backside. Adnah withdrew his finger and busied himself for a moment,
stooping to wash his hands in the waterbowl by his feet. Talia continued to
talk softly and gently into the ear of little Pamphilos, whom she now
raised up from the desk to face her. He looked up at her, bewildered and
uncomprehending but at the same time re-assured by her gentleness and shyly
overcome by the smiling radiance of her undoubted loveliness, a reaction
that all four boys would share in, once their own turns came for an
intimate examination.

Talia had taken one of the leather thongs from the tray and now bent in
front of Pamphilos and proceeded to fit it to his genitals. There were
little cupped supports for the balls but these were not required in his
case - would only be required for Sayid and for Sulong - since the little
lad's testicles had not yet descended. Talia smiled down at Pamphilos as
she took his long, thin penis in her hand and gently tied the loop of
leather around it, tightened it to the necessary degree and then with great
dexterity tied the longest parts of the device behind the child's back so
that his penis was held pointing upwards and pulled tight into his body. In
the case of Pamphilos, the tip of his uncircumcised cock reached
impressively almost to his belly-button. Talia made a final adjustment to
ensure the contraption was not bound too tightly, during which procedure
she could not resist running the tip of her finger around the inner rim of
the boy's foreskin, making him fidget and squirm in a delicious mixture of
embarrassed surprise and delight. Finally, she re-positioned him over the
desk, glanced at Adnah and moved swiftly on to the next in line, young
Kallistos, with whom the exact same process - wiping his bumhole with oil,
Adnah's digital probing of his anus and the fitting of the strange, leather
straps around his genitals - was repeated step by step.

It was at this very point that Cyrus arrived outside the door to the guest
quarters. Finding it locked, rather as he had suspected he would, he tutted
loudly in annoyance. He didn't like to disappoint his master, wanted very
much, in fact, to please him, even more so since the night of the banquet
when he had sneaked into Theodoulos' bed and had been welcomed there; more
than welcomed. He recalled how anxious his master had seemed to be that
this letter to Malach be delivered speedily. He also recalled his words:
something about

"...what happens to servants who fail to obey a direct order. In
particular, what happens to their backsides!"

He sat down heavily on a laundry basket by the door and considerd his
options. He could give up the task in the face of the locked door and
return the letter to his master, risking a beating at his hands, a light
warming of his bottom at the very least. Or he could run away to sea. His
mind drifted vaguely to the scary figure of Joseph, the former slave trader
who had rescued the four boys in the first place. He shuddered at the
thought. There must be another option. There simply must be!

What else had Theodoulos said?

"Be discreet, lad." That was it; be discreet. Be...crafty. Be...sneaky,
even. Be...but yes, that was it! He somehow needed to find a crafty way of
sneaking into the guest quarters. But how? Suddenly it came to him and he
clapped his hands, applauding his own ingenuity. These quarters had their
own kitchens for the exclusive use of guests and from these kitchens it was
certainly possible to access the whole of the apartments. Moreover, he knew
that Malach and his servants ate in the main house, that his mistress,
Miriam, would have it no other way considering the personal regard, the
closeness indeed, she felt for the doctor. So the kitchens were not
currently in use, would be deserted and it was unlikely that Malach,
probably ignorant of their very existence, would have gone to the trouble
of ensuring that all doors there were locked.

Within a few minutes, Cyrus had made his way through the maze of back
corridors which led to the guest kitchens and had passed through the
kitchens themselves; no fires were lit, the stoves were cold and as he had
suspected, no-one was around to question him as to why he was sneaking
about where the likes of servants such as Cyrus simply should not sneak.
And now he was standing at the side-door which led directly to the main
guest chamber, a side-door that he found to his great relief although not
very greatly to his surprise, was, indeed, unlocked. He eased the door open
as gently as he could, ready to announce himself.

But something held him back. It was not a sound, it was not a smell, it was
not anything he had seen. It was an atmosphere; a strange, elusive, sweetly
discomforting atmosphere that did something not altogether unpleasant to
his teeth and made his little balls shrink in their little sac. He held his
breath and listened hard. The voices he could hear were close by but were
speaking more or less in whispers. He craned his neck inch by inch around
the door-frame and gaped at the sight before him; the four boys, their
bottoms raised over a series of strangely-carved desks, the beautiful Talia
brandishing a wierd harness-like contraption in her hand and her twin
brother Adnah, equally beautiful, crouched intently by Sulong, his finger
firmly jammed up the lad's arse, pulling and pushing, circling and
spiralling, teasing and coaxing, a sloppy, stickiness sucking about its
thrusting length.

Sulong was moaning across the desk and Cyrus briefly thought back to the
night of the banquet, his mouth on Sulong's stiff cock, the custard
shooting in his face. Talia looked back to Malach, out of sight, and said
something about the boy being "highly suitable", whatever that meant. As
Cyrus continued to watch, his mouth gaping open in astonishment, Adnah
stopped, removed his finger and laughingly slapped the boy's buttocks;
buttocks, thought Cyrus, with a kind of prim disapproval, that were but a
year younger than Adnah's own. Talia now raised Sulong and went to work
with her leather device, handling the large-ish testicles and openly
playing with his erect penis, enjoying the task of circling it with the
little loop and tying it back, thick and woody against the boy's light
olive skin. Cyrus squirmed, for Talia was also, of course, but a year older
than Sulong and Cyrus could only imagine the boy's embarrassment and shame.

Once Sulong was back in position across the desk and Adnah had again washed
his hands, the twins moved out of sight for a moment and there was silence
in the room save for the faint scratching of a stylus on parchment. Cyrus
wondered at the scene, his mind racing in desperate circles in an attempt
to arrive at an answer to the many questions that troubled him. What kind
of medical examination was this? Who were these mysterious twins? What
strange role did they play here at the behest of their master, the doctor,
Malach? And what should he, Cyrus, do now? He was about to withdraw
silently and unobserved, to consider once more his options, when the twins
again appeared in sight. They both had a very familiar household object
gripped in their right hand; Talia was holding a sandal of the kind that
was worn indoors by all the servants and her brother held a long, heavy,
wooden spoon, of a type Cyrus had seen many times in the kitchens. His
curiosity was immediately aroused and he decided to watch further to see
what happened next; he had, after all, personal experience of very similar
items being used for purposes other than their normal everyday function.
His mind went back to a particular afternoon when he had been cheeky to one
of the senior cooks and his hand reached automatically to his own backside,
remembering the excruciating hurt that had resulted. And Lucius had tanned
him and his fellow junior servants any number of times using a slipper very
similar to the one that Talia now held.

"We expect you to bear this trial bravely. All of you!" said Adnah sternly.
Then, with an approving glance to her brother, Talia moved to the rear of
Pamphilos and delivered a mighty whack with the slipper to his bare bottom.
He yelled out with surprise as much as with hurt since the next two blows,
delivered with equal force, brought no response. Talia moved onto Kallistos
and spanked him in like fashion, eliciting the same squeal of surprise at
the first blow. Sayid's turn followed the same pattern but before moving on
to deal with Sulong's rear end, Talia turned and nodded to Adnah, who, with
a deep breath, took up position behind Pamphilos and began to beat the
child with the wooden spoon, six blows in rapid, painful succession before,
himself, moving on to Kallistos. Talia had, in the meantime delivered three
whacks to Sulong's bare buttocks and had returned to Pamphilos, where she
proceeded to mete out the same treatment, spanking him harder this time
directly over the red marks her brother had just left on the boy's plump
little backside. By the time Talia had finished with Pamphilos, Adnah had,
in turn, beaten Kallistos and Sayid and was even now bringing the spoon
down with full force on poor Sulong.

And so it went on. Cyrus watched in fascinated horror at the continuous
beating being delivered to each boy. Round and round the twins went, each
time the blows fell harder, each time the marks on the bared behinds showed
brighter, each time the shrieks and yells grew stronger and now there was a
constant background of sniffles, sobbing and resigned gasps. Cyrus, a
tender-hearted lad at the best of times, felt tears of pity trickle down
his face as he backed away from the scene, his mind reeling. He crept along
the empty corridors, re-tracing his steps until he was again outside the
main door of Malach's apartment, this time fully aware of what disturbing
scene was being enacted on the other side. He sat again on the laundry
basket to compose himself and wiped away the tears from his face with his
sleeve. Finding nothing suitable to blow his nose on, he blew it anyway on
the pleated skirt of his tunic. He took a deep breath, retrieved the letter
from his pocket and wishing with all his heart that it had not fallen to
him to have to do so, he knocked loudly four times on the door.

**************************************************************

After dismissing Cyrus, I had gone back immediately to my work, studying
the proposed plans for the new path but I found it hard to concentrate. I
had been worried about Cyrus for some time now and felt that the moment was
fast approaching for me to have a pseudo-paternal word before his
cheekiness got the better of him. I was pleased to notice that he seemed to
have become friends with Sulong, that they were evidently forming a close
bond. I had no real inkling of the nature of this budding friendship but I
think it is safe to say that it was most likely based on a mutual interest
in studying the intricacies of the Greek language and as such, was
something to be encouraged. I could easily picture the two of them poring
over one of the books of grammer I had lent Cyrus and it pleased me to
think that he was so keen to pass on something of his own knowledge to the
new boy. As to his interest in Melissa, that seemed to have waned I was
glad to note, though again, as to exactly why, I had no idea. No doubt his
crush on her had been a passing adolescent phase and I was satisfied to
think that it was over now without any upsetting incident having caused a
rift between them. As for his evident horseplay - or, more accurately,
donkey-play - with Lucius, it was, under the circumstances, entirely
acceptable, even if it was somewhat surprising. Maybe it was Lucius I ought
to be having that talk with!

My greatest concern still remained the lad's naive enthusiasm for
Christianity. Talk about jumping on a bandwagon! Anyone with any sense
could see that such a feeble cult, however popular it appeared to be
amongst the uneducated classes, was destined to fizzle out in obscurity
after a few years. But try telling that to a wilful, know-it-all 16-year
old! I had even made approving reference in his presence to some of our
surviving Orphic traditions and had tried to interest him on one occasion
in making offerings at the small shrine to the goddess Tyche that I
maintained in my personal quarters - although little good fortune it has
brought me over the years! Cyrus had pretended to be amazed that such
observance still went on, saying he thought "that kind of thing" had died
out a hundred years ago, the cheeky bugger! I made a point of finding some
excuse to beat him after that remark even though he didn't deserve it and
afterwards, I felt bad enough about it to let him accompany me the next day
to the market, where I indulged his sweet tooth at one of the honey-cake
stalls. So a serious talking-to was on the cards for young Cyrus, of that I
was in no doubt.

****************************************************************

Four knocks, it seemed, were not enough. Cyrus waited nervously, trying to
detect any movement on the other side of the door. After a few minutes he
knocked again, even more loudly this time. Again, there was no immediate
response and the poor lad, his agitation now rising to an almost
uncontrollable pitch, could not decide if he should try once more or simply
give up. How he would have loved to just back away even if that meant
returning miserably to his master having failed to deliver the letter and,
no doubt, submitting to whatever punishment Theodoulos thought fit.
However, just as he raised his fist to knock a final time, he heard the
faint scratching sound of a key being turned in the lock and before he
could draw breath, the door opened wide and he found himself face to face
with Talia, the female half of those mysterious twins whom he had only seen
before from afar, but whose presence around the house was something of
which he had been very conscious in a strangely excited way.

"Well, what have we here?" said the girl, looking directly into his eyes
with a cool, appraising air of self-possession that made Cyrus instantly
feel like a little boy who had wet himself in public. Such was the
powerfully disturbing effect of Talia's initial appearance in front of him,
her oh-so-seemingly-innocent question, the enticing promise of the
bareley-concealed smile that played around her lovely mouth, the glint of
knowing mischief in her beautiful eyes. The image rose unbidden of her
spanking Pamphilos, thrashing Sulong, the raised slipper, the leather
thong, her fingers on his genitals...but, by God, she was beautiful! Cyrus,
quite unconcsiously moved a hand down to below his tunic and touched his
knob through the material, a quick, subtle adjustment, just in case.

"Cyrus, isn't it? The Chamberlain's boy?"

The poor lad hardly registered the slight implied in that particular
description. Talia seemed to him to radiate a kind of spellbinding glow, a
light perfume of gorgeousness that wafted about him, drowsing him and
spiking him up at once. His mind became aware that he was beginning to
"spike up" in an all-too-physical sense and he shifted his feet, like the
clumsy child that, in many ways, he still was. He was speechless, struck
dumb by a stunning, young-womanly magnetisim that seemed to draw him
upwards, his eyes, his cock...she even had breasts, the beginnings of...

With great effort, Cyrus managed to find his voice although what came out
wasn't truly his; more the breaking squawk, the uncertain bark of a fever
patient.

"I have a le..a letter," he managed finally to stutter out.

Talia cocked her head to one side and smiled down at him, confident,
superior, unassailable; a goddess.

"Have you ever seen a girl's pussy?" she asked.

Cyrus almost fainted on the spot. His mind swooped and swooned. Did she
just say what he thought she said? Had she really said..? Surely not!

"What?" he blurted out.

"Have you ever seen a girl's pussy? You know...a cunt. I don't mean a baby
sister or something back when you shared your bath or playing
"show-me-yours" with some little playmate at school, getting your little
winkie out in return...I mean a grown-up cunt. With hair."

There was a beat of silence. Blood throbbed in his head, a pulse in his
cock.

"I've got a letter," he insisted, out of his depth, drowning, desperate but
strangely willing, strangely compelled.

Talia smiled.

"Then you better deliver your letter, bettern't you?"

"Er..yes."

Cyrus didn't move, couldn't move.

"Well, go on then."

"Oh! Um...here it is. It's for your master, of course."

"Yes, I expect it is. Don't worry, I'll make sure I give it to my...my
master."

As Talia took the folded note from his hand, Cyrus craned his neck to see
if there was any sign of the four boys in the chamber, any evidence of the
torment and ordeal they had been subjected to but there was nothing; no
sound, no movement nor any trace of the weird atmosphere he had sensed only
a few moments before.

"I rather like you, Cyrus," said Talia suddenly. "It will be nice to have
someone my own age to talk to. There is always my brother, of course, but
that's not the same, is it?"

"Um...no. No, I suppose not," said Cyrus, rather lamely. He was a little
insulted actually that Talia should think they were the same age; he was,
after all a good nine or ten months older!

At this point there seemed nothing more to say and he started to turn away,
ready now to make good his escape and hurry back to Theodoulos to report
all that he had seen, leaving out any reference, naturally, to the
alarmingly direct question that Talia had so discombobulated him with.
Inexplicably, just as he made to leave, an image from his early childhood -
from when he was 10 or 11, at any rate - appeared as if from nowhere,
grinning in the lower reaches of his mind, swimming unerringly from the
depths of his sub-conscious to surface in speech.

"A crocodile's mouth," he said without thinking.

"I'm sorry?" replied Talia, for the first time, genuinely thrown by the
turn in the conversation.

"A girl's...thingy. It's like a crocodi..."

Cyrus stopped mid-sentence, feeling himself blush with embarrassment at
what he was saying.

"Really!" Talia exclaimed, not bothering, however, to disguise the twinkle
in her eye. "That's exactly the kind of thing Adnah would say! You two are
going to get on, I just know it."

With that, she pinched the top of Cyrus' tunic between her thumb and
forefinger and drew the boy closer, whispered earnestly into his ear and
did not release him, would not release him until he had given a couple of
affirmative nods of the head, at which point she smiled winningly, let go
of his collar and was gone in an instant. The door to the guest quarters
slid shut before him and he heard the key turn in the lock. He stared for a
moment, unsure exactly as to what he had just agreed to but knowing he was
being dragged along, pulled deeper, unresisting, eager even, not daring to
refuse, not daring to admit his fear and wanting more than anything to see
Talia again, that smile, those eyes, the giddying perfume of her presence.
Then he remembered the scene he'd witnessed with the four boys and he
turned and ran all the way back to the main house to find his master.

****************************************************************

And so it is that I find myself now crouched by the very side-door Cyrus
crouched in earlier, having followed the same deserted corridors that he
had followed, through the cold, empty kitchens leading to the guest
quarters. And now, as I watch the scene unfold before me, I recall the
puzzled and rather strained look on his face as he recounted to me what had
transpired in this very chamber a mere five hours before. I had hidden my
own consternation at his report; he was, after all, a very sensitive lad
and I did not want to upset him to a greater degree than he was already. I
had not, of course, told him of my intention to discover for myself if any
evidence be on show to back up his, I had thought, somewhat exaggerated
claims. And now I realise that Cyrus too had witheld his intentions from me
- he had certainly said nothing of his own plans to return to the chamber
this evening after supper. Given the circumstances that I see now, the show
I am, at this very moment, being treated to, the shameless exhibition, I
can well understand why that was the case!

I look on from my hidden vantage point, perplexed and fascinated, much the
same, I suppose, as Cyrus felt this afternoon, watching from this very
spot. The three of them are naked; Talia, her small budding breasts shining
with sweat, her rather hairy female organ on full, lewd display, gaping
open hungrily as she widens her legs. Cyrus and Adnah are standing side by
side, their arms draped around the other's shoulders. Their full erections
are being worked by Talia, Cyrus thrusting himself against her left hand,
Adnah against her right. As I watch, first one then the other boy explodes
into her palm, shooting a thick spurt of boyish cum onto her fingers. She
rubs them agonisingly over their knob-ends, tantalising the thickened,
reddened heads of their young cocks into spilling over with yet more pearly
boy fluid. Even from here I can smell young boy's spunk, can taste it in my
mouth, in my guts. I see beyond the trio to where Sulong kneels, sucking
greedily on Sayid's short little penis, stiffened beyond anything he has
experienced before; Sulong's finger reaches round and probes the younger
boy's sticky anus. Kallistos and Pamphilos sit perched on a big couch in
the far corner, arms, in imitation of the two boys brought to orgasm,
happily entwined. Naked both, they watch with keen interest, fondling each
other experimentally in dreamy expectation of things to come. Pamphilos
sees me from across the room, smiles his dazzling smile and waves.