Souchard

By: Will B
(© 2009-2010 by the author)
 

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

From Chapter 10:
 

Abdul and Gamal had come to England from a Middle-Eastern country to kill Daoud and Bahnadi because they practiced the ‘wicked, sinful, decadent western way” of man-on-man love.

Almost by chance the two would-be assassins found they had feelings for one another, feelings that resulted in their expressing their emotions in the same way they had previously claimed to have found so ‘decadent.’

They made their way to Smith Manor where they planned to confess their plan to murder Daoud and Bahnadi and beg forgiveness.

When Abdul and Gamal had finished their story, Abdul asked, “Can you forgive us?”

Daoud and Bahnadi said almost in unison, “Of course. We do forgive you.”

Daoud went on, “But I’m not sure how we can help you. You can’t go back to your native country, and you’re welcome to stay here for as long as you like, but it may not be safe for you. I don’t see…”

A voice was heard from the dining room door. “Ah, but I think my friend and I may have an idea.”

Chapter 11

Chet and his companion, Gerald, two Anglican clergymen who had been companions, lovers, partners, for the last few months, came into the dining room.

Chet spoke, “You two young men do have a problem, but fortunately, Gerald and I can help you get emergency visas as possible victims of a hate crime in your native country. The U.K. Parliament has recently enacted a law allowing for cases such as yours. In six months you can apply for British citizenship if that is what you wish.”

Gamal and Abdul sat, stunned, listening to the possible way out of their dilemma.

Jane said, “Chet, why don’t you and Gerald sit down and have some breakfast, or at least some tea…”

‘I knew she would say that,’ thought Chet.

“…or coffee,” Jane went on, smiling.

“Coffee would be lovely, Jane,” said Gerald.

“Sir, thank you for your concern,” said Abdul. “This is a lot to take in. Gamal and I want to think this over. We have many things to arrange: completing the paper work, finding a place to stay, and finding a job…”

“We will need to get some clothes,” added Gamal, “and we don’t have a lot of money…”

“Not to worry,” Gerald said. “Chet and I are active in a group that helps refugees such as yourselves. We have a certain amount of money that can be used to help men such as you.”

While the men finished eating, Jane sat pondering. ‘I have been thinking about expanding our garden to grow more food for us, and I have been wondering if we could raise some sheep. It would require some additional labor. I wonder if Abdul and Gamal…’  She thought long and hard.

“Abdul and Gamal,” Gerald said, “This morning Chet and I will drive the two of you and Daoud and Bahnadi into the town to get you some clothes.”

“Thank you, sir,” Abdul replied. “That is very kind of you.”

When everyone had finished eating, Jane took Abdul and Gamal to see a room in the Manor where they could stay. It was a lovely room right next door to Daoud and Bahnadi’s room.

Gamal looked out of the window at the English country side. “This is beautiful, Madam Jane. I wish…I wish I could stay here. If you have any animals I could help tend, I would be very happy.”

Abdul also had some thoughts. “This country is so lush and green,” he said. “I would enjoy seeing things grow.”

“Ahhh," said Jane. “We shall have to see. I have been thinking about making this into a working farm. I would need some strong men to help. We shall just have to see.”

Before leaving the Manor, Chet had opened up his computer and sent an e-mail to the Society, asking what could be done to help these two young men get visas allowing them to stay in the country.

The trip to town was a great adventure for all four young men who had come here for various reasons, and had grown to love this very ‘green and pleasant land.’

Chet and Gerald took the four young men to various stores and bought them each several sets of underwear, five casual shirts each, three pair of slacks (each), two pair of work pants, suitable for working in the barn or in the fields, and two pair of sturdy work shoes.

Loaded down with their purchases the men returned to the Manor in time for dinner. Jane and Molly had worked hard to prepare a festive meal, and it is hard to say who was the hungrier: the six men who had been shopping in town, or the six young boys (Jimmy Smith, Terry Jones, Danny Brown, Bobby Wilson, Harry Anderson, and Ron Poole) who had been rescued from the London brothel, several weeks earlier.

The boys were full of questions, and had to be reminded, several times, “Don’t talk with your mouth full, guys.”

Daoud and Bahnadi had already begun making friends with the young lads, and soon everyone had Abdul and Gamal feeling right at home.

As dusk fell that evening, lights were burning in a three-story building that sat at the end of a mile long road that began at a Triumphal Arch. In front of this building was a large statue of an elderly woman who was sometimes called ‘the Mother of England,’ and who certainly had been ‘Grandmother to most of the Royal Families of Europe.’ Oddly enough, the sculptor who had created the statue had originally forgotten to put a wedding ring on the finger of the ‘Grandmother of Europe’s Royals!’

In a brightly lit room in the building an older woman sat erect at her desk talking to her grandson, a twenty-something, very handsome, young man.

“Grandmama, this e-mail arrived at the Society this morning, and I happened to read it, and I was wondering if you could do anything to expedite the visa process?”

“Now, my boy,” the woman said, “you know very well I can not interfere with the workings of the government, even thought it is called ‘My Government.’ But let me see the e-mail.”

As the lady read the paper, she smiled and said, “Hmm. I will ask my secretary to call the PM in the morning, and ask him to come see me, and we will discuss whether he can do anything about this.”

“Thank you, Grandmama,” said the young man as he bowed, kissed the lady on the cheek, and started to back out of the Presence.

“Watch out for the corgi!” called the lady, but it was too late. The young man fell right on his royal … er … on the royal carpet. He got up, left the room, and thought ‘Damn corgis. Why can’t she have a nice collie dog?’

Back at the Manor, it was getting late and it was time for the six young boys to go to bed. “Oh, do we have to?” asked one. “I don’t want to go to bed!” said another. Ten-year-old Jimmy Smith said, “I want a story.”

Abdul looked at the boys and said, “If you young men will get ready for bed, when you are ready, I will come and tell you a story about a boy who had a magic lamp.”

The six pre-teens looked at each other and said to Abdul, “Okay, Mr. Abdul. We’ll go. Hurry up. We wanna hear the story!” And off they went,

Jane smiled to herself at the way Abdul had gotten them to go to bed. ‘He seems to have a way with the boys. I hope he can stay,’ she thought to herself.

Bahnadi said to Abdul, “Can Daoud and I hear the story, too, Abdul?”

“Of course, my friends!” he replied.

In almost no time at all, the six boys had bathed, put on their light-weight p-j’s and were ready for the story.

True to his promise, Abdul, with Gamal, Daoud and Bahnadi went to the boys' bed-room, and told them the story of Aladdin and his lamp. The boys were enthralled. In their young lives they had never been told any stories. When it was over Terry said, “Tell us another one, please.”

“No, my young friends,” he replied with a smile. “It’s late, but if the camel doesn’t stick his nose in the tent, and if Miss Jane doesn’t give us beets and turnips for breakfast, I’ll tell you another story tomorrow night.”

Chet and Gerald were in their room at the Manor. Gerald had taken his shower and he was sitting on his bed in all his glory, waiting for Chet to finish his shower and join him. While he was waiting, he thought about all the years between the time he had first met Chet and their recent reunion, when Chet had come to London to help set up the Society.

He remembered the time he had gone to a Turkish bath in London, driven by desperation to find an outlet for his raging hormones, but terrified that someone would recognize him as a clergyman.

In his mind’s eye he could visualize the scene in the main room of the baths: naked men clutching each other in deep embraces, grinding their crotches into each other, their penises at the ready, about to discharge that glorious creamy semen into waiting hands, willing throats, winking holes.

Gerald thought about the man who had come into the baths, saying “I’m Steve and I’m a slut; I want to take as many poles up my hole and as many tools on my tongue as I can accommodate in one hour.”

Steve leaned over a low couch with his butt in the air, and his head rising, looking for … for whoever would take him up on his offer.

Gerald watched as man after man stood in front of Steve and allowed him to taste, lick, and then take the entire engorged organ into his mouth. At the same time, other men approached Steve from the rear and after lubing their rigid rods with spit, or even precum, would penetrate the all-too-willing ‘slut’ and pump and pump until they had deposited their load of hot man-cream into his body,

Part of Gerald had wanted to join one of the lines; another part had wanted to turn away; still another part of Gerald had wanted to offer himself up as another slut of the evening, and take as many loads of cum as possible.

Gerald’s thoughts were interrupted by a cough from the doorway. Looking up he saw Chet standing in the doorway of the bathroom, with a towel barely covering his mid-section.

‘No,’ Gerald thought. ‘This is what I want; my own Chet, with me always—not some anonymous encounter in a grungy public bath.’

Now both Gerald and Chet were ‘older men,’ and while they were by no means ‘buff,’ they were in pretty good shape for their age.

Chet looked at Gerald with a mischievous glint in his eye, and said, in a pseudo-cockney accent, “I siy, matey. Like what yer see? Eh?”

With that he dropped his towel and walked toward Gerald, fingering his organ so that it quickly became erect.

“Like it, do yer? Well, it’s all yours!” and Chet’s tool came to ‘where it belonged to be,’ as the old folks used to say.

After sampling the fountain of earthly delights, Gerald looked at his lover, and in a ‘little boy’ voice, said, “Please, Sir. I want some more!”

And unlike poor Oliver, he did in deed get some more!

* * * * *

Abdul and Gamal were also getting ready for bed, and like any hot, horny young men, they were ‘undressed’ for action.

“Gamal,” said Abdul, “if I rub your magic ‘lamp,’ will a genie appear and grant me three wishes?”

“I don’t know,” said Gamal, “but if we each rub the other’s ‘magic lamp,’ I’m sure something good will happen.

Abdul lay on his back and spread his legs. Gamal knelt between Abdul’s legs and took Abdul’s tumescent tool into his hands and began to gently manipulate the magnificent piece of meat. Abdul did the same to Gamal’s rampant staff.

The two got into a rhythm of slow manipulation that gradually began to increase in speed.

Both studs were breathing heavily, and Abdul leaned forward and placed his hand around both rods, so that they were rubbing together.

Faster and faster the hands moved; heavier and heavier came the breathing of the two masturbators. Abdul’s body was bucking up and down, his head was jerking from side to side. Gamal was moving his hand as if in a trance.

Both men felt their ball sacks contract. Abdul felt the hairs on his legs stand on end.

Faster and faster and FASTER AND FASTER UNTIL…..

Both men ejaculated their man-cream all over Abdul’s chest and throat, and Gamal even shot two or three blasts into his lover’s throat—and Abdul swallowed every last hot, delicious, steamy drop.

Abdul and Gamal fell asleep in each other’s arms (and in the morning woke to find they were truly united by the most wonderful adhesive man could create!).

* * * * *

Daoud and Bahnadi were also ready for … well, not quite ready for bed, if you know what I mean!

The two men were embracing, and fondling each other’s most prized possession.

“Daoud,” said Bahnadi, “I want to show you what happens when a camel gets its nose inside the tent. Are you ready?”

“Show me, Bahnadi. I’m always ready to learn new things,” said Daoud.

“All right, my friend. Get on your hands and knees.”

Daoud did as he was told and Bahnadi knelt behind him. “Perhaps this is more properly called ‘The camel and the asp,” Bahnadi said.

He rammed his nose as close as he could to Daoud’s pucker and pushed as if he would project his proboscis into that private area. He backed out and then his tongue, flickering in and out like the tongue of an asp, explored Daoud’s anal area, causing the young man to quiver in delight.

Then the camel stuck its nose into the clenching and unclenching pucker; then the asp delicately explored the area; then the camel; then the asp.

Daoud was moaning in delight, and Gamal was issuing guttural, animal-like sounds.

While Gamal was using his head to cause these sensations, he reached between Daoud’s legs, grabbed his cock, and began to jack him off—not too fast, but firmly and expertly!

Gamal drew back one last time, and then, his organ as ramrod stiff as a tent-pole, firmly inserted itself into Daoud’s all-too-ready, willing and able body. Daoud moaned louder and Gamal uttered his guttural sounds.

Motion followed motion. Sounds reverberated throughout the room. Gamal was fucking Daoud as hard and as fast as he could, and Daoud was loving it!

“Aaagggghhhhhh!” Gamal groaned as his semen coursed through his body and into Daoud’s anal canal.

“Aaaaaiiiiiieeee!” Daoud shouted as he too deposited his load on the sheets,

The two men collapsed on the bed, Gamal’s cock still inserted in that wonderful dark, hot, moist place.

Sated, satisfied, happy, the two fell asleep.

To be continued...

Author’s note: I am indebted to one of my readers for sending me something that inspired one part of this MOA story. What’s a MOA story? Think of how the three pairs of lovers achieved bliss. The first person to send me an explanation of the term MOA might receive a video of Jimmie Olson doing Clark Kent while Perry White looks on!

Posted: 07/23/10