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Island of Lust by Geoffrey Allen
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Chapter One
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“Are you sure this is the place?” Lakha asked his guide, surveying the mean, narrow street.
“This is the brothel of Atala,” the man assured him.
Lakha stood at a cross road in the poorer quarter of the city of Dendera. The crumbling two-storey building overhanging the street, with its peeling plaster and rotting shutters would be the only sort of place Hatentita, sometime pretender to the ancient throne of Egypt, now bankrupt without two bronze pennies to scratch her arse with, could rent. It didn’t surprise him that she had again assumed one of her many disguises. She was good at that, fooling people into believing she was a high-class whore, hiring herself out to nobles at parties, eavesdropping on anything that might prove lucrative, borrowing, begging, or resorting to downright theft and extortion to fund her half-crazed ideas. However, he had to give her credit. Occasionally she pulled off the odd miracle, believing herself Queen of Egypt, raising an army and navy to take on the might of Imperial Rome and coming within a whisker of victory. Moreover, she had all the charm and beauty of the classical Egyptian woman; tall, long legged, high breasted and stunningly beautiful. Nevertheless, that had not been enough to save her from defeat and she had gone to ground so thoroughly it had taken Lakha almost a year to track her down, and the high priests of Anubis were growing impatient.
Lakha, a servant of the high priests was no coward, but the darkened streets of Dendera instantly put him on his guard. He knew from experience that in the numerous doorways and alleys lurked every kind of cutthroat and ne’er-do-well stalking this earth, not to mention prostitutes all too ready to lure a man to his grave in return for his purse. Small wonder Hatentita was right at home here. She too was no coward and had extricated herself from many dangerous scrapes.
He signalled to the guide and both of them unsheathed their daggers keeping them hidden under their cloaks as they entered the building. It was not what he had imagined. A single passage opened up before him lined with doorways, five on each side, some closed with curtains, the others left open where the girls languished on stone plinths covered with a pelisse. Above each doorway, a painted fresco advertised the girl within and her speciality, together with her name. A guttering lamp threw an eerie shadow over the bare plaster and out of the shadows; an oily faced man peered at the two men hovering in the doorway. As far as Lakha could see, there were no hidden alcoves or recesses from where an attack might come.
“Welcome to the House of Atala,” he greeted in the attitude of a miser who has just avoided buying someone a birthday present. “What is your pleasure?”
Lakha had already rightly guessed that only the bottom floor of the building was where business took place, the upper storey being reserved for more discerning clients and possibly where Hatentita actually lived. He also knew that henchmen who wouldn’t hesitate to rip off any trouble maker’s head if needs must guarded every brothel from the highest to the lowest, and the absence of such men bothered him. Hatentita was nothing if not careful. Given recent events, there was bound to be a price on her head and she wouldn’t take kindly to anyone asking awkward questions or seeking her whereabouts. But Lakha was no fool either.
“I have heard that the mistress of the house is the finest woman in all Dendera,” he said, returning the oily smile. “Men speak well of her and her beauty is matched only by the Goddess Isis. Is she available?”
The oily man was no longer oily. His eyes narrowed in suspicion and his thin lips visibly tightened.
“My mistress sees only those she wishes to see, and you are not one of them,” he rasped.
“Perhaps you could pass on the message that she will see me when she knows the value of my purse.”
The man’s eyes instantly widened. “You have the money with you?”
“Not with me, no. But after an assignation has been arranged so will the money.”
“My mistress is away on business in another part of the city,” he grunted. “I’m not sure I can deliver your message.”
‘Away on business, on her back more like,’ Lakha thought, but didn’t say so.
“But you could deliver it if you so chose,” he said aloud, feeling he was moving into dangerous territory.
Overhead a door opened and furtive steps padded over the boards. A latch clicked and he caught the subdued whispering of harsh, uncouth voices.
“I could,” the man offered. “For a price.”
The reply was much as Lakha expected. In the underworld of flesh, nothing comes free. He tossed him a silver coin and the man instinctively bit it.
“It will take some time, perhaps until dawn; in the meantime, Lenata will be only too pleased to entertain you, and Cora, your friend. Both give excellent value.”
It was either accept or be hurried from the premises, and Lakha was in no hurry, the urgency of his mission far outweighed the time taken to complete it.
“We accept,” he said wearily. “Show us their beds. And inform your mistress I am waiting.”
The man’s gnarled fingers reached out and snapped like a vice over the coins, and the two men went into the respective cells drawing the curtains behind them.
The girl wore nothing more than a thin slave shift of transparent cotton, but it was clean and smelled faintly of cheap perfume. Around her head, a band of polished copper drew attention to a mass of black, luxuriant hair tumbling to her trim waist. Her body was slim but well proportioned the breasts perhaps a little too heavy for her slender frame and he wondered how such narrow shoulders could comfortably carry their weight. Another quick survey revealed good legs, nicely contoured and a perfect triangle of well-brushed pubic hair, everything about her seemingly oddly at variance with the surroundings. But that was none of his business. Women entered brothels for a variety of reasons; some sold as slaves, others bonded to pay off debts, or sold by disgruntled husbands, and a few came willingly just for the pleasure of having so many men. None of them in this type of establishment received any payment for their services, their only hope of escape being an offer of marriage or being bought out, but that was as rare as a snowstorm in the desert.
Without a word of command, the girl whisked off her shift and knelt up naked, hands folded dutifully in her lap, head bowed in submission.
“Your pleasure is mine, master,” she whispered softly.
Lakha carefully removed his tunic and folded it neatly under the pillow. He took off his breeches, hung them on a wooden peg, and seated himself naked on the bed.
“My pleasure is what is in your picture,” he replied gently.
The fresco was a graphic representation of a woman performing fellatio, the male organ fully engulfed in her throat, her hand joyfully gripping the shaft, the smile on her face one of unbridled delight, and there was no doubt in his mind that in her position she would have no choice but to do whatever he requested, short of allowing him to strangle her.
“Certainly, master,” she beamed. “My mouth is hot and willing, if you care to use it…and I swallow if that is your pleasure also.”
She moved to take in his erection, but Lakha eased her upright again.
“We have all night,” he informed. “And there is more to you than just your mouth.”
“I have three mouths, master. All at your disposal, if you would care to use my….”
He cut her short with a sudden embrace, hugging her body hard against his powerful chest, feeling the soft warmth of her breasts squashing against him. His hands were on her pert buttocks, so small he could encompass each one in his hands. For a full minute, they kissed while his fingers manipulated her bottom, pinching and squeezing, forefinger worming into her bottom hole. Again, as he explored her lithe body he wondered how such a peach could possibly ply her trade in a stinking hole like this.
“You are a slave?” he asked, whispering softly into her ear.
It was not a good idea, asking too many questions in these places. The girls were there for sex and nothing else, but Lakha was intrigued.
She nodded dumbly. “The mistress bought me in exchange for her favours with my master.”
Lakha clicked his tongue. Trust that crafty bitch to fill her brothel without even parting with a single coin.
“And the other girls?” he asked.
Lenata shook her head and shrugged. “The same.”
It seemed that Hatentita was a very busy woman. It would not be easy fulfilling his task in getting her to the high priests. He asked her name and was surprised at how willingly she gave it; Lenata.
He cupped Lenata’s breast and gave it a gentle squeeze, artfully thumbing the nipple. She caught her breath, parting her lips and breathing hard into his neck.
“Please, master, fuck me.”
“Not yet,” he said squeezing a little harder, and moving to the other breast. “As I said, I have bought you until dawn. How long have you been in here?”
She had to think about that. “Since the Festival of Isis,” she told him.
That would put the date at about three months ago, and in a way answered a question he no longer needed to ask. Three months was nothing in a seedy brothel in a run down part of the city, and it wasn’t likely she’d had that many customers in so short a stay. Her body was still fresh and bore no ravages of time. He knew from experience whores who’d fucked themselves rotten, hard faced little tarts who’d fuck with a goat if the price were right, and cut a man’s throat for a penny. Lenata didn’t seem to fit into that scheme of things.
“Have you ever been whipped?” he asked as if fearing the answer.
“My bottom has tasted the cane,” she admitted tearfully.
“And your mistress, did she prevent you from suffering such punishment?”
“No. She just charged him double the price.”
That seemed about right.
“Has any man had your bottom?”
She shook her head vigorously. “Never.”
“But you wouldn’t object?”
Again, she had to think about that. “I’m yours to do with as you please,” she offered timidly.
The prospect was unbelievably tempting. She probably didn’t realise that her body was the sort that would make any man’s cock rise to bursting point, and he had already made up his mind that she was wasted in this dump. But that would keep for later.
Outside in the passage a man came out of the one of the cells and turned the corner at the end, exiting into the adjoining street. He heard the girl occupant go into the toilet and water splashing over the tiles. Someone along the passage laughed and in a nearby tavern a fight broke out with all the attendant swearing and bone crunching; all the sounds of a city at night. Yet strangely, they seemed a world away from where he was. It was comforting to know that the brothel guards were lurking somewhere in the shadows.
Lakha lay full length on his back, hands comfortably behind his head. Lenata got between his legs and gripped his cock, stroking it with a touch like satin. Her nipples were fully erect at the touch, rising from her small breasts like ripe berries. Her thighs, close together, glistened softly in the weak lamp light, her skin flawless, and her hips shapely and compact, without a hint of any excess flesh. For a moment, his eyes rested on her face with its wide smile revealing a row of perfect teeth, eyes dark and lips full and sensuous.
“Now you can use your mouth,” he said, closing his eyes and feeling his shaft glide softly into her throat.
To Lakha’s way of thinking there was nothing more pleasurable or so satisfying as being sucked by a beautiful young woman who lived principally for that purpose, and then making love to her afterwards. Wives were all right in their way and had their uses, but whores were a different thing altogether. For a starter they viewed sex as their main preoccupation in life and, as a rule, gave it their all on the off chance of receiving more than their standard fee. They knew how to leave a man satisfied and with a feeling of well being whereas wives always seemed to regard sex as a chore, something they were obliged to do as no more than a distasteful duty to their lord and master, and it always came at a much higher price. A whore used her tongue to make a man happy; a wife used hers to make him totally miserable.
Lenata’s tongue flicked rapidly over the glazed purple glans, moving so fast it sent a myriad wavering tingles fluttering into his belly. Her free hand cupped his balls and rolled them softly in her palm, and then she bobbled them on her fingertips, something no other whore had ever done.
“Am I good, master?” she whispered, looking him straight in the eye.
By all the Gods! Was the sun hot? Were the pyramids built of stone? Was Lenata good?
“You’re perfect,” he muttered, reaching out and placing his hand at the back of her head, forcing it back over his rigid organ.
“You’re huge,” she complimented, opening her mouth wide and at the same time giving him a playful smile.
She probably used a compliment every time she sucked a man, but in this case, it had a ring of truth. He knew his cock was larger than average, almost a thumb’s length longer than most men. But length was not necessarily a sign of virility. It was knowing how to use it that mattered, but that would come later. For now, he was content to let her demonstrate her skills and so far, he had no complaints. Her mouth glided up and down the shaft, sucking hard on the up-stroke, blasting hot breath over the wetted plum, and then blowing all the way down again. Inside her mouth, her tongue was never idle, flicking and coiling at the pulsating veins, her teeth nibbling at the root of the shaft, and all the while, her hand kept fondling.
It was at times like this he could think clearly, his mind emptied of all useless and trivial thought. He was on a mission to bring Hatentita to the Island of Anubis and into the temple of the same deity where the priests would initiate her into their strange and forbidding cult. The island was not an easy place to reach, beyond the second cataract and protected by its deadly rapids. She would not come willingly, of that he was sure. Somehow, he had to get her away from Dendera and into a boat, if necessary by force, but that would be the last resort. The bitch was well guarded and the last thing he needed was a stand up street brawl. It needed tact and above all very careful planning.
“Does your mistress have her own villa, or does she live upstairs?” he asked as Lenata stopped for breath.
“She has rooms above,” she confirmed. “It’s where she punishes us if the customer complains, or wants to have us for other purposes.”
His brows knitted. “Purposes? What purposes?”
“One of the girls was taken there and whipped,” she informed him, sitting up on her haunches, his cock pressing against her belly. “I could hear her screaming from here. Twenty strokes, she had, and on her bare bum.”
She looked down and gulped. The tip of Lakha’s cock was well past her navel, thick, hard and throbbing.
“Are you going to put that inside me?” she asked, going wide-eyed.
“That all depends on how much more you can tell me,” he said, lowering his voice into a grating whisper. “Supposing I wanted to take you there for a whipping. Would your mistress be present?”
“Only if the customer wants to have her as well,” she said, biting her lower lip in thought.
So far so good. But he needed to know more.
“And the guards, where are they while all this is going on?”
“There are no guards, only the old man, but he’s fast with a knife. She only has to pull on the rope and he’s there quicker than you can blink.”
Lakha studied her for a moment or two. Her bottom was pert and firm as his exploring hands revealed. The arse cheeks seemed tight and nicely compact.
“I’ll give you a gold coin if you offer your bum for a whipping,” he said seriously. “I promise you no more than ten strokes. It’s your mistress I really want.”
It was a big risk letting her know the real reason for caning her, but one that he could scarcely avoid. There was no other way of getting Hatentita alone in her room, and the girl had no choice in the matter. The old man he would leave to his companion, but he still needed time to think.
“Straddle my cock,” he said putting his hands on her hips and lifting her over his erection.
“I can’t take all of that,” she protested, holding the shaft in her hand.
“You said just now that you were mine to do with as I please,” he reminded her. “It’s either that or you have it up your bum and twenty strokes of the whip afterwards. Please yourself.”
He felt no guilt using terror on an almost virginal whore. She’d had her fair share of cock, of that he was certain, but the fear of having it up her bum and being well flogged into the bargain were things she was not used to. He could see it in her eyes and trembling fingers as they gently caressed his enormous length, wondering what to do.
“I’ll have your cock,” she said timorously. “But please master; don’t put it up my bum. One of the other girls will…”
“I don’t want any other girl,” he said sharply. “I want you, so stop wasting time and get your pretty cunt over my rod.”
She knew disobedience was futile and lifted her body high over his middle. He watched in mock angry silence as her hand went under her legs reaching for his cock, aiming the plum into her sex. He saw her swallow holding air in her lungs as the first couple of inches passed between her parted labia. Her breasts involuntarily thrust at him and he noticed the nipples were now erect and throbbing, the areolas spreading wider over her paler breast flesh. Slowly, as if lowering her bottom onto a stove, she began to take in his length, breathing faster now and creasing her stomach, feeling the shaft getting deeper inside her belly. Lakha allowed her all the time she needed. Most whores would have swallowed his cock like a python, but Lenata was genuinely in pain from the massive cock sliding into her sex. Her face screwed and again she held her breath.
“How much more?” she stuttered.
“You’ve taken half,” he informed her bluntly, and gave her a mild warning slap on her right breast.
Then he placed his hands on her hips and forced them downwards. Her bottom bounced over his pelvis and she uttered a short cry, rolling her eyes at the ceiling and froze like a statue.
“Now ride!” he said cruelly. “Bounce your bum until it aches.”
Impaled on his shaft there wasn’t much else she could do. Tentatively, she leaned forward resting her hands on his chest, angling her sex in readiness. Strangely, once his entire length was snugly inside her belly the pain evaporated and he saw her visibly relax, wiggling her bottom and sinking the cheeks over the tops of his thighs. Her nipples were still hard and throbbing and he sat upright, bending his head and sucking each one in turn. She rested her arms on his shoulders and leaned back gulping at the newfound shock when the plum tip nudged the neck of her womb. Then she leaned forward forcing her small girlish breasts harder into his face, the air whooshing from her lungs. Lakha took his mouth from her nipples and hugged her tight against his chest. In his arms, her body seemed remarkably slender and weightless. As he held her, dimly a plan formulated in his mind on how to get the real prize into his net, but for the moment, it could wait, and he slipped his hands under her bottom cheeks, lifting her clear of his organ, kept her hovering and then plunged her hard against his groin. Her eyes no longer rolled or squinted with pain, but assumed a languid and longing look, like a woman who had fucked continuously for hours but still wanted more.
It was a look he found devastatingly sexual as well as the soft panting coming from her barely parted lips. Her face flushed into a deeper brown and when she muttered, “You’re so huge,” his only desire was to fill her belly with his own juices. As he worked himself to orgasm, there were other things on his mind. The plan for Hatentita’s abduction had taken shape and the little whore joyfully bouncing on his cock was part of it, but she didn’t know it yet.
He worked her hard, holding back his orgasm, making her body gleam with sweat as he pumped her sex with all the strength his loins could muster. She was tiring but trying hard not to show it. Her thighs ached from so much rising and falling and the grip on his shoulders had weakened. It was only when she paused to sweep her tumbling hair from her face he learned the truth of her former existence. He came in a rush, filling her belly from three massive thrusts that almost threw her off him. She slumped into his chest, gasping and panting, genuinely exhausted. Lakha eased her to one side and gathered her neat body against him.
“You were a temple slave,” he said thoughtfully. “The brand is on your on your back. The mark of Hathor, Goddess of love and beauty is upon you.”
“I thought my hair would hide it,” she said wistfully. “Not even my mistress knows I was a concubine to the priests.”
“What were your duties?” he asked, pushing her hair from her shoulder blades where between them he saw the cartouche of the Goddess burned into her skin.
“To wait upon the priests and give them earthly delight whilst they summoned the Goddess.”
Lakha could well imagine that. The great temples had hundreds of young, nubile concubines, waiting on every whim of whichever priest sought her favours. At their dissolution, most of the girls were sold off, the youngest and pregnant ones fetching the highest prices. The priests of Anubis would reward him generously for bringing her to their temple.
“If you had the chance to get back to where you belong in the great temples of the Gods, would you take it?”
Her body tensed and she sat up facing him. “I dream of nothing else, master.”
“Then all you have to do is follow my instructions when we are in your mistress’ room. Now get on your back and spread your legs. I think your hot belly needs my cock.”
She didn’t argue, but fucked him with renewed vigour, jerking her bottom and hips until the pelisse was soaked in sweat and love juice, her mind dreaming of freedom and all the sacred cock her sex could take.
End of Chapter One
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