by Peter Hughes
My name is Pietro, son of a famous warrior who was killed during the Alexandrine Wars in Persia. I was a young man, just learning to fight alongside my father and his soldiers, when I got separated from our troops. After wandering alone in the desert, I was captured by three Persian guards outside of Ekbatana, near the famous Hanging Gardens of Babylon.
At first, I was afraid that these warriors would try to kill me. But one of them who spoke Greek turned to his comrades and remarked at how beautiful I was. Indeed, he remarked, I was more beautiful than the Macedonian conqueror, Alexander the Great.
In my halting Greek, I thanked the enigmatic Persian for his compliment. My lineage was quite old – my Hellenic ancestors came from Neapolis, south of Rome – and at age twenty-one, I had the typical Roman nose, olive skin, dark wavy hair and piercing blue eyes. When I was growing up, I used to hear praise of my beauty from passers-by in the marketplace. These Persians were eyeing me hungrily as a wolf eyes a lamb.
My captors were all quite handsome. They all had the typical Median straight black hair, rich dark eyes, tanned flesh from exposure to a burning sun, and thick muscular limbs that made my stomach quiver. I felt totally in their power.
The lead warrior, named Bagoas, had an especially kind face and a dimpled chin. His eyes smiled even when his lips were closed. He was tall for a Middle Eastern warrior – at least a head taller than me and I was of a tall build. When Bagoas offered to take me to his lord as a captive, I didn’t hesitate but hopped on the back of his war-horse and sped off across the desert with him.
We rode to Susa, the city of lilies. Bagoas pulled in front of a richly decorated palace, where he said his lord resided. “You, Pietro, are my gift to him,” Bagoas said. “My lord is kind, wise and beautiful. He will treat you well, provided you satisfy his every need – and I think you will know which of his needs will be met. He is worthy of the perfect jewel, the delicate rose, and the polished mirror. Your beauty outshines all of those things. You need not fear for anything. He will be a good master to you.”
We walked into the marble foyer and were admitted into the inner chamber. There, sitting on a purple velvet divan, was Ricq al-Cricq, Bagoas’ liege lord and the wealthiest sultan in the East. He wore a richly decorated robe and his right hand sported a large diamond ring. His smooth, tanned feet were encased in velvet sandals. I think I even noticed a silver band on one of his perfect toes. I had never seen jewelry on a man’s feet before and my mouth began to salivate. I had long admired grown men’s feet since my youth – now I knew what Bagoas had meant about Ricq’s needs.
Bagoas knelt and prostrated himself before Ricq and beckoned me to do the same.
I got down on my knees and bowed as Bagoas did. I couldn’t help noticing that I was right in front of Ricq’s sandaled feet. I had to restrain myself from even touching them. Ricq’s ankles were crossed and his perfect toes twitched slightly, as if to draw attention to his manly feet.
“Stand up, boy,” Ricq said in almost perfect Latin. “I want a good look at you.”
Silently I obeyed. Ricq’s dark eyes bore into my blue ones. A quiver of a smile appeared on his dark face.
“Let me see your body,” he commanded. “Bagoas, help him out of his clothes.”
As I slowly removed my tunic, Bagoas untied my loincloth and let it fall to the polished marble floor. He knelt and untied my sandals, his smooth hands caressing my bare soles after removing my footwear. Naked, I stood unafraid before Ricq al-Cricq.
“What do you think?” I asked him ever so softly.
He hitched in his breath and a tiny tremor went through him.
“I think you are perfect,” Ricq exhaled. “Simply perfect.”
Without taking his gaze off of me, he uttered a command to Bagoas: “You may withdraw.”
Bagoas prostrated himself and quietly left the room. We were totally alone in the inner chamber.
Ricq relaxed on his divan, his head and shoulders to one side and his feet dangling on the opposite end. His eyes caressed my youthful body like an expert masseuse.
“Are you afraid of me?” he finally asked.
“No, my lord Ricq,” I replied. “I am here to serve you.”
The richest sultan in the East smiled lovingly at me. He extended a smooth hand to mine. “Come,” he commanded softly. “I want you to see my bedchamber.”
We crossed from the inner chamber into a sumptuous sleeping chamber. The elegant high-poster bed was draped with sheer curtains and laid with thread-drawn Egyptian linen and large, fluffy pillows stuffed with goose down. Ricq al-Cricq stood before the massive bed, his eyes bright and smiling. “Take off my robe, Pietro,” he commanded.
As he was my height, it was not difficult for me to remove his elegant robe. His alabaster skin felt cool and pleasing to my touch. His body was soft and supple, not hard and muscular, and it pleased me. I laid his clothes on the chair next to the bed.
Naked, my lord Ricq stretched out on the soft bed. He flexed his arms behind his head and crossed his ankles. “Remove my sandals, Pietro,” he said softly. “I know you want to play with my masterful feet.”
I knelt on the bed and reached for his feet. Carefully, I undid his sandals and let them drop to the floor. Ricq’s toes wiggled invitingly and I was immediately aroused.
“Go on, Pietro,” my lord urged. “My feet are yours to enjoy. Do you like them?” He flexed his feet and wiggled his toes again.
“Yes, my lord,” I whispered. Leaning forward, I breathed in the fresh aroma of his feet. Ricq must have bathed prior to receiving me. I hesitantly reached out a hand to touch his toe-ring.
“Explore them…caress them…do what you most desire,” my lord purred. “They are yours.”
I stroked both his feet with my trembling hands. They were firm, light and soft as a baby’s bottom. His soles were arched and unmarked; his toes were long near the big toe, but soft and round like ripe grapes near the fourth and fifth toes. They were so beautiful! They were feet worthy of the gods themselves.
I arranged myself on the bed with my head and arms close to his masterful feet. My body lay diagonally to his. I lay on my stomach, embracing his crossed feet around the ankles, feeling quite content. I felt my lord’s soft hands caressing my firm buttocks, reaching out to play with my cleft and settling on my hard, throbbing manhood.
“Truly, Pietro, your body is amazing,” Ricq said softly.
“Not as amazing as your beautiful feet,” I replied. “Please, sir, let me hold them and caress them.”
Ricq uncrossed his ankles and placed his feet on either side of my face. His warm, dry soles brushed across my forehead and cheeks. They felt and smelled so wonderful!
I held a foot in each of my hands. I then noticed that one was slightly longer than the other was. Why is that, I wondered.
My lord’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “I can sense your question,” he stated. “And I will answer it. I do not know why my feet are not the same. My father’s were like that and his father’s before him and even before him. It has ever thus been this way.”
“They are like sacred, holy objects,” I replied. “They are a symbol of your virility and must be venerated accordingly.” Gently, I kissed his smooth, fleshy soles and the tops of each toe, from the least to the greatest and back. I began licking each toe, reveling in their individual size, shape and taste.
My lord’s fingers wrapped around my erect shaft and he began stroking me harder and faster. I grew so excited that I had to shove all of his toes on his left foot into my mouth to suffuse my energy. Moaning with delight, I spurted my seed all over his chest. I heard a roar from my master and realized that his seed had spurted all over his chest as well.
We lay together, panting from our exertions. A towel soaked in a bowl of orange blossom water was on the table next to the bed. I squeezed out the towel and gently cleansed my master’s face, chest and feet. When I was done I lay in the crook of his arms.
“I love you, Pietro, my Roman god,” Ricq murmured.
“I love you too, Ricq al-Cricq, lord of my heart and king of my desires,” I replied softly.
“Stay with me forever,” my master said. “Be my mate…my sole mate.”
“Gratefully, my lord,” I replied. “I will worship your perfect feet like no other.”
We lay back and fell into a blissful night’s sleep.
We spent many happy days together. Often, he would have me attend to his feet when discussing the affairs of the realm with his kinsmen in his inner chamber. At first, his noblemen were taken aback seeing their lord’s feet worshipped by a Roman warrior, but my ministrations seemed to give him peace and tranquility. After a while I was scarcely noticed by the men who came to pay their respects to Ricq al-Cricq.
In the evenings, we would dine sumptuously together on Persian delicacies and I would lay contentedly with him on the cushions near the low table while sipping wine from golden goblets. Often, my lord enjoyed watching his various slave boys dance after the evening meal. I would gently massage his masterful feet with aloe and myrrh while the youths from Greece, Egypt and Troy performed their native dances for him.
Sometimes, he would ask me to select the three most beautiful youths to join us in the inner chamber. These young men would provide us with private entertainment at our request.
A favorite game of my lord’s was to have the three youths remove their clothing and lay down on his divan, with their heads extending one way and their bare feet the other. He would watch me worship their feet individually as he inserted his manhood into their willing mouths. I never grew tired of playing with Greek, Egyptian or Trojan toes and soles! The three young men would get so excited watching me worship their beautiful feet while my master fed them his phallus. After a while, Ricq and I would exchange places so that he would be servicing their feet and I would be servicing their mouths with my erect penis. The three youths would then get so excited that they would spurt their seed all over themselves and each other.
Sometimes my master and I would sit back on the divan and watch the youths make love to each other on the Persian rug. My lord grew very excited at this display of raw sexuality and would stroke himself while I sucked his luscious toes. Ricq would then ask me to take the most handsome lad – usually the Greek – and penetrate him while the slave fed on his masterful feet and toes. This always made my master very happy. He ended up spurting his seed over his feet and the Greek slave would be happy to lick it up.
After all this entertainment, I would accompany my lord to the bath, where I would scrub his body with rare oils and dry him and massage him with aloe and orange blossom water. We would then retire to the bedchamber, where I would prostrate myself and kiss his beautiful feet. My lord would then allow me to accompany him to bed, and I would kiss and caress his masterful feet until he got excited again and spurted his manly juices. He would then tongue my clean shaven hole while I added my seed to that on his chest. Exhausted, we would fall asleep in each other’s arms to await another perfect day.
THE END
