Gay sex story – Gay training – 1

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“You cannot put it off any longer, my friend. If you do not choose for Asu soon, the priests will take him. The choice will no longer be yours—or Asu’s. He is of age for starting the life chosen for him. He cannot do other than meet his destiny.”
“I know that, Sargon, it is just so hard . . .”
Baltasar, the wood merchant, was sitting at a table outside of the tea shop in the bazaar, sipping a blend that the owner of the shop, Sargon, had recently received from the East and had invited his friend to try. Sargon had, in fact, been pestering him to stop by, but Baltasar had been keeping to his own apartments above his shop for some time—precisely because he didn’t want to have this conversation with anyone.
“You know what Asu is meant for, Baltasar. You’ve known for years. His destiny for it has been evident since he was a child. He knows too, I am sure. He has not tried to leave the city, as some others have under these circumstances—until they are dragged back. So he is resigned to it.”
“Yes, yes. All of that is true. But it’s hard . . .”
“I could recommend the perfect place for him. There is a wine shop just inside the bazaar on the high road, almost in the shadow of the palace. That would be perfect for him. The wealthiest merchants and even the king’s officers go there. He would be your family’s fortunes.”
And yet Baltasar hesitated.

“It is inevitable. He is of age. The priests would do the same with him. Why not secure the family’s fortune rather than just having some meaningless tablet of favor from the temple to hang on your shop wall?”
After a brief pause. “You know of this wine shop? Do you really think it is the best opportunity for him?”
“I go there myself.”
“Do not wiggle away from the patrons like that,” the wine shop owner, Hatim, hissed at Asu as he took him aside at the end of the long table the wine was served from. A soldier of the Palace Guard, Nasri, was leaning on the end of the table, several cups of wine into his evening. He, like all of the palace guardsmen, was a massive, heavily muscled man, battle forged. His chest and arm and thigh muscles were bulging. Clearly discernible as a mark of the elite palace soldiers was his short, heavy-leather slab skirt, sandals laced up to his knees, a chest medallion declaring his rank, and nothing else. The merchants and other private citizens of the town wore long gowns, called thawbs, of various quality of material. Most worn on the street were white in color.
“Sorry, master,” Asu whispered back. “It is just so difficult.”
“Do you want to be here, performing as required, or shall I take you to the priests at the temple myself?”
Hatim held his breath for the answer to that. Asu was far too beautiful for Hatim to want to lose him at the shop—and just as he and the tea shop owner, Sargon, had discussed, it would be one of the world’s tragedies to see Asu taken into the temple, not to be seen again, even if then, until after his beauty had been wiped away by continuous sacrifices to the gods.
The youth was small, but perfectly formed, with curly black hair and a sensuous smile. It was hard to believe he was of age, but everyone in the bazaar knew of everyone else’s age. They had all watched Asu grow to adulthood—some watched more closely and with much greater interest than others. Some with flashing eyes and licking lips and members that would harden under their thawbs as Asu walked by.
There was no hiding that it was time for Asu. Everyone knew it. Therefore the ravenous priests knew it as well. The giving of Asu to the wine shop by his father, Baltasar, estopped the certain plans of the priests, but for how long? If Asu could not cross over that curtain here willingly, the priests would take him and force him across the barrier. Asu knew that.
And Asu had just now traded his short cotton skirt, which, as he grew older and formed into perfection, drove many in the bazaar to distraction, for the thawb. The thawb could hide his form, but it could not hide his beauty. The priests will have noticed by now that the changing ceremony—the change from a short skirt to a thawb—that marked for all to see the cross to adulthood had been performed.
“I know, I know,” Asu said, a slight edge of panic in his voice. “Just be patient with me, please. It’s such a hard curtain to cross.”
“Try faster,” Hatim hissed. “See your sponsor over there. His cup is empty and he is showing its emptiness to you. He’s a rich and powerful man. Take him this cup of wine—and do as he wishes.”
Asu was trembling as he came around from behind the wine table. He was watching the nearly full cup he was carrying, trying hard not to spill any of the wine, his mind racing on this trip he was making—just across the wine shop floor, but perhaps across the curtain as well. As he passed around the side of the table, the burly soldier, Nasri, grabbed one of Asu’s rounded buttocks cheek through the material of his white cotton thawb, and Asu nearly spilled the wine. When he looked into Nasri’s face, the soldier winked and leered at him.
Asu scurried over to the table Hatim had directed him to.
“Put the wine cup down,” Asu’s father’s friend, Sargon, said in an alcohol slurred voice, low and husky. “And come, into my lap, and feel what a man is like.”
The tea shop owner pulled Asu roughly down into his lap and held him close to him in the embrace of an arm slung across Asu’s little chest. Sargon was big and fat but his grip was strong. And his demanding lust was obvious. As Asu was pulled into Sargon’s lap, he could feel the strength of a hard cock poking at his virginal buttocks.
“I have waited for years for this little one,” Sargon growled. “Feel what I have for you?”
Indeed, Asu could feel it. Although he would normally wear a loin cloth under his thawb, Hatim had told him not to wear it in the wine shop. The shop owner had made no secret why that was so, and Asu had not needed to wonder why. The wine shops were brothels as well, and this one was a male brothel. The patrons did not come here only for the wine. The fate of each of the citizens of this city was sealed long before they reached adulthood. It depended on their family status and business—and in the case of the soldiers on their size and musculature and promise of fighting skills. For young men as small and beautiful and as well formed as Asu, their destinies were set for either a wine shop such as this or the priesthood, where their bodies would be used just as fully—and perhaps more brutally and more often. They just wouldn’t receive the recompense that a wine shop gave, and the life span of a temple serving boy was sometimes marked in months, rather than years.
Sargon obviously wasn’t wearing anything under his thawb either. Asu squirmed around on his lap—not being unwilling or railing against his fate, but being scared and needing more patience than he was being given. Sargon was fat and gross and smelled not just of the wine, but also of the opiate he smoked and the spices he was served in his food that few others in the city could afford. And he was being rough and brutal. With his free hand, he reached around and grabbed Asu’s balls through the material of the thawb, and squeezed.
“Don’t fight. Or do fight me, it will make the taking all that more pleasurable. I will have you here and now. I have waited and schemed for too long.”
Asu, eyes watering, looked toward the wine table in panic. Hatim and the solider, Nasri, had their heads together in quiet conversation and were watching him.
Sargon was moving Asu’s rump around on his cock, almost, but not quite, achieving penetration through the two layers of cloth. His hand stopped squeezing Asu’s balls, but only so that it could gather up the hem of Asu’s thawb and work its way onto Asu’s leg. His long fingernails were scraping their way up the inside of Asu’s thigh.
The young man wailed, “Not yet . . . please,” and managed to break away from Sargon and almost stumble out onto the floor beside the table. He did go down on his knee, but while Sargon roared his anger behind him, Asu found his footing and struggled, the other men now in the hunt, each wanting to be the first, snatching at him with their hands as he passed.
He was nearly sobbing when he reached the relative safety behind the bar table again.
Surprisingly, Hatim didn’t admonish him. Rather, he held out a cup of wine and said, “Here, calm yourself, Asu. Drink this to calm yourself.”
Asu downed the cup of wine. Wine was not something that you were permitted to have before you came of age. Thus, although Asu had had a bit now and then and more than a bit in the week since his ceremony of change, this wine was stronger than he was accustomed to. So was the second cup.
He was feeling a bit woozy when he felt one of the soldier, Nasri’s, hands on his arm and the other one on his waist. Asu looked, with unfocusing gaze, at the soldier’s face. His expression was inscrutable. He was looking stern, but Asu noted a hint of a smile—and something else. The same lust that had been in Sargon’s eyes.
As for Sargon, he was still loudly mouthing his indignation at his table, but was soon stopped as Hatim hovered at his table, another one of the serving boys beside him, Hatim’s hand gripping the young man’s wrist. Asu saw Sargon lifting the hem of his thawb to his belly, and Asu saw the plump, hard cock of the man. And then Asu watched the ass of the other serving boy descend on the cock. It was all unreeling like it was in a surreal dream, though.
“Your master is done with you,” Nasri said in a growl. “I am taking you home.”
“No,” Asu whined. “He must give me another chance.”
“You will come with me,” Nasri said.
And there was no arguing with that, as Nasri had merely leaned over, taken Asu by the waist, and flung him over his shoulder.
Outside, after barely twenty steps, Asu was aware enough to say, “This is not the way to the wool merchant’s quarter. This is not the way to my father’s house.”
Nasri reached up and slapped Asu on the rump and said, “Perhaps we are not going there. Perhaps I am taking you to the temple for the priests to debauch.” And then he gave a hearty laugh.

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