The Agent's Third Secretary

The three of them were sprawled out on the richly patterned Oriental carpet on the rise of the sand dune with the vista of the pyramids of Giza stretching out before them—and beyond that the Nile and beyond that yet the teeming city of Cairo, the sun shining on Cairo, giving it a false sense of cleanliness and purity. Below the dune behind them buzzed a phalanx of Egyptian servants, packing up the boxes from the meal the three had just eaten, holding the horses in check, and pretending they weren't watching the

effendis

—the foreigners—being outrageous.

The popular German courtesan, Claudia Beck, lay stretched out on her back, her ample breasts exposed and the silk panels of her riding skirt evocatively folded back to reveal her prominent and famous mons Venus and the trimmed triangle of strawberry blonde curls above it.

Sitting beside her, with one hand languidly stroking and patting her mound, the thirty-something dark and sultry Lebanese artifact dealer and rake, Philippe Bey Karem, dressed in the sparkling white thwab of the affluent Arab population, spoke in light tones with the young blond gentleman sitting at the other side of the carpet and sketching the pyramids. Gavin Barnett, third secretary of the British agent and counsel-general—and de facto administrator of Egypt at the time—Edward Missert, was Karem's excursion guest for the day. He incongruously was dressed in dinner kit, although his thin, boyish body helped negate the effect of the sun on Western costume. Each was overdressed for an excursion into the desert as the trio would be going straight to an evening at Shepheard's Hotel from the picnic.

Barnett, barely of age and recently come out to Egypt to train in the British foreign service, also, not incidentally, was the son of Missert's sister and the son of a lord. Karem, son of a French mother and a leading merchant and politician of an old Levant family father, had only recently come into contact with the young, handsome, and willowy English youth and was cultivating him for his influential contacts.

By degrees, Karem was pulling Barnett into his jaded world of pleasure and excess, and Barnett, although he so far had politely declined Karem's offers of directly imbibing of pleasures that would be unspeakable in London but were openly available to the rich and well-connected in Egypt—most easily if they were foreign—had not shrunk away from Karem or his international set. Instead, he had followed along on a series of debaucheries as voyeur without having become embroiled in them himself.

Karem quite definitely had other plans for the young Englishman, though.

"Would you like to fuck her?" Karem asked, indicating the red-haired beauty lying beside him by burying two fingers between her folds as she arched her back and purred for him, her eyes slitted from the drugs she had indulged in. Claudia was from one of the best houses on Sharia Wagh el Birker Street in Cairo, the brothels there able to operate almost openly for those with the means to attend them as each was protected by one of the foreign consulates in the city. Although Egypt ostensibly was ruled by Egypt's Khedive, Ismail Pasha, on behalf of the Ottoman Empire, the Khedive had run the country so far into the ground that the British had taken over all of the administrative controls. In the wake of this, the foreign government concessions in Cairo had become almost autonomous from any Egyptian control, and the British were too busy with possible revolutionary movements to provide and enforce a moral standard there.

"I would like to get this sketch done before the sun goes down. But thank you." Barnett's answer was a polite one, not showing any surprise or censure for the offer. But as yet Karem had not found the young man's vice. Karem's modus operandi was to discover a man's vice, feed it, and then milk it. But he would keep on trying to ferret out the young man's fetish. No one that handsome and sensual could be without a vice. It wasn't champagne, Karem had already found. Though Barnett joined him in swigging the bubbly from the bottle, he didn't drink in excess. It also wasn't drugs. Most of what they had brought on their desert picnic had gone into the German whore.

"Well, if you wouldn't mind then," Karem said.

"No, no, don't mind me," the young man answered, turning his attention back on the pyramids. "I'd like to catch this while the light is just right."

Brushing the hem of his Arabic robe up to his chest to reveal his masterful musculature, jet-black pubes and an up-curved erection, Karem lifted and turned Claudia onto his lap, impaled her on his cock, and raised and lowered her body rhythmically on his staff as she sighed and hummed and he continued talking with young Barnett about what life had to offer a handsome young blond European in the city.

Gavin murmured polite interest in every taboo and fetish mentioned, but nothing made him ask for a further description of the decadence. Philippe avoided telling him that young men like Gavin went for a premium among Egyptian men who preferred men, but that certainly was in his mind. Philippe's own sexual interests were universal and he was close to exploding inside the German whore's well-used passage. And then he did, afterward gently lowering Claudia's back to the ground in front of him, his cock still inside her. He reached over her belly and squeezed her breasts and thumbed her nipples as she purred in her drugged-out world and Gavin continued with his sketching.

Later, Karem raced across the desert for the Nile crossing to the city on his blooded stallion, as Barnett and Claudia Beck did what they could to try to keep him in sight. Gavin could have kept pace with him. He was an expert horseman. But he also was a gentleman. Servants on slower horses were doing what they could to keep the German prostitute in the saddle of her mare, and Gavin stuck with her to ensure her safety.

Once across the Nile, having left the horses on the west bank, they transferred to Karem's Wolseley-Siddeley Tourer motorcar for the run to Shepheard's Hotel, the Mecca of European society in Cairo, where the evening already was in full cry. Most of the foreign diplomatic corps and non-Egyptian merchant class were there. Claudia had sobered up enough not to be out of place—and would not have been out of place anyway, as half the male dinner guests—and some of the women as well—had indulged in her charms during her reign on Sharia Wagh el Birker Street, which promised to be all too short. Courtesans were welcomed at Shepheard's as long as they were Europeans. Almost anyone was welcome at Shepheard's if they were rich and/or well-placed as long as they weren't Egyptian.

This membership restriction was illustrated on this evening when the Khedive's own principal adviser, Ahmed Aziz, was turned away at the dining room door. He had, in fact, received an invitation to attend from the British Agent's office and had shown up, assuming that the "No Egyptians" rule was being relaxed, but the invitation had been sent in mistake. He had been anxious to attend because he had a liaison to set up, but it was not to be. The best he could do was to consign a note to an embarrassed Egyptian waiter to be delivered for him.

The various societies within the international society in Cairo took up separate stations in the Shepheard's dining room. Philippe Bey Karem was the center of the racy set, and Gavin Barnett initially went to the section of the room where Philippe was holding court, but he soon gravitated to the more stalwart administrative section, where his uncle was the focus of attention. Although Karem watched Gavin drift off, still a little perplexed that he hadn't found the young man's vulnerable sin, he was content to work on that another day. He didn't want the Agent's third secretary to incur the wrath of his uncle. He certainly didn't want Barnett to be sent back to England in disgrace with his tail between his legs. He wanted to suborn and use the young man to his own business and political power advantage in Cairo.

Gavin didn't stay long with his uncle's group either. Having checked in and played court to Missert until the next supplicant snuffled along, Gavin drifted into the shadows of the room and, eventually, left Shepheard's and walked slowly into the Arab quarter, with its close alley-like streets, still alive with vendors, food merchants, hashish hawkers, and women of the night plying their trades. Gavin was a golden-haired sensation wherever he walked. He had been in Cairo long enough to know how alluring a well-proportioned young blond—male or female—was to the Egyptians. He had many an offer as he walked the alley, but he was official-looking enough—and known by many to be related to the all-powerful British Agent—that he wasn't accosted physically. He walked in a cleared space bordered by appreciative onlookers no matter how crowded the street was. Once or twice he extracted a slip of paper from his pocket and looked at it to check where he was going. He had a goal.

After walking into the Arab quarter for twenty minutes, he reached his goal, a copper shop open to the street and with candles set around that used the copper pots, plates, and utensils hanging here, there, and everywhere as reflective mirrors to give the shop a quiet glow. Gavin entered the shop. A merchant came forward, dressed in a blue thwab and all smiles. Gavin leaned over and whispered something in the man's ear. The merchant's smile broadened and he guided Gavin to the back of the shop, through a beaded curtain-covered doorway, to the base of a dark staircase. He gestured upward, and Gavin climbed the stairs, turned right, and opened the door into a room that was sumptuously decorated with carpets—on the floor and the walls—a line of lit candles in tall, copper candlesticks, and a divan covered in damask and silken pillows.

Slowly, methodically, Gavin took off his clothes, folded them, and placed them on a chair in the corner of the room. When he was naked, he padded over to the divan and sank on his back onto the pillows—and waited.

After several minutes, the door to the room opened and Ahmed Aziz, the Khedive's principal counselor, entered the room. He stood there momentarily, taking in the visage of the gorgeous, young, blond Englishman sprawled naked on the divan, now with a hand encasing his cock and slowly masturbating it.

The Egyptian court official pulled his thwab over his head, undid the loincloth around his pelvis, and let both garments fall to the floor. He was a large, solid man, dark of skin and of hair. His chest and arms and legs were hairy. He had a slight paunch, but he was muscular—more solid than fat. He already was in thick erection. He was of such stature that he probably could have broken Gavin in two if the young man now denied the Egyptian what he obviously wanted.

There were men that Gavin would have struggled with at this point, knowing that they wanted to take what they needed by force—that this whetted their arousal. But Gavin already knew that the Khedive's official wasn't such a man. He spread and bent his legs, raising his pelvis off the surface of the divan, inviting Aziz to take him in that position. He knew there was no preliminary with Aziz—that the difficulty of immediate entry was what whetted this man's arousal.

But Aziz had different designs this time. As he approached the divan, he gestured with a hand and, understanding, Gavin turned over onto his belly. Aziz grasped the young man's ankles and pulled Gavin's stomach down to the edge of the divan. He pulled Gavin's legs up and hooked the young man's ankles on his shoulders. Without further preliminary, he reached down with his arms, laced them under Gavin's armpits, and bowed the willowy, lithe body back, locking his fists together at the back Gavin's neck.

"I'm told you Westerners call this a demanding variation of the wheelbarrow position," Aziz murmured. "I have wished to use demanding positions with you. You have such a supple body."

Gavin cried out in pain-pleasure and Aziz huffed and puffed as he worked his cock into the young man's slowly yielding passage. Once saddled and Gavin's experienced channel walls yielding to his extraordinary thickness, he fucked Gavin to his completion in ever-quickening, long thrusts, as Gavin moaned and whimpered and half sobbed at the taking. Aziz thrust again and again, driving the young man hard and cruelly, rocking Gavin back and forth, manipulating him like the young man was a rag doll. Gavin cried out repeatedly at the pain-pleasure of the taking, voicing his ecstasy at how well, completely, and relentlessly the Egyptian was working him with the hard, thick cock. Aziz was a cruel taker, and Gavin an insatiable giver, going soft and spongy inside, begging for the full force and possession of the cock like a Sharia Wagh el Birker Street whore of one of the meanest brothels and receiving what he was begging for. Gavin tensed and cried out again when he came and then just collapsed within the Egyptian's control as Aziz fucked on, ejaculated, held, hardened again, and fucked Gavin a second time just as cruelly and possessively as the first time.

When Aziz came at last, Gavin collapsed on the bed and turned over, setting imploring eyes on Aziz as if he wanted more. Aziz slapped him across the face, the force of the blow turning Gavin back onto his belly, and stood away from him as if having come awake from some sort of trance that had taken him outside of himself and revealed wild turmoil under his surface that he didn't really wish to reveal to the world. But, like all Egyptians of his persuasion, the willowy body of a young blond European was too much to resist. Aziz was used to being completely in control on the taking of a young man, but he lost control with this nubile European. He willed himself back to a cool, detached demeanor. "Enough for now," he said in a gruff, commanding voice, even though he felt himself going hard again at the mere sight of the young blond's vulnerable nakedness.

Aziz stood away from the divan with steely determination, leaving Gavin collapsed, trembling, and mewing softly, belly to the divan, knees on the floor below the divan, arms stretched out to the side in cruciform position, and walked back to the clothes he'd let fall to the floor. He wound his loincloth back around his pelvis, folding in his now-flaccid and well-serviced cock, leaned over and searched in the bag he'd had hanging from his shoulder when he entered the room, and walked back over to the divan. He dropped a handful of piastres beside Gavin's head. The young Englishman had told the Egyptian before that payment wasn't required, even this token amount of a handful of piastres. But Aziz had said it gave him pleasure to be able to think of Gavin as his cheap British whore.

He ran his fingers into Gavin's blond curls, pulled Gavin's head up, causing the young man to wince in pleasure-pain, turned the young man's face to his, and kissed Gavin on the lips. Gavin gave him a glazed stare and a small smile. Then Aziz put his lips close to Gavin's ear and whispered to him for a few minutes, giving Gavin the token service-in-exchange that the young man asked for in these trysts. Gavin showed increasing awareness as the man spoke and nodded his head a few times—Aziz still holding it up with a fist buried in the young man's golden hair.

After he'd pulled his thwab over his head, Aziz turned and said, "Two days hence. Same time. I will teach you a different position."

"Yes, master," Gavin murmured, although, truth be told, there wasn't much about men fucking men that Aziz could teach Gavin.

And then the Egyptian court official was gone.

As Aziz was leaving the shop, walking back onto the street, a beaded curtain at the back of the shop split open and the merchant and Philippe Bey Karem emerged into the shop. Karem smiled at the merchant, handed him a fistful of piastres, indulged in one look up at the ceiling of the shop, and followed Aziz out into the busy street.

* * * *

The next morning, Gavin was sitting at his desk, two banks back, in the Agent's outer office, trembling at the knowledge of who was in his uncle's office, when the door to the inner sanctum opened, and Sir Edward accompanied the Khedive's principal counselor, Ahmed Aziz to the threshold. Sir Edward was all cheerio; Aziz was more reserved, but obviously pleased. The meeting obviously had gone well. Most of them didn't. The Khedive was known for his capricious and outrageous complaints. The eyes of the court official and the young third secretary met briefly. There was a fleeting hint of want in Gavin's pale-blue eyes, but nothing but cold steel in Aziz's hooded stare. Even this was telling, though, the young Englishmen having already taken the steely demands of the Egyptian's cock in various ways, the Khedive's counselor only giving him the shaft and a bit of court gossip, and the young man not being able to get enough of it, returning to the Egyptian's demanding cock whenever he was summoned.

Later in the afternoon, Gavin left the office, perplexed with the note he'd received. Aziz wanted to meet again. But he'd said the previous night that it wouldn't be until tomorrow. And it was in a different place—in a part of the city that it was even more dangerous for a European to go unescorted than the copper shop was. And Aziz had told him to come alone. What could be so important that Aziz needed to see him a day early and in a different location. He had invested too much in the Egyptian not to meet him, though.

Turning into a back alley in a distinctly poor section of the city, where the directions in the note were leading him, he didn't see the dark cloth coming at him, held on both sides of him. He did feel the hand-held cloth go over his face and smell the sweet, chemical smell of the chloroform as they forced him down, down, down into unconsciousness.

When Gavin came to he found that he was on his back, bound, naked, to a four-poster bed—each extremity bound to a separate post—in a well appointed Egyptian-style bedroom, other than the heavy oak European bed. Not long after he'd regained consciousness, Philippe Bey Karem entered the room. He leered down at Gavin and pulled his Thwab over his head. He was naked underneath, his body muscular, beautifully defined in swirls of curly black hair on his chest, descending down his belly into his bush. He was hung and hard.

"I found what you like, what you can't get enough of," he said with a smile. "Egyptian cock. I am told that you beg for more while you are being pounded."

"Philippe. You don't have to—"

But the Lebanese merchant was already on top of Gavin, his hands on Gavin's throat, choking off whatever the young blond intended to say, and his cock already driving up into Gavin's channel. He mercilessly pounded Gavin's ass. He was long and thick and virile and cruel. Gavin cried out for mercy and then for more and finally for everything Philippe could give him. And Philippe could give Gavin two ejaculations before he, finally, gave up his own seed and pulled away.

Leaving the bed, Philippe called in two burly Egyptians, who released Gavin's bonds and helped him over to the door into a smaller, room, with a narrow, barred window high on the wall and a slop bucket in the corner. One after the other, the two thugs fucked him too, putting Gavin on the stone floor on all fours and fucking him, in succession, like a dog, before locking him in the room.

Later, they came for him, bent him over the bed in the larger room, spread and bound his wrists to two bed pillars, and Philippe returned and fucked him from behind before he was returned to his cell.

Later—how much later, Gavin had no idea, as he was served a meal in the interim—he was brought out to the larger room and Philippe fucked him again. But this time he took him more slowly and without binding him. He made love to Gavin, and the young blond moaned and purred in ecstasy. Fully surrendering to the master's sultry and sensual master, Gavin opened fully to the cock, taking it deep and throbbing, clutching Karem's chest close to his with fingers dug into the older man's shoulder blades and wrapping his legs around Karem's thighs, rubbing Karem's undulating buttocks with the heels of his feet, moving his pelvis with the rhythm of the fuck, keeping Philippe deep inside him as he released his consuming semen once, twice, thrice in one long, mutually harmonized sigh.