Cairo Surrender Ch. 09-10

"I am the solicitor of several of his relatives in America as well," Sir Cecil said. "I need a new roof on my London house." He shrugged and would have said no more, if Abazar hadn't pressed him.

"And Michael? What am I to do with Michael when I have grown tired of him?"

"It would be best, of course—for all of us—if Michael never stepped foot out of this house again."

"Ah. And what of his inheritance? Would I perhaps—?"

"It is untouchable for nearly seven years—until Michael would have become twenty-five. The conditions are iron clad, although in Michael's absence, his relatives—with my help—may be able to dislodge some of it. Michael gone then, what is left, in time, will be distributed among his living relatives. I, of course receive a yearly fee for administering the estate. But there's no money until he reaches twenty-five . . . it would be out of the question—"

"And there's still a possibility of unpleasantness over the disappearance of the young man," Little interjected, "and just who might have committed what crime."

"In which case, your management fee wouldn't amount to much, would it, Raymond?" Abazar said with a voice that was smooth as silk and that, he hoped, covered how fast his mind was working to stay on top of this cat-and-mouse negotiation. "Or perhaps you, Sir Cecil, would be covering that from the yearly fee you work so hard to earn?"

"Not likely," Sir Cecil said dryly. "If arrangements cannot be made here, it is still a long, dangerous trip up the Nile. Leaving Michael in your hands is just a tidy convenience in my perspective."

"Then, be it so, gentlemen. I think you can see yourselves out. I have business to finish upstairs. And do take your minions with you, please."

As Abazar turned and mounted the stairs, as slowly and deliberately as he could manage despite the knocking of his knees on how close a thing that had been for him—and for Michael, Little blew on a whistle and Egyptian men in blue started to reappear out of the woodwork and shuttled out of the main door to the palace.

Abazar knew what he had to do. It would be simple, but as far as he figured, it would be effective. He had known before even now that Michael was worth too much to let go—at least for now. They would have nearly seven years, during which Abazar would mentor Michael as Sir Cecil never had. And then Michael could reappear in Boston—to the utter consternation of his relatives—and claim his fortune and whatever new life he wanted.

When Abazar reached the door to his bed chamber, he was stopped dead in his tracks in horror mixed with arousal.

Michael was still on his back near the foot of the bed. The Nubian was standing between his spread legs and grasping Michael's ankles in his fists as he plowed Michael deep.

Abazar watched in stunned fascination, aroused as well as outraged, his eyes focused on the bulbous butt cheeks of the heavily muscled Nubian contract and expand, push forward and retract—with Michael, grasping the man's waist and moving with him—meeting his deep thrusts with counterthrusts of his own, moaning softly. Abazar looked into Michael's face—into his hooded eyes and slightly open mouth with its lopsided grin, and saw that the young man was thoroughly enjoying the fucking. Michael arched his back and gave a little yelp of pleasure and reached for the Nubian's buttocks, digging his fingernails into the black flesh as the Nubian's staff achieved greater depth.

"Michael, you've come a long way," Abazar muttered in half amused, half speculative amazement.

"It was my sergeant who found that the young man was here. I promised him his reward. If you had not agreed to deal with the young man, the sergeant would have been quite pleased to do so." The statement came from Raymond Little, who had followed Abazar up the stairs and was standing beside him at the doorway.

Both watched, their hands going to their crotches, neither giving any thought to intervening, because both the Nubian and Michael were well into the ultimate pleasure, the Nubian beginning to establish a long deep rhythm and Michael groaning, spreading his legs as far apart as he could to receive every inch of the monster cock, and moving his pelvis in harmony with the fuck.

"And what of Sir Cecil?" Abazar said in a low voice. "How much extra for him to have an unfortunate accident on the Nile?"

"Not much," answered Little. "I don't like him much. An Englishman would have to be crazy to come to Cairo at a time like now anyway."

- Fini -