Erado's Journal

RICHES BEYOND MEASURE

I am wrapped in an embroidered blanket as I write this- the feeling is soft against my skin. I don’t know how much such a wonderful piece of cloth must have cost the master of this house- but I wager even my father, that old veteran of trade and finance, would have raised an eyebrow at the price.

It is funny how we find ourselves to be in such a fine room only days after I had predicted wild lands and a lack of amenities. It seems our maps were incorrect, old as they are- and a private trading post has cropped up not two days ride from the border.

How brave my Leila was! It was clear that word had already reached the oasis warlord concerning a Cradle Spire expatriate and her fetching young squire- and that considerable sums had been offered for information leading to my capture and return to Zalia’s side. In arriving, we were confronted at once- my mistress had barely the time to scold herself softly for not skirting the outpost entirely before a burly guardsman was giving us a the knowing eye.

We were brought before a warlord. How I must have been shaking! I was clinging to her shapely thigh like a shorn lamb, my face and body shrouded in a riding cloak. I had spent the day siding, legs hanging side-saddle, while clinging to my mistress’ waist. The master of the outpost was a thick, deeply-tanned man. It was obvious that he was very wealthy, having stolen and corrupted that which he could not conquer via small-time conquest. Though a walled city like Cradle Spire would be far beyond him, it seemed easy to believe that many of the villages of the area were paying him tribute in some form. He spoke to us as he was reclining on a large and effete pillow, with two desert-tanned maidens rubbing his legs with painted fingertips.

“You may go in peace,” he said, addressing Leila, “but leave the boy with us, and take one hundred pieces of gold for your trouble.”

I clutched her tighter. In that moment, all I could think about was never letting go. I had painted my lips with spice-tasting cinnamon gloss that morning, had adorned my head with a crown of sweet blossoms. I had anointed my body in perfumed oils, and all for her. It was, to my mind, a tragedy that it should be the last time that I look beautiful for her. My protectress, my one and only.

“No deal,” she said, and my heart lept. “Not for a thousand.”

The burly man furrowed his brow, his sun-darkened skin seeming to turn an even deeper red. He was in his forties, I would guess, and the few white hairs that had crept into his beard and moustache were stark against his tan. He gestured, and a guard approached. I felt Leila tense, and prepared to crumple to dive out of the way quickly, should violence ensue. She had taught me how to take cover and protect my vital areas. The guard reached for my head, and in the blink of an eye, Leila’s sword was out and ready. The other guards drew theirs in response, and all was still.

“You don’t touch a hair on his head,” she intoned, holding her sword poised in a horizontal defensive position. I could see how polished it was, and that her eyes could, by virtue of the reflective blade, easily detect any guards approaching from behind. Which some were.

“Don’t fucking take another step,” growled Leila, and all motion in the room ceased. The silence was deafening. As I cringed at her hip, all I could think about was my desire to feel my body entwine with hers one last time, if this was to be our final moment. How I wanted to die, when my time came, with her taste in my mouth.

After what seemed like an eternity, the warlord spoke. “Stand down, all of you” he scolding, his voice weary and dismissive. “We only want to pull back his hood. To see the face of this boy, whose beauty is so renowned.”

Gradually, all swords were returned to their scabbards. My mistress was no fool, and left hers for last. It was her, not the guard, who pulled my hood from over my brow. I hugged myself to her side, my eyes wide and afraid. I think all present must have seen something beyond their understanding of beauty, in that moment. My wide eyes, their long lashes fluttering, fanning the air above a small and child-like nose and lips sparkling with gloss.

“A treasure!” I heard one guard whisper to himself.

“A true beauty!” said another, and I wonder now if those guards, masculine and astonished, might have been rethinking their sexual orientations in some far-away corner of their minds. In any case, I received a reaction. Even the warlord’s two attendant women whispered excitedly to each other.

“Two thousand,” said the warlord. All conversation was stopped at the enormity of the sum. It was enough to buy a good-sized home, and a horse-drawn card besides. My heart could barely take the feeling of hearing such a number. Surely my Leila, so recently forced into exile, her servant’s life having yielded no riches, could not afford to turn down such an amount?

The warlord must have thought as much. His voice sure, he laid all of his cards on the table. It seemed he had heard much of our flight.

“Zalia’s favor has peerless worth, and I can offer you riches like all I have here in order for the right to return her prize to her,” he elaborated, gesturing to the rich tapestries, loyal guards and beautiful, dark-skinned attendant girls. “You have lived a servant’s life, but you will know what it is like to truly be rich.”

“I have no need of gold.” My mistresses response was barely a whisper. “I have my Erado.”

The warlord shifted on his pillow, and adopted a conversational tone. “Ah! So you say to me ‘Haj, this boy gives me pleasures of the flesh, and money is cold and lifeless!’. Just consider, though- what pleasures gold can buy!” He fished a large gold coin from the pocket of his silken bottoms and tossed it in front of his throne.

“Amra!” he barked, addressing one of the servant girls. “Show our visitors what services my riches may purchase!”

The guards babbled excitedly as one of the young attendants rose to her feet. Her figure was alluring- large hips and breasts, and I was watched with interest as she danced playfully with silks draped on her arms, trailing swathes of gossamer fabric in the air behind her hypnotic arms. She stole a glance at me and blew a kiss, much to the amusement of the men present. Quite an erotic sight- and enough to get my blood stirring in some measure. Yet, she lacked a certain thickness between the legs that, as you know from reading this tale, I have come to crave. As spicy a beauty as she was, this desert angel, she could not hold a candle to my Leila.

The purpose of the demonstration became clear quickly. Amra moved to a position just inches from Warlord Haj and tugged at his loose-fitting, decorative trousers, fidding with her hands until she eventually fished a long and swarthy penis from his waistband. Though barely hard, it was an impressive piece of equipment. I do not get jealous of such things, for I do not wish to develop in a way unbecoming by purposefully delicate physique- but by any measure, it was a fine instrument of sex and penetration.

“Gold has power!” chortled Haj, running a greedy hand over Amra’s shapely behind. “Watch as this voluptuous spirit of the sand feasts upon my snake of desire!”

As everyone in the room looked on, the young girl began to suck sensuously at Haj’s meat, hollowing her young cheeks out around the knob-shaped head. In the silence of the room, a soundless wash broken only by the whispers of astonished guards and servant girls, the naughty sounds of her oral minstrations were plain to hear.

“Amra, tell everyone of my splendor!” said Haj, grabbing a greedy handful of the girl’s behind and kneading it in his fingers. Amra removed her mouth from his cock with a ‘pop’.

“The pitiful penises of all the men in this realm, combined, are nothing compared to the powerful cock of Master Haj,” cooed Amra. Her face looked tired and disinterested, but facing away from Master Haj, she escaped rebuke for her lack of enthusiasm. Haj, in fact, laughed with triumph. It was an absurd sight- but Leila and I had been thrust into an absurd situation.

“This is what it means to be rich!” said Haj. “Amra, spread your disgraceful legs and display your pussy!” Pulling her silken bottoms over jiggling hips, Amra did so. Her nether regions were slick and inviting, with thick and engorged labia that seemed to beg for oral attention. I resisted the urge to lick my lips. Leila glanced down at me knowingly, and I believe I blushed a deep and embarrassing red. She knows well of my proclivities and preferences in that regard. Bless her, she would never grow angry at my lusting for such a beautiful thing. She knows, as I do, that such feelings are natural.

Haj called another servant girl forward, a younger and more slender version of the one currently spreading her legs on the floor. “Maala!” he directed. “Use your mouth to fill your sister’s canyon of desires!” Haj teased her by holding up a second gold coin, allowing it to gleam in the midday light. The girl went to work on her sister at once, munching furiously at her slit.

“Oooh…Maala! No, you mustn’t!” wailed Amra, trying to push her sister’s head away. “It’s wrong!”

“Of course it’s wrong!” boomed Haj, rising for his pillow. “But gold buys what virtue does not!” He turned an eye toward Leila, smiling with confidence. “Watch as this innocent young woman feasts on my immortal godfruit in front of servants, guards, and guests alike!”

Immortal godfruit? We would shortly find out that such was Haj’s term for “balls”. I would like to claim that overwhelming pride in one’s own balls was a trait unique to Haj, but I know from experience that the truth does not bear that assertion out. In fact, Cradle Spire’s problems are partly caused by balls. But I’ll leave that story for another time. My eyelids are starting to droop, and I must finish this entry and join my mistress beneath the covers.

Where was I?

Oh yes.

Haj dangled his bloated, shining ballsack over Amra’s sensuously-lipped mouth, and bid her lick and suck on his scrotum. As she did so, the guards and servants present marveled at the lengths to which Haj was going to prove his point. Amra’s sister, Maala, was shortly able to coax a powerful orgasm out of her elder kin- and applause and derisive laughter was the result. It was clear that money buys not only a wealth of sexual experiences- but also provides one the ability to look down upon the “shameful” acts that a poverty-stricken person might perform.

“Yes, scream with pleasure as your blossoming poon is slurped out by your gutter-rat sister!” taunted Haj, plowing his balls into Amra’s wide-eyed face. He began to jack his cock furiously, all the while ranting at Amra, whose eyes were wide with what might have been simultaneous dismay and ecstasy.

“Foul whore!” growled Haj, and he wheezed as his cock began to stain Amra’s face with thick spurts of cum. Even as her cheeks and nose were being coated with man-seed, Amra continued to suck furiously at Haj’s sweaty sack, and the hand that had once tried to push her sister’s face away was now shoving her in deeper.

I could not explain to you in words the atmosphere in the room as Haj finished, punishing the face of his teenage attendant with wads of his seed. We were all voyeurs, each of us, guards and guests alike- he had unabashedly made us so. Perhaps his personal servants were used to such behavior. If his intention was to shock and intimidate Leila and I, he failed. In the aftermath of the revolution, on the eve of class warfare when all debts were repaid, I had seen a dozen- no, a hundred- times worse.

I glanced up at Leila, who looked down at me questioningly. I knew at once what she intended, and my heart ached with appreciation for act of silently asking my permission, despite having no need to do so. In truth, I would walk off of a cliff if my grievous injury would somehow spare her harm, and endure any humiliation. Humiliation in her interest was, really, no humiliation at all- but a price paid, and paid with pride.

Stuffing his wilting penis back into the waistband of his expensive pants, Haj looked my mistress up and down, his face flush with exertion. “Do you now see, the truth of my riches? Such wealth could be yours, if you would leave me the boy, and allow me to be the agent of his return to Zalia’s side.”

Leila’s eyes flashed, seeming to flood the room with green. Her nostrils flared.

“Haj! I’ll hear no more of your disgusting bribes! I am ten times over as rich as you!” she barked, putting her hands on her hips and standing tall. I hugged her leg desperately, knowing that my time was soon to come. Leila put a hand on my neck and guided me to a spot just a foot in front of her and to the left. “Compared to what I have found, your coins are so many pieces of shit in the gutter!”

Haj sneered, the grey-speckled ends of his moustache seeming to stand at attention. “Woman, you dare speak to me in such a tone?”

Now I was mad.

“She’s no mere woman!” I piped up, making my voice as forceful as I could, despite my petite frame. I squinted my eyes in frustration and balled my fists. “You shut up!” I tried to stamp my foot for emphasis- but weighing barely 100 pounds, I’m afraid that perhaps the point didn’t get across. Leila put her hand on my shoulder to calm me, and spoke further to Haj.

“Erado IS wealth,” she said simply. “What you have in currency, I have in all beauty of god’s creation.” Her hand rubbed my shoulder, and she locked eyes with Haj.

“Can you say, Haj, that heaven has consigned an angel to earth to be your soul mate, to love you until the end of you’re your days? A seraph of such surpassing loveliness and warmth that your heart breaks every time you gaze upon it?”

Haj was glowering and silent. I got the sense that he was formulating some argument regarding my beauty being overrated, but dared not make it, faced with overwhelming evidence to the contrary. Leila looked down at me. I swam in her eyes for a moment, losing track off all around me, before her words crystallized in my head.

“Of course you cannot say such,” Leila continued. “For despite all of your gold, heaven has allotted you no such treasure.” Leila glanced at Amra and her sister, who were still on the floor, recovering from their money-fueled and incestuous tongue-session. “No offense meant to the beauties of your court.”

Amra nodded respectfully, still panting lightly. “None taken, lady. I know that heaven is not my home.”

Leila nodded, and turned back to me. “Erado, take off your cloak. Show this mere trader the meaning of true wealth.”

Even with a dozen strangers present, her words made such an act an easy task. I had only to block out my surroundings and concentrate on her face- her feelings. Her reaction. Just as I had on every other occasion where I had let my cloak fall from my thin shoulders in her presence. Just as I had every time I had danced for her in the firelight. Now, I would dance for them all. I would add to the legend of Erado D’Eqwai.

Standing at full attention, I slowly pulled my riding cloak off over my head, revealing the full expanse of my body. In preparation for seeing Leila later that night, and entertaining her in the fashion I always do, I was wearing almost nothing. Just above my small feet there were thin anklets of glittering gold- and around my waist I had strung a wreath of fresh-smelling lilies, held in place by the small swell of my hips, those girlish features that I had worked so hard every day to cultivate. Around my upper chest I had wound a strip of green velvet and drawn it tight, passing the material over the oversized protrusion of each nub. This velvet was held in place not just by the dainty bow that I had tied just below my shoulder blades, but also attached to the twin gold rings of my nipple piercing. I knew that the metal hoops, though small, were visible through the green covering.

My lower body was bare. Except for one thing. A pretty green ribbon around the end of my penis. I had tied it there that morning, with the intention of having my mistress unwrap it.

Gasping, I arched my back and and nibbled my lower lip, inhaling slightly as if in ecstasy- and throwing out a sensuous curve of unnatural hip as I placed my hand on one of my thighs and leaned, casting my gaze over the guardsman and servant girls in the room. Most were wide-eyed with disbelief at what they were seeing. I allowed two small tears to gather at the bottom of each of my eyes and used my hands to frame each of my non-existent breasts, pushing the flesh of my pectorals into tiny breast-like shapes, to better give everyone present a view of my unique body. I writhed in a standing position, undulating in waves, letting my firm young body tell a tale of softness and vulnerability. In licking my gloss-decorated lips, I sent minds cascading into oral fantasy. In dipping my hips, I mimicked the forbidden motions of sex.

Everyone, guardsman and servant girl alike, was astounded. In my mind, I could hear music to accompany my dance, could see firelight by which to move. And there were whispers in the air- forbidden imaginings of those present, desires given breath.

“By all heaven, he is an angel brought to earth,” came one whisper.

“He has the innocence of a lad and the hips and chest of a pubescent girl. How is such a thing possible?” asked another.

Some of the men called out the names of their wives and girlfriends, asking for forgiveness as they dropped to their knees and kneaded breeches that had grown uncomfortably tight around their swollen erections. Several of the guards looked as if they wanted to come forward to touch me, possess me…perhaps out of lust, perhaps to see if I was truly real. They were able to stop themselves only by the slimmest of margins.

Pivoting, I gasped a childlike moan and peeled the velvet strip from my upper body, exposing my chest fully, including the two decorate nipple rings to which a duo of pretty heart-shaped insignia had been attached, in thin-hammered gold. They flashed in the light as I whirled, allowing the velvet strip to trail in the air. I whirled my neck as the spin concluded, shaking blossoms from my hair, sprinkling the petals at my feet. Then I bent low, circling the fabric around my feet, and showing everyone present my little heart-shaped behind. I concluded the move by crumpling to my knees at Leila’s feet, allowing my legs to fold on top of themselves in a feminine sprawl.

Clenching my teeth and clearing a wash of sun-glazed hair from my eyes, I fluttered my lashes and gazed up at my mistress with all the lust I could muster, my face poised only a foot from her codpiece. I was honest in my intent, to be sure- but I also wanted to demonstrate to everyone present the absolute unconditional completeness of my devotion.

“Mistress,” I gasped, sounding like an overheated sex-child, “will you let me suck on you?”

Whew! In jotting down the events, I have forced myself to remember them- and I’m sure you can guess the result. I am tired and sore from the events of these last days- and we ride out tomorrow night, to avoid the heat of the midday sun. I will finish this entry on the morrow, to use an expression favored by my old teacher. Tonight, reminiscence cannot satisfy what memory has seeded inside me. No, flesh is what I need.

I go to her. And I must have known this would happen, after all. I replenished the lilies in my hair.

ERADO GASH-YUMA, 1 PR