Submitting to the Sultan Ch. 01

Note: This story includes M/F, M/M, piss play, dominance & submission, and incest, and all characters are at least 18 years of age. Also please note that this story is set in a historical fantasy world that, though it shares many similarities with our own, isn't intended to literally represent a specific area.

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It is written on the oldest disintegrating scrolls that whatever streams of water the Anointed make must never spill upon the ground. This is what happens when one rebellious young student attempts to buck tradition.

While attempting to appear as outwardly stoic as possible, Tamas fumed as he heard the commotion in the courtyard that could only mean one thing - the Sultan and his entourage had arrived.

Tamas and his family had quickly assumed the customary position, kneeling just inside the entrance to their home. Tamas stole a sidelong glance at his youngest and only unmarried sister. With new eyes, he saw her as the Sultan would surely see her when he stepped through the door in just moments. No longer a shy little girl, the full flower of womanhood was upon Zehra. What once had been a chubby tummy was now a slim waist, and - Tamas unthinkingly allowed his eyes to slip upward - breasts he'd never truly noticed were a barely concealed swell inside her bodice. Her downcast expression allowed him to admire without shame her long curling eyelashes and perfect features.

Though he admired his sister's beauty, Tamas couldn't help but scowl. The Sultan would surely choose her to relieve himself after his long journey from the palace. While he, Tamas, would be forced to kneel in silence just meters away and witness his sister's disgrace.

On the other side of him, his mother also knelt. He couldn't help but notice she held herself more stiffly since becoming a widow nearly a year before. Though she was still a beautiful woman, her kohl-rimmed eyes were often sad these days, and new lines spider webbed her face. The fact that she had endured many such visits from the Sultan, and had surely relieved him countless times, did nothing to calm Tamas's ire.

In fact, his mother was the reason for the Sultan's visit. Tamas's father had been one of the Sultan's most trusted advisors, and it was tradition for the ruler to comfort the grieving widow after she emerged from her cloistered period of mourning.

All this talk of "tradition"! Since he'd been away to university Tamas had begun to question the customs that meant people like himself and his family lived at the whims of the Sultan. What if - and he flinched a little at this blasphemous thought played at the edges of his mind - the Sultan really wasn't Anointed after all? That no man truly was? What if this "tradition" was really just a way to keep them submissive? He tried to banish the thought. He knew that even a whiff of sedition in his expression could separate his head from his shoulders in short order.

Their front door sprang open and two armed guards stepped aside to allow the Sultan to enter.

Tamas had been a boy the last time he'd seen the Sultan. Back in those days, anybody over his own age was viewed as just another "adult."

Failing to avert his eyes quite fast enough, Tamas for the first time caught a glimpse of why his father's lesser wives always tittered in the harem whenever the Sultan's name was mentioned. He was a striking man, taller than most, with intelligent black eyes over a neatly trimmed beard. He was neither grotesquely fat nor pinch-faced like so many of the other advisors who had come through their household over the years. The fabric of the Sultan's clothing was simple, but rich, with the only real sign of wealth being the ornately decorated seams of his tunic.

From their kneeling positions, each member of the household followed tradition and bowed at the Sultan's boots. Tamas only allowed his rage at what was to come to show on his face in the few short seconds his face met the rug.

"My dear Esma," the Sultan's voice was deep and husky. "Arslan's death was an incalculable tragedy."

Having been addressed by name, Tamas's mother was now permitted to lift her eyes.

"I am humbled by your kind words, Your Majesty," his mother replied.

From the corner of his eye, Tamas saw the Sultan offer a sleeve-covered arm to help his mother up from her kneeling position. No commoner, no matter the rank, was permitted to touch the Sultans' flesh with his or her own. Except when...

"And who is this vision before my eyes, Esma?" Tamas kept his head bowed, but knew from the Sultan's voice that he was referring to Zehra.

"My daughter," Tamas heard his mother say demurely. "This is Zehra."

"All grown up, I see."

Tamas's stomach roiled at the purr of admiration in the Sultan's voice.

"Zehra." Tamas saw from the corner of his eye that the Sultan had taken his sister gently by the chin. "Your beauty is a credit to your family, my dear. Now, I've had a punishingly long journey and find myself in need of relief. Do you know the custom?"

Tamas's shoulders shook with anger as his sister opened her pretty mouth without further prompting.

"Good girl," he heard the Sultan say.

Tamas couldn't bring himself to look, but clearly heard the rustle of the Sultan's trousers as he released his cock.

"Now you know what to do," the Sultan said.

Tamas heard Zehra's slight gasp as the first drops of piss from the Sultan's cock crossed her lips. The Sultan, no doubt having saved his water for the mouth of a beautiful young woman, heaved a grateful sigh.

To her credit, Zehra appeared to keep perfectly still has the Sultan relieved himself straight into her mouth.

"Good girl," Tamas heard the Sultan repeat as the stream subsided. "She has clearly been well trained, Esma."

Somehow managing to keep still, Tamas nevertheless burned with anger at the comment about his sister's ability to drink piss straight from the cock of a stranger - Sultan or no. If anyone else dared speak that way about his sister, Tamas would have had his tongue.

Eyes still downcast, he once again heard the rustle of fabrics, as the Sultan no doubt returned the Royal Cock to the confines of his trousers.

"And this can't be young Tamas, surely?"

Tamas found it almost unbearable to drag his eyes upward.

"Tamas," his mother said, with a note of reprimand in her voice.

He finally allowed himself to meet the Sultan's eyes. The man was smiling. Smiling!

"Your Majesty," Tamas managed to grind out.

"I remember you as just a boy," the Sultan's looked held appreciation. "Now, it appears, you are a strapping young man."

"Sir," Tamas nodded slightly.

The Sultan's smile grew wider before he turned his attention back to Esma.

"I regret I can only stay the night. I do hope the two of us have the chance to speak of Arslan after dinner."

And with that, the Sultan offered their mother his arm, and Tamas and Zehra were summarily dismissed.

Though mixing of the sexes at their age was frowned upon, Tamas sought out Zehra alone while their mother entertained the Sultan and his entourage.

He found her walking in the courtyard, humming to herself. Her nursemaid - who had already been old when Zehra was born - snored over over her forgotten embroidery.

Tamas pulled Zehra into the shadow of a fig tree.

"I'm so sorry I let this happen to you," he began.

Zehra's liquid brown eyes showed confusion.

"But, Tamas, it is customary."

"It is degrading!"

When Zehra's face crumpled, he realized he'd been too harsh.

"I'm sorry, beloved little sister. I only mean to say that no man wants to see his sister drinking another man's piss. No matter if he is the ruler of all the land."

"But Tamas," his sister protested, lying a calming hand on his upper arm. "This is my duty. I've been trained for this. If I marry into the palace like mother plans it will often be my lot to relieve the Sultan. Anyway," her eyes were uncommonly defiant, "I am honored to drink his Majesty's piss."

Tamas stared at her. He'd never heard his little sister speak up for herself, let alone state a preference. And a preference for such humiliation! It passed understanding!

"I-," he wanted to reprimand her, but for what? For adhering to her duty and thousands of years of custom? He would find no allies in that.

"I just hadn't thought of you as a woman grown, that's all," he finished.

Her lips parted in a smile and he couldn't help but think of those lips so recently wrapped around their Sultan's cock, her throat so recently accepting his hot piss. A mixture of revulsion and - was that longing? - tightened within his chest.

He realized her small hand was still on his upper arm, and shrugged it off.

"I must go."

Tamas usually spent his nights out at a café or around the water pipe with his friends, but with the Sultan's visit he was required to present himself for dinner.

He sat on a cushion opposite the Sultan. He searched for small talk while his mother and sister carried on most of the conversation, being especially attentive to the Sultan. Laughing at the things he said, and gazing at him from under their eyelashes.

It was their duty, Tamas reminded himself. And his, too.

At one point in the meal the Sultan caught his eye.

"Word has it that you excel at wrestling."

"It is but a hobby, Your Majesty."

"I should like to see you oiled up in the ring," the Sultan's eyes held a hint of mischief.

Tamas looked toward his lap. The tingling - the mixture of revulsion and longing - was back.

At the end of the meal, Tamas and Zehra were dismissed. Zehra dutifully returned to her quarters, but Tamas was unable to sleep. He soon found himself slinking back toward the courtyard, where his mother and the Sultan now spoke together, heads bowed. Tamas concealed himself in the shadows just as the Sultan stood up.

"Esma, you don't know how delightful it has been to enjoy your company again."

His mother began to rise, but the Sultan stopped her. "Oh, but don't rise yet. I tire, and I must command you to assume the position."

Tamas watched horror struck as his mother compliantly fell to her knees. He couldn't look away. This time he saw the entire act as the Sultan reached within his trousers and pulled out an enormous cock. It's monstrous size and girth were apparent even in the evening light and across the courtyard.

Tamas tried not to look as his mother submissively opened her mouth and the Sultan placed his cock between her lips.

The sigh he let out this time was even more relieved. "The wine in this household, as always, was excellent, my dear."

The Sultan appeared to piss for a very, very long time. Tamas's eyes were wide as the Sultan removed his cock from his mother's mouth one-handed and then shook himself, leaving the last few drops of his hot piss on his mother's tongue.

"You do me an honor," his mother told the Sultan as he helped her up. Tamas wasn't sure if she meant the compliment to their household wine or the display he'd just witnessed.

Tamas noticed with a shock that his cock was rock hard. He balled his hands into fists. A real man did not spill his seed until marriage.

Still, when he closed his eyes, it was his sister's lithe form he saw in the courtyard, with the Sultan standing over her, sighing in contentment as he sent streams of hot piss down to her belly. He imagined his delicate little sister's throat tightening and gulping as she performed the duty she'd been trained to do. A wicked part of his mind wished he could have witnessed that degradation. His treacherous cock throbbed.

He must not spill his seed until marriage.

The Sultan and Esma returned inside, and all the lamps went dim before Tamas trusted himself enough to make his way back to his room.

He found little sleep throughout the long night.

At dawn, Tamas arose. His still throbbing cock warred with his full bladder. He found the chamber pot, and felt his ears burn with shame as he realized he'd much prefer relieving himself into his sister's lovely mouth.

He almost spilled his seed right then and there in the chamber pot, but managed to curtail his passion.

As he left his room, he was startled to find it was blocked by one of the Sultan's armed guards.

"You are summoned."

By the Sultan? But why?

Bound by thousands of years of duty, Tamas followed the guard into the tiled hallway just as the Sultan and the rest of his entourage, all dressed for riding, swept toward them.

"Right here is fine," the Sultan motioned to the guard who'd been leading Tamas.

"Assume the position," the guard grunted.

Tamas's eyes widened in shock. That order only meant one thing.

While he knew that the men, too, were sometimes required to relieve the Sultan's need, he never expected this command. Not with his mother and sister in the household, not to mention the entire Harem at the Sultan's disposal. He had the vague notion that the Sultan only availed himself to this necessity in times of war. Though he had heard stories of other Sultans who preferred men - or boys - to regularly do the honors.

Tamas failed to kneel fast enough. His mind swirled - he could run, but then he would be an outlaw, unwelcome in his own homeland, bringing shame to his family's ancient good name. That is, if he could manage to escape. The Sultan's guards with their sabers blocked the exits, while Tamas had no weapon.

"Tamas," the Sultan's voice was smooth but his expression brooked no disagreement. "Assume the position. It is written."

Burning, Tamas slowly knelt. This humiliation! He'd never, ever forgive it!

The Sultan stared down into Tamas's eyes as he deftly reached into his trousers and grasped his cock.

From this close, the Royal Member was even more massive than it had appeared last night in the courtyard. An unbidden question: I wonder how big it is when hard? Tamas banished the wild thought, though his body responded in a most unwelcome way. With a cock in his face, his own began to stir unmercifully. He was certain all of the Sultan's guards could see him straining against his trousers. Certain that they were all laughing at him for this unseemly behavior.

The Sultan grasped his massive member and pointed it at Tamas's hardly open mouth, as if to prepare to piss. But he paused.

"I'll make this easy on you, Tamas. I learned from your mother that you have not been trained like the women in your household."

Tamas cast his eyes to the floor, swallowing his apprehension.

"I noticed your attitude when I pissed down your sister's delicate throat. And my guards were also quite aware that you lurked in the shadows last night when your mother did her duty to the Sultanate. I hear you've been asking questions at nights in the cafes about the traditions. It isn't good for a young man to question so much. You'll start to remind me of my enemies."

The Sultan stroked his enormous shaft, bringing it even closer to Tamas's mouth.

"Now open wider."

Fear, shame and arousal all mingling, Tamas did as he was commanded. If the Sultan moved forward even an inch his cock would be inside Tamas's mouth.

"Because I care about you and your family, I've decided I'm taking you into my service for a time," the Sultan continued, his massive cock still angled toward Tamas's mouth.

"What do you say to that, Tamas?"

"I-" Tamas started to answer.

But he was cut off as the first spray of piss shot from the Sultan's cock and hit the back of his throat. He second spurt hit his tongue as he struggled to swallow. Spilling the Sultan's waters meant death for the subject who did it. He steeled himself to overcome the urge to spit and gag. He was embarrassed. He was humiliated. He was drinking piss like a- like a servant! Like a woman!

Despite himself, as the unrelenting clear stream continued, he realized that the Sultan's piss was not the noxious substance he expected. It was almost sweet.

The Sultan continued pissing. When he saw that Tamas now had the hang of swallowing every drop of the flow, he instructed, "Look at me."

Tamas looked up, blinking unbidden tears from his eyes.

"It's not as terrible as you imagined, is it? Knowing that my subjects must serve me in this way, I take care with my food and drink. It is my job to serve you, too, after all."

With that, the gusher of piss from the Sultan's cock began to slow to a trickle. The last few drops landed on Tamas's tongue, not sweet but not acrid either.

"Now use your tongue to clean it off."

Tamas looked up in shock.

As if reading his mind the Sultan said, "You're right I required this from neither your mother or sister. But both Esma and Zehra showed proper submission. I see you haven't reached that point yet, young Tamas. Now use your tongue to clean my cock."

Mortified, Tamas quested out with his tongue. He tentatively licked the tip of the Sultan's cock, tasting the remnants of piss there. To his astonishment, with Tamas and all the armed guards looking on, the Sultan's cock hardened until it stood at full mast. Tamas' own member jumped. What a sight to behold.

"Very good," the Sultan smiled down at him this time, the former hard expression in his eyes replaced with one of approval.

He reached down and tucked the massive cock away. Tamas didn't know if he felt relieved or bereft. A war of sensations played out in his mind, as he surreptitiously licked his lips. They tasted of salt.

The Sultan turned on his heel. Throwing over his shoulder, as if an afterthought, he said "My steward will send for you soon. Prepare yourself to continue your training."

Tamas remained kneeling, belly full of hot piss, ears burning and cock straining hard against his trousers, as the Sultan and his entourage departed.

To be continued