Lion of the Desert

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(Author’s note: This story features willing cuckoldry, breeding, inferiority complex, cuckold chastity and an age gap. If any of these fetishes do not float your boat, please feel free to click away. You have been forewarned!

Advanced vocabulary has been intentionally used here to complement the historical setting. It is not meant to be condescending.

This work of semi-fiction neither intends to proselytise nor hurt the sentiments of the religious communities featured within it in any way, shape or form.

All characters are either at or over 18 years of age.

Please rate my story! I’ve authored it since I couldn’t find enough cuckolding stories that pandered to my tastes, i.e. ones that feature impregnation and especially its aftermath, so I took matters into my own hands. As they say: if you want something done right, you’ve gotta do it yourself. Also, if cuckolding is your fetish too, and my story has fulfilled your fantasy, please let me know! Since this is my first story, any constructive criticism/feedback is welcome.)

Prologue

Pre-Islamic Arabia (circa 7th century AD and prior) is a rich and fascinating time period in history that gets little depiction in mainstream media as it is overshadowed by the advent and rapid, Blitzkrieg-like propagation of Islam. The polytheistic, pagan Arabs followed customs and traditions that would scant be conceivable, let alone fathomable to the modern mind.

Yet, it is important to note that these were desperate times in an inhospitable desert that was steeped in lawlessness and debauchery. The nomadic Bedouins were divided along ethnic and tribal lines and swore fierce loyalty to warlords who frequently waged war amongst themselves. Raiding and pillaging were daily affairs to such a great extent that they were even encouraged and people turned a blind eye to the victims. Since clean, potable water was a rare resource in the parched desert, people extensively consumed alcoholic beverages such as ale as a safe alternative, hence adding perennial inebriation to the heady state of affairs.

However, even more appalling than their inveterate drunkenness were their superstitious beliefs and customs. In particular, they practiced fertility rituals that mingled elements of almost every sexual practice imaginable, and for the sake of this story, this will be our primary focus.

Whether their sexual practices were liberating or despicable is a matter of debate, but all historical sources agree on point: they were ubiquitous. It is in this tumultuous world that we shall follow the lurid affairs of one newly married couple who are alive during this pivotal transitional period between pagan and Islamic Arabia.

Main Act

I would usually wake up in the early hours of dawn, but today was different. Lazily, I pandiculated and rubbed my eyes until my dilating pupils slowly adjusted themselves to the midday sun which was glaring down on me through the open windows of my bed chamber.

My uncharacteristically enervated spirit could be chalked up to the fact that my wedding took place yesterday to much fanfare and pomp, wherein our entire village was invited. The feasting and gaiety lasted long into the night since most neighbouring tribes participated, whereby they seized the opportunity to socialise and reaffirm old alliances as well as forge new ones.

My young, 18-year old bride, Safiya, hails from a clan in the neighbouring village, with whom we have had a long term rivalry. However, with the recent cessation of hostilities and as a gesture of goodwill, we had agreed to intermarry amongst ourselves so as to foster familial ties and preclude future incidents of warfare. As part of the peace process, we had eschewed the dowry which I would have otherwise had to pay, just like any other man in his early 20s who wished to marry, thus procuring me a wife at no cost.

Yet, I would have been more than pleased to pay the dowry to my bride’s family, for she is of such ethereal beauty, the likes of which seemed rather ill-fitting for a man of average disposition such as myself. Such is her slender, aesthetic appeal that she has left a lasting impression upon any man who laid his eyes on her. Though my wife has had more than her fair share of influential suitors who have vied for her hand in marriage, her parents stoutly refused, opting to hold out for the best possible marriage prospect.

That this fortuitous individual should be me, of all people, is bewildering, but it seems as though I undervalue myself, for my dear Safiya, upon her own admission, finds me to be absolutely irresistible. It fills my heart to the brim with joy to know that this youthful, luscious maiden has taken me as her one and only.

As I was occupied with these blissful thoughts, my nostrils picked up an appetising aroma that was slowly beginning to permeate throughout my bed chamber. When I got out of my bed and entered the door to ataşehir escort the hallway, I was greeted by Safiya’s genial smile. She was preparing bread over a clay oven. I hugged her with both my arms and we passionately kissed there for what seemed like an eternity.

“I see you’ve finally woken, Yahya. Hurry and eat up. Your food is getting cold,” said she.

“I will, but there is plenty of time for that later, my dear Safiya. Right now, I wish to make love with you,” I replied as my right hand adeptly made its way onto her petite bosom and firmly squeezed her hardening teat through her clothing. I also drew in a deep breath of the intoxicating scent of her flowing locks of raven-black hair.

“I would love to, honey, but I think you’re forgetting the agreement in our marriage contract,” she chided, as she stiffened up and began to push me away.

“Oh, you’re right. I must apologise. I got carried away there for a moment,” I said and stepped back.

The said arrangement refers to a clause in our marriage contract whereby both of our families had agreed to uphold an ancient fertility ritual. In our patriarchal society, we believe in a hierarchy of men, with clergymen at the top. As a result, they get the first pick in everything, including our women. Any clergyman, be it a priest, ruler or minor noble, has the birthright to deflower any newly-wed virgin bride within the realm of his domain, on the first night of her marriage. It is said to originate from an earlier Roman tradition known as the “Prima Nocta”. There is nothing that the families can do to stop it, and there is no point in trying, as it is codified by law, enshrined by religion and enforced by the state.

Over time, this once-controversial practice came to be viewed as a positive affair; even one that is desirable. This is because the offspring who are sired through this ritual have proven themselves to be capable and distinguished members within society. Apparently, these children take after their biological fathers by inheriting many of the very traits that had allowed their progenitors to prosper in the first place. Soon, families of the newly-wed began to seek out estimable members within society such as powerful landowners, wealthy merchants and erudite sages to impregnate the bride and bless her with a genetically superior child.

This is where my marriage comes into the picture. As I am not of noteworthy stature myself, it had been unanimously decided by my family, as well as my bride’s, to have Safiya be impregnated by someone other than me, her lawful husband. Since both of our clans’ belligerent pasts are now behind us and we are anticipating an economically prosperous and mutually fruitful future, we are in great need of a son who possesses characteristics of wisdom and jurisprudence so that he may lead our tribes in any joint ventures. And supposedly, the elders had found just the right man for the job of procreation.

Up in the faraway hills and within the caves dwells an ancient hermit of the desert who is rumoured to be as old as the sand dunes that surround him. Some claim that he is over a hundred years old, but more conservative estimates from people who have seen him in the flesh place him in his 80s, at the very least. Even if that were the case, he would still be considered ancient, given that the average life expectancy of our era is around 45, with most people unable to make it past 60. Given his life experience, he is well known for his expansive wisdom and abnegation of all things worldly, which made him the ideal candidate for producing an intelligent heir.

Hence, this man is to be the father of my child and so, I was forbidden from consummating my marriage with my wife last night, lest I unwittingly impregnate her. When my wife and I were first informed of the elders’ decision after the marriage proposal, we were visibly and quite understandably upset. Our families had anticipated our reaction, so rather than dishing out chastisement, they solaced us by reminding us of the greater good. For, if there is to be social progress, one must endure great personal sacrifice.

“Don’t worry, Yahya. No matter what happens today, I will eternally be yours, and yours only,” reassured Safiya as she caressed my cheek and planted a kiss therein.

Having been placated with this in mind, I finished my meal and together, we left our home in search of this mystic to partake in the ancient ritual. After hours of travel on camel-back across the vast, torrid, sun-scorched Arabian desert, and when we were conclusively far away from all signs of civilisation and manmade settlement, there finally appeared far away on the evening horizon, a precipitous mountain.

When we got close, it became evident that this was indeed the dwelling place of the Old Man of the Mountain. He was known by many names, but this was by far his most pervasive moniker. We got down from our camels and made our way up the winding path that led to the mouth kadıköy escort of an ominous-looking cavern. The tunnels within were labyrinth in layout and just as we were beginning to think that we had gotten lost, we found him.

In stark contrast to the rest of the cave, there lay before us a large opening that was brightly lit with sunlight that emanated from an overhead opening in the vast canopy. At the centre stood a table-like altar composed of black granite, upon which the guru sat in deep meditation with his eyes firmly closed. Behind the altar were several large, clay idols of deities that had garlands of flowers around their necks. The sage was an old man with a long and flowing grey beard. On his head was a large black turban that matched his long black robes. He was of a deep tan complexion and his skin had a soft, healthy glow to it.

There were incense sticks smouldering all around the cave which lent the otherwise squalid air an agreeable aroma. I was too timorous to disturb his tranquility, but I eventually spoke up and my soft voice broke the halcyon of the antediluvian cave. At first, he did not so much as flinch, given that he was entrenched in a deep, trance-like state. But when we got close to him and sat down, his eyes slowly opened.

“I have been expecting you, my children,” he addressed us in a deep, majestic voice. “I know who you are and what you are here for. I am prepared to give it to you, but I do not think you are ready to accept it in your current frames of mind. It is not too late to turn around and ponder upon an alternate course of action, for what you seek is no trivial undertaking.”

My wife and I were stunned at this revelation, for we had not yet revealed our intentions to him. Yet, he knew somehow. His years of penance and meditation has seemingly granted him omniscience. This left no room for doubt in our minds that we were indeed looking at the saint whose wisdom is legendary across the land. It was an honor for me to meet him, let alone offer my virgin bride. The elders had made the right decision on this one: a child of his stock will go on to achieve great deeds. My wife and I surreptitiously glanced at each other before turning back to face the Old Man of the Mountain.

“I…I think we are ready, master,” I said in a trembling voice.

“You sound diffident, child. Your voice does not inspire confidence in me,” he retorted in disagreement.

“We are definitely ready, master,” I reaffirmed with more conviction this time.

“Hmm…very well. We may begin the ceremony. Do you wish to leave the premises, my child?” he asked, addressing me.

My stomach twisted at the prospect of watching my wife’s breeding, but I could not simply leave her to her own devices, all the same.

“Nay, master. I would rather stay here and watch the proceedings. Besides, I have much to learn from you, O wise one.”

“You have taken a stand that not many in your position would take, my noble child. I admire your conscientious dedication towards sexual education. I have much to teach you, so let us begin.”

The monk stood up and motioned us to do the same, and so we obeyed. He lit a bundle of incense sticks and began chanting a prayer as he circumambulated the clay idols. He earnestly prayed for Safiya’s, as well as his own fertility, so that he may bless us with the fruit of marriage, viz. a child, through today’s mating ritual. He then placed the incense sticks down next to them as an offering to the deities. Spreading a clean, white tablecloth upon the altar, he began scattering fresh, wet, red cactus flower petals onto it. After this, he brewed some tea, of which he handed us a cup each and the cave was soon filled up with its unique aroma.

“I have made this special tea using the root of the Zallouh. It is a powerful and effective aphrodisiac which will aid us in the voyage of sexual discovery that we are about to embark on,” the hermit explained as he took another sip.

“Answer me, Yahya: what is the first act in the process of sexual intercourse?” he enquired in a slow, plodding voice.

“P…penetration?” I stammered, as I sipped the tea.

“Nay. One must first prepare one’s body and mind as well as one’s partner. If one wishes to achieve climax, one must first engage in foreplay.”

With this, he stood up, put away his empty tea cup and beckoned my wife to step forward, who turned to me with a wide-eyed, petrified look on her face.

“Do not be afraid, my child,” he comforted her. “Liberate your body and mind from worldly conformities so that they may be one with the universe,” he stated in a pacifying tone and proffered his hand.

I approved with a firm nod and she seemed to ease a little. Placing her empty tea cup aside, she stood up and took his hand which he had held out for her.

The old sage guided her into a yoga pose and announced, “We shall start the fertility ritual with a session of tantric yoga that I had learnt from bostancı escort bayan Indian saints during my many journeys to the Far East.”

He beckoned Safiya to follow his lead, which she did. As time passed, his positions got increasingly more difficult and intricate, but she was able to replicate them to an appreciable degree. As I sat and watched, I also noticed that they gradually got sexual in nature and involved lots of groping, interlocking and intertwining. A bulge could be seen forming on the old monk’s lower robes, but he did not try to hide it.

Though she pretended not to notice, it was clear by her seductive movements that Safiya was getting excited by the size of the monk’s erection. I was firm in my conviction because she pounced upon every opportunity to rub and glide her limbs across his erection under the guise of getting into position. By the time they had finished their last yoga asana, the aphrodisiac had taken a hold on all three of us and we could feel its powerful, stimulating effects stirring up our privates. The aura in the cave was now one of palpable sensuousness and temptation.

“You have done well in keeping pace with me, my child,” said the monk to my wife. “Please sit down for a while. You have earned yourself some respite.”

The old sage rummaged around an old rucksack and pulled out what appeared to be the sun-dried leaves of some sort of a plant or weed. With a mortar and pestle, he ground it into a gritty powder, which he then poured onto an intact leaf and rolled into a joint. Using an oil lamp to light it, he took in a deep whiff and blew out a puff of smoke that was shaped like a halo. Meeting my curious gaze, he offered me some.

“Would you like to try it, my child?”

“What exactly is it, master?”

Blowing out another cloud, he extolled its many virtues. “They call this by many names, my son. The Indian sadhus and sanyasis who introduced me to this medicinal plant refer to it as “ganja,” and consider it to be sacred to the Lord Shiva in Hinduism. It helps you achieve tranquility in meditation so that you may activate all of your chakras and open your third eye. In my state of nirvana, my mind has travelled across galaxies and I have seen all sorts of entities that defy description.”

When he phrased it that way, I could not help but be drawn to the psychedelic cannabis. I accepted his offer, laid back and lit up a joint myself.

The monk went on, “It’s not easy to lay your hands on this plant, out here in the desert. I have tried to cultivate it, but to no avail. Ergo, I go to great lengths to procure it from the merchant caravans of the Silk Road. It is not an easy barter, for I do not possess anything of noteworthy monetary value. So, I offer my spiritual services…”

As he droned on and on, I zoned out and my mind was as pacific as it could ever be. Mild hallucinations toyed with the edges of my vision and my mind began to wander. I had completely forgotten the fact that my wife was about to lose her virginity and be bred by the old man before me.

“…I am certain that you must be feeling the combined effects of the tantric yoga along with the Zallouh, by now, just as I am, my children,” he said in reference to me and my wife, which snapped me back into reality.

“We are now ready to experience each other’s bodies on a more intimate level,” he crooned, beckoning my wife to get closer to him.

“I agree, master. I believe it is time to begin. I cannot wait to see what you have tucked away for me beneath that impressive bulge of yours,” concurred Safiya with lust, who then lithely slinked forward till their bodies were mere inches apart and the monk held her fair cheeks between his dark hands. Though I knew what was about to happen, my heart did not jitter; the marijuana had calmed my nerves to the extent that I accepted, and perhaps even embraced my fate.

He then leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers in a lip-lock. As they kissed, their lips moved in synchronisation as they explored each other’s mouths with their tongues in a fluid and captivating motion. Then, the monk disengaged and Safiya’s cheeks began to blush a mild florid colour.

“Absolutely heavenly. I have kissed many a virgin, but none were as enticing or stimulating as you are. It is now time for us to shed our earthly attire and present our true forms.”

With this, he motioned Safiya to sit upon the table-like altar, which she did. She looked absolutely divine, lying among the cactus flower’s red petals and her fair complexion blended seamlessly with the backdrop of the white tablecloth.

“Take off your clothing so that I may behold your virtue,” he ordered in a commanding voice.

A little hesitant at first, but swiftly plucking up courage, my wife began untying the knots around her bosom. She lifted her top to reveal a pair of small, succulent breasts that were crowned by firm, pink nipples. This was the first time that I had ever witnessed a woman’s naked body, so I was getting thoroughly aroused by the sight which was accentuated by the electrified atmosphere around me.

“Do you like what you see, master? Or are they too small for your liking?” enquired my nervous wife through pursed lips.

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