The no-nonsense building where he and his Islamic brothers used to train and hone themselves had a concrete floor, vinyl martial arts mats, a practice boxing ring, punching bags and weights.  None of the other fancy do-dads one often came across in fitness centers.  Now Akeem trained alone however.  The extremist group he was a part of, upon learning that he had feelings for men, expatriated him from their ranks.  Still, he kept up his fitness regimen.

The young Muslim had just finished his daily routine of Karate kicks and punches along with abdominal crunches, pull-ups, chin-ups and push-ups.  Sweat now flowed and dripped from his well-defined, muscular body and he ached pleasingly all over.

Proceeding to another room in the building, he stripped off his work-out clothes and stepped into a shower.  The hot water stung as it struck his body with what seemed like thousands of wet sharp points.  He shampooed his hair and soaped the rest of himself.

Clean as a whistle, he took the bus home.

He was quiet as he entered the house, for he knew that his two captive youths were still sleeping.  After all the two-percent solution he’d injected them with was supposed keep the two eighteen-year-olds out for a (quite fitting) eighteen hours, and it had only been five hours since he’d pricked their fair skins with his trusty syringe.  Creeping through the darkened hallway, the young Muslim made his way up to his attic.  Once inside he pulled the chain of his hanging light bulb.  And squinting in the hundred-watt luminescence, he saw that the left side of his bed was currently being occupied by the sleeping bound and gagged figure of Travis Jarlson.  Jeremy Riordon, equally unconscious and bound, was taking up the room's remaining space on the floor.

Smiling, Akeem pulled the light bulb's chain again, plunging the attic back into darkness.

Now he examined the two eighteen-year-old sleepers by moonlight.

Travis slept with an arm covering his eyes.  Akeem wasn't too thrilled with the fact that this young man was a former member of a separatist sect, but he found it rather difficult not to like him.  He was baby-faced, with large, round blue eyes and a tall, perfectly proportioned body.  Akeem had stripped him naked not too long after rendering him unconscious that afternoon.

Jeremy Riordon was a thin, blanket-wrapped bundle on the floor beneath the crescent moon crescent necklace which dangled from a tack mounted on the attic wall.  With his classically Anglo features, he possessed a body perfectly suited for a full Nazi uniform.  His blonde hair and fair skin seemed almost to glow in the light of the moon.  He too had been stripped naked while unconscious.

Akeem remembered how taken aback he was when these two young men approached him with their fantasy of being kidnapped and taken captive by someone fitting his ethnic profile.  He was even more surprised by how turned on he was by the idea.   The entire scenario had seemed like a dream right up until the moment he ambushed Jeremy.  The eighteen-year-old blond had wanted his abduction to be a complete surprise.  So Akeem had taken great lengths to catch him unawares.

He remembered stepping out from behind his van and plastering the wet chemical-soaked cloth over the unsuspecting blond youth’s face.

Akeem got a hard-on remembering how Jeremy had struggled futilely against the sick-smelling cloth.  And the moment when Jeremy had finally gone limp in his arms with a weak sigh, Akeem had actually cum in his pants!  He wondered how long he had held the unconscious youth in his arms, steadying Jeremy’s drooping blond head against his shoulder before loading the helpless young man into the back of his van.

It was an excellent capture.

Akeem was just beginning to think back on the details of Travis’ off-guard abduction when the baby-faced young man suddenly cried out and lapsed back into sleep.  Akeem was almost pierced by this cry, for it sounded as if his eighteen-year-old captive had called out to his mother.

"Wha . . . ?"  Said Jeremy, who'd apparently been aroused by his friend’s sudden cry.  He raised his blond head, then his whole body.  His sleep-blinded blue eyes were wide with semi-conscious confusion.

"It's okay, Jer."  Akeem assured him in a soft voice as he soothingly stroked the youth’s hair and face.  "Go on back to sleep."

Jeremy rubbed his eyes with his handcuffed fists like a three-year-old.  Then, apparently satisfied that everything was indeed all right, he went limp and collapsed back into his bundle of blankets and pillows.  Akeem used the chemical-soaked cloth to re-anesthetized the blond youth.  He chuckled to himself, realizing that he had no knowledge of tranquilizers and needle cases and such before coming into contact with these two strange blond godlings.  They had personally instructed him in how to use each item--and in effect had been most helpful in their own kidnappings!

Turning back to Travis, Akeem saw that the baby-faced youth was now snoring up at the attic's low ceiling.  His handcuffed hands looked as if they were clutched into fists.  The Muslim couldn't be for certain--for it was dark in the enclosed room--but it looked as if Travis’ bound hands were all set to throw hard punches.  The Muslim wondered how someone could call out for his mother in his sleep while preparing to do battle with his fists at the same time.  The eighteen-year-old's bare, high-arched feet protruded from the bottom of his blanket.  Kneeling down, Akeem bent his head towards the youth’s feet and began to cover Travis’ toes with soothing kisses.  After kissing them, he began to suck on Travis’ feet--taking each toe into his mouth one at a time.  He licked around and between all ten of the baby-faced young man’s toes, not stopping until they began to prune.

Jeremy was still sleeping in a loose heap on the floor, a lock of blond hair covering his forehead like a comma, his pink mouth drooped open.  His blanket now covered him only up to his navel, a film of perspiration covering his thin chest and hairless upper lip.  Akeem lifted both of the youth’s bare feet, which were bound together with electrical tape.  The former Muslim brought them to his face and licked the soles.  Jeremy’s feet had a tangy, masculine taste that the former Muslim had gown to love.  He licked at the soles and insteps slowly, as if consuming an ice cream cone.  He rubbed the blond young man’s soles on his chest and cheeks as well.

Akeem eventually decided that he’d had enough for the night.  He tucked the blanket under Jeremy's chin and covered Travis’ exposed feet.  The young Muslim sighed self-pityingly to himself as he did so, for try as he might to be a tough disciple of Islam, he almost couldn't bear to cause a human being pain.  His inborn gentleness and pity always erupted in his heart so easily, and his new status as a so-called “top” just wasn't helping him to moderate it.

Before leaving to take a leak in the bathroom, he turned back once again towards his two sleeping captives.  He glanced at those young faces bathed in the dim, waxy light of the moon.  The pinkish-white faces, pale and delicate-looking.

Then the young Muslim departed without a sound.  The next day, his young captives would be awake, and he would teach them the true meaning of painful subservience.  But that is another story.