This story is fiction. Should the characters in this story even remotely bare similarities to any real or fictional person, living or dead, it was purely accidental and any such similarities are strictly coincidences.
This story deals with mature subject matter and involves intimate sex. If it is illegal for you to read such material, due to your age or location, then please don't. If you are offended by acts of sexuality between consenting and non-consenting adults, then Do Not Read this story.
The author does not necessarily condone or subscribe to the behavior discussed in this story. It was written strictly as a form of entertainment and acts described should not be attempted by anyone that does not know what the hell they are doing.
My heartfelt thanks to my dear friend Cicero for his encouragement and valuable advice, without which I could not have put this story together.
Cold winter winds drove the first snowflakes around the walls of the Assassin fortress of Alamut in the Persian province of Qazvin. Four elderly men warmed themselves by a fireplace in a comfortably furnished chamber.
“Some more mint tea, Sheikh Hasan?” asked a young servant.
“Thank you, my child, that's enough. You are welcome to rest.” The leader of the brotherhood gave him a friendly smile.
“May Allah give you peace, Master!” The servant bowed and left.
“He shows good manners, unlike you, who stubbornly refused to serve us tea,” chuckled one of the men.
“I just have other talents that you have always appreciated.” The man with Roman features snorted with feigned indignation.
“We really don't need to hear about that now,” said a third man with a heavy Franconian accent and rolled his eyes.
“You, infidel, looked pretty stupid when he picked you back then,” grinned the first man.
“That was indeed a crazy story,” said the Franconian. “How did it actually come about, Sheikh Hasan? Why don't you tell us again?”
“Friends, I've told you this story so many times before. But why not? The evening is still long” I sipped my tea and sat down comfortably. “It started with a letter ,,,”
***
The rider from Al Qahirah, which will one day be known as Cairo and the capital of Egypt, was covered by dust and he was drenched in sweat. He was wearing leather bracelets around his wrists and similar ones around his muscular biceps accentuated his well-toned arms. Dusty, sweaty, frizzy hair fell into his forehead. Dark brown eyes flashed cheekily above a snub nose on his tanned face, which was framed by a five o'clock shadow and sported a goatee on his chin. The young man wore a sleeveless leather tunic and skin-tight knee breeches typically worn by riders from the East, as well as soft leather boots. Unlike our baggy Sarouals, his pants were tight at the legs and hugged tightly to a perfectly rounded butt. The breeches ended about halfway up his calf, and the lacing on the open sides showed that he wore no small clothes. A flap in front of the pelvis hid a pronounced bulge that left little to imagination. I was immediately enchanted by the young warrior.
He lowered himself to one knee to pay due respect to my master Sheikh Abdul Malik ibn Attash, who was sitting cross-legged on his dais in the audience hall.
„Salah ad-Din Yusuf ibn Ayyub ad-Daweeni, mighty Sultan of Egypt, victorious King and ruler of Damascus, presents his greetings to the Sheikh of the Hashshashin! “Bowing his head the messenger presented a sealed scroll of parchment.
I held my dagger made from forged Damascus steel concealed in my sleeve and stood behind my master's right shoulder, while my brother Ibrahim stood to his left. We both wore our traditional white robes over caftans and wide Sarouals of the same color.
At the command of a barely visible finger movement from my master, I stepped down from the dais, took the scroll from the outstretched hands of the messenger. His masculine scent, sweat mixed with leather and horse, still filled my nostrils, while I handed the scroll to my Sheikh.
"What is your name, my child?" my master asked softly as he broke the seal.
“Tamer Ali Selcuk, ensign in the bodyguard of the exalted Sultan, may he reign gloriously forever!” The man rose with broad legs and proudly struck his broad chest with his fist in salute.
I frowned at this audacity, to rise without being given permission. There was a white swirl as Ibrahim fell upon him with lightning speed. My brother grabbed the broad shoulders, kicked him hard in the back of the knees and pushed the startled man onto his heels. Ibrahim pressed a dagger to his throat and forced Tamer to arch his back. His tunic hiked upward, revealing a shapely six-pack over a happy trail that reached from his belly button down to the rim of his breeches.
“Impudent cockroach! Pay respect to the master or die!” Ibrahim hissed into the shaking man’s ear.
“I … I beg forgiveness, oh wise one,” Tamer croaked looking shocked at my master. “I meant no disrespect.”
“Release him!” my master nodded at Ibrahim.” He is a warrior, who is not familiar with protocol and he is our guest.”
My brother immediately let go of the man and stepped back. Tamer promptly fell on his ass.
"Fuck!" he muttered rubbing his neck to see if the dagger had hurt him.
The expletive prompted my brother to half unsheathe his dagger again, but was stopped by a flick of our master's finger.
Sheikh Abdul focused on the Sultan’s message:
“In the name of Allah Almighty and Merciful, most cordial greetings to you my dear brother Abdul.
As you are aware, the infidels – may Allah crush them – have invaded our lands. The cities of Antioch, Tripoli and Akkon are occupied. Al Quds, or Jerusalem as they call it, is besmirched by their filthy presence.
I am summoning my armies and, inscha'allah, I will purge the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem from our lands.
My spies are reporting that one of their leaders is visiting from Farangistan. Raymond, Count of Tripoli, shall meet his destiny and thus shall weaken the enemy. I beg your assistance in this important matter to dispatch one of the brotherhood of the Hashshashin to send Count Raymond to the fires of ‘dschahannam‘. My faithful servant Tamer Ali Selcuk shall be at your disposal for this important mission.
May Allah Almighty always smile upon you, my dear brother.
Your brother Salah “
“Would you know the content of this letter?” my master looked at Tamer, who had regained his composure.
“Yes, oh mighty one, I do.” He replied, with his head respectfully bowed.
Hm, a quick learner , I thought amused.
“Then, why does your King require the services of the brotherhood? For sure you are most capable to complete the mission on your own.” my master smiled.
“Oh mighty one, I swear we tried!” Tamer’s face turned crimson from embarrassment.
“But the Count, cursed be his name, is well protected by the Devil himself. A mighty bodyguard. He is a Northman and he slaughtered our men …” Suddenly tears were pouring from Tamer’s eyes.
“My … my little brother, he … he tried to ambush the Count and was hacked to pieces by this devil named Haakon … and … and, then the evil one threw the body parts to the pigs and ... and they ate my poor Ahmad …” Tamer’s voice finally broke.
I looked stunned at the sobbing man. What unbelievable disgrace! To defile the body of a Muslim by filthy pigs. Then my master did something unthinkable. He rose, stepped down from the dais and held Tamer in a comforting embrace.
“Be strong, my child. Allah will have mercy on your brother’s soul,” he said in a soft voice. “And you shall have your revenge, inscha'allah! “
My master turned to me.
„Hasan, go to Tripoli and let the infidels feel the wrath of the Hashshashin. Bring fear to their hearts and show no mercy!”
I drew my dagger and held it in front of my face in salute.
“You command me, oh wise one, and I obey. On my life and soul!” I bowed deep.
“Yes! Allah willing, we shall avenge!” Tamer announced proudly.
“Boy! I don’t need your help in this!” I said smugly.
“W-what did you just call me?” the cocky warrior sneered at me.
“Master, he'll only get in my way. I'm not a babysitter!” I looked at my Sheikh to put the insolent braggart in his place.
“I'm a knight in the bodyguard of the exalted Sultan!” raged Tamer.
“Just an ensign!” I replied.
“Soon to be a knight!” he roared back.
“You don't know the way of the Hashashin!” I growled.
“Reason enough to guide him,” Sheikh Abdul decided.
“But...” My shoulders slumped in resignation. Nobody, who valued his tongue, argued with the Sheikh of the Hashashin. Sheikh Abdul had already turned around and left the audience hall with Ibrahim in tow. My brother gave me a smug grin. I glared at him.
“I don't need guidance,” Tamer grumbled.
I sighed. This one was going to be quite a pain in the ass. He reminded me of what I was like not too long ago.
* * *
My name, by the way, is Hasan ibn Ali ibn Muhammad ibn Dschafar ibn Husain ibn Muhammad ibn Sabbah al-Himyari, but you, dear infidel, who is reading my story, may call me just Hasan.
I was born in the city of Qom. The holy city of Qom rules a province in the glorious Khwarazmian Empire, part of which will be known in the future as Iran. I was happy there until, when I had just turned 15, my father passed away. May his soul rest in peace. Since my dear mother was a widow, she could not own our farm and it reverted to the governor.
My mother moved with us to Isfahan and sought help from my father's older brother. Oh Isfahan! The most beautiful city in the world. Allah truly blessed this place. The people were rich and healthy. Culture flourished, and I attended school in a wonderful madrasa and listened to the teachings of wise, kind old Mo'allems. There were vast gardens with plenty of fragrant roses and the many fountains and water basins kept the city cool and fresh even during the hot months of summer.
Uncle Othman, however, had a heart of stone. May he roast in hell! Although he took us in his huge villa, he forced my mother to pay him for sheltering us. Can you believe it? He took money from his own family!
My dear mother tried to find work, but there was no work for a peasant widow. In the end, she had no choice but to offer her body. I could not bear the shame and attend the madrasa, which was paid for with the money of my mother's lewd customers. Hatred filled my heart. Hatred for my heartless uncle and hatred for those snobby Isfahanees, who wallowed in their luxury while my mother and I suffered.
I became a thief and I took my revenge by stealing their money and precious things.
My mother, however, never lost faith.
"Hasan, my dear, we must trust in Allah, the Merciful," she said. "Everything happens for a reason, and we must accept our fate in order to be rewarded by His grace."
Well, nothing is wrong with rewards and grace, but I was now 18, cocky, impatient and heated. I wanted my reward now, rather than in the afterlife, and - most I had discovered that the girls liked me.
I have dirty blond, slightly curly hair. A circular beard wraps around my jawline and my clean-shaven cheeks are accentuated by a close-cropped goatee. I'm 5'9", not overly muscular, but still well built and have nothing to be ashamed of down below. Allah had been generous here, indeed. People say I have a friendly face and they trust me easily, when I wink at them with my blue eyes. That helped, when I stole from them, and it helped with the stupid girls who easily fell for my promises.
You, my dear infidel, reading my story, will surely agree that the main purpose of girls is to provide a man with a pleasure hole, cook for him, clean the house and maybe suck his cock - although men are much better for the latter.
One night, I had just bathed, changed into clean clothes and was sprinkling myself with rose water, preparing to meet a girl and show her how to melt in my arms and lose her virginity. I heard a cry of pain coming from my mother’s room. I rushed to her door and now clearly heard the lashes and the pitiful sobs and moans. Obviously, a customer had become brutal.
Rage and panic filled me as I pushed open the door and froze at the sight that presented itself.
The stench of sweat from an unwashed man lingered in the air. Hunched on my mother's bed was a huge man trussed up, on his knees and elbows. His eyes were blindfolded. Except for his boots, he was naked. His head was shaved bald and his hairless muscular body was covered all over with tattoos. His broad back glistened under a thin layer of sweat and he moaned in obvious arousal.
My mother towered over him, dressed in the uniform of a captain of the palace guard and cracked a riding whip on the guy's ass. My mother smiled at me and gestured for me to be quiet.
"Why do you stop, woman? Go ahead, will you? Finish me off!" the burly soldier grunted in a deep voice. He hadn't noticed that he and my mother were no longer alone.
"We will go on in a moment, Captain Mansour," my mother said. "Today you will get a very special treatment."
"It better be good, or you'll get lashes instead of gold.” He growled grumpily.
My mom started tanning his ass again and waved me over. She mischievously pressed the crop into my hand and gave me an encouraging nod.
I took a swing and let the crop come down on the captain's bare ass. The soldier howled and his muscular body squirmed in his restraints.
The tight ass and the muscular legs had never seen the face of the sun and were creamy white. But soon red welts appeared crisscrossing the well-rounded orbs.
“Harder, woman, harder!” groaned the sweating warrior.
I didn't need to be told twice and tanned his hide with powerful lashes.
“Oh yes, you bloody whore, just like that, just like that.” jeered the Captain,
” That's what a warrior needs. Oh shit! Today you're finally going to do me on properly. Go on, go on! Don' stop. Please, please keep going and harder! Aw ... aw ... aw!”
I could not believe it. I was spanking a huge officer of the palace guard and he was obviously enjoying it. My mother poured some rose-scented olive oil into her palms and began kneading the huge circumcised cock dangling between his wide thighs. The captain emitted deep, animalistic grunts as his cock stiffened and his juices began to drip.
My mother took a piece of dried opium from the nightstand and chewed it softly while her oiled hands slid deftly through the cleft between the reddened ass cheeks. I watched in disbelief as she took the dark red, swollen cock in her hands and began milking motions, just as she had done with the cows on our farm.
Then Captain Mansour obediently began to buck his hips in fucking motions. He was fucking himself in the palms of my mom’s hands. His firm ass cheeks tightened and opened rhythmically, revealing a quivering rosebud.
I found it interesting that such a tough warrior even shaved his cleft.
Between two lashes, my mom bent over and dipped her face between the well-shaped bright red ass cheeks and pushed the opium through the puckered opening with her tongue.
I immediately started the spanking again to distract him.
But that would not have been necessary. I thought I had already seen everything that happened in the sack, but how my mother controlled the huge man with his cock and what she did with his balls, let my jaw drop in disbelief.
First. he ordered my mom to let him come, but after the opium melted in his ass, the big soldier completely lost it. His deep voice took on a high pitch. Now he begged my mother to let him come. Oh my cruel mom! She made him struggle in vain against his bonds and kept him on the edge with agonizingly slow milking movements.
Finally, the big warrior was exhausted. He was a trembling, whimpering man-wreck that now smelled like roses. My mother told me to crawl between his knees and suck his swollen cock. For the first time I tasted the juice of another man. It was stunning. I swallowed the twitching shaft as deep as I could and sucked the power out of the guy.
I had long discovered, while exploring my body, that there was a spot deep inside my ass that gave me overwhelming pleasure when I rubbed it with my fingertip. When my mom jammed a finger in his ass and Captain Mansour howled, I knew he was in paradise. I felt his plum-sized balls anchor themselves to the base of his shaft and with a high-pitched squeal he was unloading his man-milk into my throat.
That night I learned two important things: Never underestimate the power of a girl over a man, and that men can have an exciting time with other men in bed too.
By the time the captain came to his senses, of course, I was gone. He quietly put on his uniform again and left without a word on shaky knees. From that day on, however, many more palace guards came to visit. In all modesty, may I say, all these burly men greatly enjoyed the services that my mother (and I) rendered.
After this night my prey scheme expanded considerably. I seduced rich men, fucked them and then robbed them both of cum and their gold. The bonus was not only was it fun, but when they were straight before, they were so ashamed, they didn't dare report me to the police.
So, Isfahan finally became bearable again, until I made a big mistake.