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Cairo
Surrender
Inspiration,
drawings,
and
excerpts: Inspiration:
Habu often
starts with setting—historical-period atmospherics—a theme, or a fleeting
image for story inspiration. The inspiration for Cairo
Surrender was an intersection of the three. “I wanted to capture the
‘end of a colonial era’ in Egypt feeling and use that to underlay a story on
the loss of innocence through a foreboding and lengthy and deliberate seduction
by a satyr figure laced with treachery. Shepheard’s Hotel was—and still
is—a British colonial study in itself. It set the atmosphere for the story.
The character I wanted to concentrate on was the complex one of the satyrish
Pasha Rushdy Abazar, exploring traits in his personality that were arousing,
seductive, dominating, arrogant, degenerate, and noble all at the same time. The
themes of the book, though, may never have come together if I hadn’t seen the
image that was used for the cover of the book. Seeing that, I instantly knew the
time period, situation, and story that I wanted to give Cairo Surrender.”
Passage associated with the cover image: The
view of Abazar through not just the dust particles but the haze of blue smoke
above his head was just as obscured and hazy as was Abazar’s view of Michael.
The first sensation that Michael had when he woke and sat up was of the face of
a handsomely cruel satyr as viewed through a hanging of Spanish lace. It was a
confusing sensation to him—fearful and yet exotic and tempting at the same
time.
Michael showering and watching Abazar do his morning exercises: They
started to eat, but Abazar only ate half of his and pulled Michael’s away from
him half eaten as well. “I’m
not finished,” Michael said in surprise. “Yes
you are,” Abazar said, the voice of the parent. “We aren’t active in
here—can’t be as active as we normally would be. You need to eat, but you
need to regulate yourself too. Go clean yourself now. And I will exercise my
body. It would be best if you did so as well.” As
Michael rose and moved tentatively over toward the shower and privy corner.
Abazar picked up the trays of the half-eaten food, placing Michael’s on the
floor in front of the food delivery flap in the door and taking his own over and
placing it on the floor at a corner of Michael’s cot. Then he stood and
stretched out his arm and leg muscles and moved to the center of the chamber. Abazar
gave a little grin of amusement, as he saw Michael huddling in the corner, now
clothed in darkness, and rinsing and then soaping and then rinsing himself,
being careful not to expose himself. At the same time, however, he was
surreptitiously watching as Abazar did some sort of dance-like movements in the
middle of the cell to stretch and work his muscles—nothing strenuous. But he
talked in low, soothing tones as he worked his body, explaining to Michael what
each graceful movement did and how it kept his muscles well worked. Michael
watched in fascination but also in increasing embarrassment, as he felt his body
tense up and his cock going hard. This shouldn’t be happening to him. He had
no idea what was happening to him. He just knew that he couldn’t stop watching
Abazar’s graceful, sensuous movements—and that his gathering thoughts about
Abazar were ones he should not be having.
The beginning of Abazar’s seduction of Michael: “Come
over to the cot now, Michael. I will tell you another story.” Michael
walked toward his cot, slightly stumbling, and mumbling to himself. He knew
there was something he was forgetting, but the voice of authority had called.
And he wanted to hear the story. What he really wanted was the massaging to
start again. That had made him melt. What
Michael forgot when he left the shower was to put his drawers back on, so he
came to Abazar dazed and naked. He
sat with his back toward Abazar and Abazar started to gently work the youth’s
back muscles, while in low, mellow tones, quiet enough that Michael had to arch
his back toward the storyteller, bringing his ear close to Abazar’s lips, to
catch it all. Michael’s
senses were suspended in some sort of nirvana, where he could hear Abazar’s
words and where he could feel what Abazar was doing with his hands—and knew
that he’d been taught men didn’t do this to other men. But that he didn’t
care, that he was enjoying sensations he’d never felt before and that he was
exhilarated in his inner being that it was Abazar who was touching him. That all
of his defenses were down. Thus,
when, during the telling of the story, Abazar’s hands moved around to
Michael’s chest and belly, Michael just sighed and leaned back into Abazar’s
chest. He lay there, murmuring and moaning, and watching his own cock stand
straight up and start to throb. Listening to Abazar, getting the gist of what he
was saying, absorbing it, as Abazar’s hand slowly glided down and wrapped
itself around Michael’s cock, and stroked him, with Michael’s instincts
kicking in and his pelvis slowly rolling to the rhythm of the stroking until
with a little cry and a sigh, he released his seed, watching it burble up
between Abazar’s fingers and dribble down his hand.
Abazar preparing a sleeping Michael: With
a sigh of regret, Abazar moved Michael away from him and rose from the cot as he
laid the young man down on his back. He leaned over and kissed the youth
tenderly on the mouth and then placed his hands on Michael’s face and closed
his eyelids. Michael almost immediately drifted into the regular breathing of
deep sleep, and Abazar was assured that he had been right in holding off. He
wanted Michael to be fully conscious, not in half a haze, and to tell he wanted
it, to know he wanted it. Still,
Abazar could not leave him. He was too keyed up. Not the whole way now,
certainly—if he could hold off. But part way. Preparation. Preparation for
Michael and pleasure for himself. Relief. Partial victory at least. At least
that was his reasoning. Because he was smitten, only barely in control of
himself. He could not pull away yet. He’d never been so smitten with a
conquest. The challenge was what aroused him. The first taking. That’s as far
as his interest usually went. But with Michael, he wasn’t sure. He just
wasn’t sure. Abazar
sat back down on the cot, beside the thin waist of the golden youth. Michael was
laying on his back. Abazar ran the fingers of one hand along Michael’s full,
sensuous lips, and, with a sigh, Michael opened his lips and two of Abazar’s
fingers slipped inside. Michael sucked on the fingertips as he had sucked on the
bulb of Abazar’s cock—almost innocently, certainly unconsciously. Not
waking, but stirring a bit. Abazar’s eyes were feasting on the vulnerable
youth and his other hand was stroking his own cock, bringing it fully back to
life again, intent on finishing what he hadn’t let Michael finish—hadn’t
demanded of Michael. A third finger followed the first two. He
gently extracted the moistened fingers from Michael’s mouth and lifted the
youth’s leg on the wall side of the cot and hooked it over his own left
shoulder. Abazar leaned over then and scooped his fingers into a large chunk of
butter that had been softening on the food tray he had set on the floor at the
corner of the cot. He moved his hand to between the youth’s now-spread thighs
and found and toyed with the entrance of Michael’s channel with his heavily
greased fingers. Periodically over the next half hour, the hand went back to the
tray for more of the butter. He would need plenty of it. Michael moaned in his
deep stupor, but still did not awake. Abazar slowly worked the channel with,
first, one finger and then two—and four—as slowly, ever so slowly, the tight
channel opened to him.
The culmination of the seduction, Michael bound to the wall: “You
are just virginal,” he whispered. “And alas, I am a stallion. I know when
you have all of me inside you, me riding you in glorious rhythm, all of your
fears and inhibitions will evaporate. As soon as you experience the ultimate
pleasure.” The
tension inside Michael wasn’t lessening; if anything it was stiffening. Abazar
had to think of something. It was all for naught if the young man wouldn’t beg
for it—and receive the fullness of it. His eyes traveled around the room,
searching for some idea of what to do. He could just turn the golden youth to a
position where he could mount him fully and just take him and plow him until
Michael completely surrendered. But what if that didn’t work? He had invested
too much in this challenge to not have his victory. His
eyes went to the walls across the chamber from the cot, and he smiled. “What
if you had no control, if you welcomed it and wanted it and had no control, no
way to stop it?” he asked. “Hasn’t
that been my life so far?” Michael asked wearily. “Not having control.” “Yes,
it is the problem, but it may also be the gateway to the solution. You have not
had control before—but you were being forced to do things you did not want to
do. What if, at least for a beginning, you had no control but you were being
given what you want. That could help get you past the block in your pleasure and
your being able to receive it fully.” Michael
said nothing, mulling over this conundrum. His thoughts went back to the small
reception room at Shepheard’s, to the Nubian taking the waiter. He had been
aroused by that then—and even more so in thinking upon it since. And he knew
now that part of the arousal was that the waiter had no choice, no control. And
when Michael thought of the Nubian coming to him after finishing with the
waiter, the arousal he felt was couched in being taken by force, without his
consent, beyond his control. “We
have come so far. You do want the ultimate lovemaking, don’t you? You do want
the feel and to have the knowledge of every inch of me inside you, don’t you?
The joy of knowing you are being so fully possessed and that you have the effect
on me to keep me hard and having my seed flowing deep inside you? Knowing that
tomorrow we might both be dead?” “Yes,”
the answer was breathy, as while Rushdy talked, he was slowly stroking
Michael’s cock again, and the youth was responding to the arousal. Michael
turned his head and looked into Rushdy’s eyes, only to see that Rushdy was
staring away from him. He followed the satyr’s line of sight and shuddered and
moaned when he saw what Rushdy’s attention was focused on. Abazar
had moved the table aside, and he used his and Michael’s linen drawers to wrap
the youth’s wrists in so that the manacles hanging from two adjacent iron
rings on the wall didn’t chaff his skin too badly. Michael
was barely able to reach the floor with the balls of his feet when he hung from
the manacles on the wall, but that didn’t matter for very long, as Abazar
moved in close to Michael and reached down and cupped and spread his buttocks in
strong hands as Michael raised his legs on Abazar’s hips. The
first entry in this position was arduous, but Abazar assured Michael that it
would open him as the position on the cot had not. Michael
cried out as the bulb of Abazar’s cock breached the rim of his channel, and
panted and whined that maybe they should leave it for later. “You
are my prisoner now; you will be fucked deeply before I unshackle you,” Abazar
growled, which caused Michael to look into his eyes with fear. But all he saw
was an encouraging smile. “It’s what you want, isn’t it? No control over
the inevitable. No responsibility. I take all responsibility.” “Yes,”
Michael murmured. “It’s what I want.” And then “Oh, my God!” he was
crying out, as Abazar’s cock gained a good two inches of depth never reached
before. Visions of the Nubian taking the waiter flowed through Michael’s mind
and he felt his channel slackening and his captor moving, gliding deeper inside
him. And Michael wanted it all. He wanted Rushdy inside him, and he wanted the
Nubian inside him. He wanted to experience, to live it all. All Egyptian men,
the men of the world. He wanted them all inside him. His channel relaxed, the
muscles of his channel walls beginning to work with the shaft that was splitting
him. Michael
rode Abazar’s hips with his legs and arched his back and shuddered and writhed
as Abazar’s staff reached the depth of a normal man’s cock in his
well-buttered channel. “You’ve
done it, golden one,” Abazar whispered in his ear. “This is the best that
most men could do. I could work you here—and you would enjoy it. It is not
ultimate, though. Do you want the ultimate?” “Yes,
oh yes,” Michael whispered through his groaning. He
pressed in another inch, and Michael gasped. Abazar held there for several
moments, both of them breathing heavily. He dipped his face to Michael’s and
they kissed deeply, and Abazar then let his tongue run down along the side of
Michael’s throat and down to his nipples. He waited until Michael stopped
trembling. The youth was moaning, hanging from the rings, control of his arms
completely taken away from him. Michael
could feel Abazar trembling now. Abazar took Michael’s calves in his hands and
leaned in and kissed him on the lips again. Michael was whimpering, knowing he
was at the moment—the gateway to the ultimate. “Forgive
me, little one,” Abazar murmured. “Just a few seconds. Only a few seconds.
And then, slowly but surely, the journey to paradise.” Michael
was already opening his mouth to scream out when Abazar jerked his legs wide and
thrust hard inside his channel with his cock. Michael cried out and writhed and
pleaded, but saddled to the hilt now and having faith that Abazar wasn’t lying
to him and that the pleasure would progressively overcome the pain, he gave all
control, all tension, up to the command of this satyr who now fully possessed
him. Feeling the full surrender, Abazar gave a snort of victory and completion
and began to pump in short, sure strokes deep inside his conquest until they
both felt the flow of him deep inside Michael’s no-longer-virginal channel.
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