Bill aka Storyguy

The Sultan's Favorite Boy

Summary

Disclaimer added by Céladon Puerulus

Author's note

First Publication

Chapter 1

A dusting of snow had already fallen on the mountaintops above Sacha's village when the Sultan's men came to collect the boy-tax.

Since the 14th century, the Ottoman Empire had manned its standing army -- elite troops called Janissaries -- with slaves gathered through the boy-tax. A Janissary's only loyalty was to the Sultan; his only job to be trained from boyhood as a warrior and then fight with unstoppable ferocity. And for 200 years, these Janissaries had been drawn from the conquered Christian territories of Greece and the Balkans. In earlier times the villagers had tried to hide their sons when the tax collectors came, but the Sultan's local bureaucrats kept good records of the boys living in each village, and tax evaders risked the harshest punishment. And when they realized what it meant to be a Janissary, few families were inclined to risk death to shield their sons.

The year was 1618, and it had been 5 years since the tax collectors' last visit to this rugged area of southwestern Bosnia. As word of their arrival quickly spread from villages lower in the valley, families with eligible boys prepared themselves for the selection process, some praying to the Holy Virgin Mother that their son be spared... others secretly (or even openly) hoping that theirs be taken. Sacha's family understood that he would likely be selected, accepting this knowledge with the unemotional fatalism often found in rural peasants.

Only two soldiers entered the village, but a squad of others were camped not far away, along with more than a dozen boys -- all between the ages of 9 and 14 -- who had been taken from villages further down-valley.

People had told Sacha, for almost as long as he could remember, that he would surely be chosen when the tax collectors returned, and he accepted this presumed fate with surprising optimism. Sacha was a dreamer. His ambitions extended far beyond this mountain valley, though he had never ventured outside its confines in all of his 11 years.

Sacha spent countless hours in conversation with his best friend, 12-year-old Havel, speculating about the outside world and about their future lives. But Havel was not nearly so curious about the world. His fate would be to raise a family and scratch out a living here in the village. Unlike Sacha, he was exempt from the tax, because his older brother had been taken 5 years previously. The sultans, in their wisdom, had long ago ordained that the tax collectors could not take more than one son from any family, nor would they take a family's only son.

The village was so insignificant that it did not even have a name, and only four of its boys were eligible for selection. Of those eligible, village gossip had eliminated all but Sacha as acceptable Janissaries. Janko was a sturdy lad of 13, but his features were unusually plain... some would say ugly... and everyone seemed to agree that the tax collectors desired comely youths. Sacha's cousin, Jozef, walked with an obvious limp, one leg shorter than the other. Little Stephan, at 9 years old, met all the physical qualifications for selection, but he spoke with a stutter -- it sometimes took an eternity for him to utter a complete sentence.

Nearly every villager milled around outside the local headman's hut as the two soldiers inside called the boys in one at a time to be interviewed and examined. Sacha stood at the door with Havel at his side. Sacha drew comfort from his friend's closeness, but he was too distracted to talk. His heart was thumping in his chest... a combination of excitement, fear, and expectation. He would be leaving everything and everybody he knew, likely never to return. But everyone said he would have a far better life as a Janissary than could ever be attained by a rural Bosnian peasant. True, he would be a slave. But a slave of the Sultan and far more privileged than most of the Empire's free men. As a Janissary he would be paid a stipend from the Sultan's treasury and would receive good food and clothing. And upon reaching the age of 45, he would leave the army and become an administrative official of the Empire -- perhaps even a wealthy and powerful governor.

None of the innumerable boys who had been taken from the valley over the past 150 years had ever come back home -- at least not in peoples' collective memory. But the itinerant storytellers who showed up at the valley's twice-yearly trading fairs often recounted legendary tales of men who had returned to their villages with cartloads of lavish gifts from the great city of Istanbul and with accounts of glorious worldly adventures. Sacha told himself that he would do likewise some day.

"Sacha, son of Kostek" boomed a voice from inside the hut as the homely Janko walked out the door, beaming with a broad smile of yellow snaggled teeth.

"I was rejected!" he announced with glee.

As Sacha entered the dim room, he was beckoned to stand before the two handsome soldiers, who were seated on a bench beside the hearth. The men were themselves Janissaries... a sergeant who appeared to be in his early 30s, sporting a bushy mustache, and a younger clean-shaven corporal. They both spoke the Bosnian dialect as the language of their childhoods... though with accents that suggested origins far from this valley. When speaking to each other, however, the soldiers spoke in the Turkish language, which none of the villagers understood. Like Sacha, the men had straw-colored hair and blue eyes, so unlike the dark-haired and dark-eyed Turks.

In Turkish: "Now this is more like it! He's as pretty a boy as we've yet run across on this trip," said the corporal.

In Turkish: "Quite a step up from that last one! I just hope he's not as dim as that first little kid," replied the sergeant.

They put Sacha at ease with a few minutes of small talk, asking the boy about the harvest that year and hearing his account of the good weather and plentiful game that had kept the villagers' bellies full for the past few months. This exchange was sufficient to determine that the boy was refreshingly bright and personable.

"Now, take off your shirt, boy," said the sergeant, "and let's see whether that good food has filled you out any."

Sacha pulled off the rough woolen garment -- the only shirt he owned -- which had been cleaned and mended by his mother the previous night for this occasion. The man felt the wiry muscles of Sacha's arms and ran a hand over his back and chest.

In Turkish: "I'm liking this lad more all the time!" In Bosnian: "Alright, drop your trousers, boy. We'll see what you look like down there."

Sacha blushed. Though he was accustomed to being seen naked by other boys at the swimming hole of the nearby creek, these were men... strangers. And nobody -- except for Havel -- had ever really examined his private parts. But not wishing to anger the soldiers, he hastened to untie the length of rope around his waist and let the pants fall to his ankles.

"Take your hands away from the front, boy. Step closer and stand between us."

A glance, with raised eyebrows of approval, was exchanged between the soldiers. The heat in Sacha's blushing face burned even brighter as the sergeant began fondling the orbs in his loose-hanging ball sack, while the younger soldier ran a hand over the boy's smooth buttocks.

In Turkish: "The records say he's 11 years, but he has the gonads of an older boy." In Bosnian: "What's your age, boy?"

"I think it is 11, sir," answered Sacha timidly.

In Turkish: "Look how his cock has lengthened. A randy lad, this one is. Get him hard, and let's see how his horn looks," said the corporal as his hand continued to caress the boy's slender rounded butt.

The sergeant's fingertips gently retracted the hood of flesh at the tip of Sacha's penis to reveal a plump purplish-red glans. Then he slid the sensitive skin back and forth a few times. Despite Sacha's embarrassment, his body shuddered with familiar pleasure as the soldier's fingers quickly produced a rigid erection... a 4-inch rod of fine proportions. The men looked at each other and grinned.

In Turkish: "He's a vision of perfection; eh, Sergeant? I once dreamt that I had attained Paradise after a martyr's death, but the boys given to me by Allah as attendants were not as beautiful as this one!"

In Turkish: "Aye, Corporal. He's a charmer, alright. I'd seduce him here and now if not for the rules. Maybe I'll be able to sweet-talk him into sharing my bed-roll tonight... if the commander doesn't get to him first." In Bosnian: "Can you make the white seed spurt from your cock yet, boy?"

"Oh, no sir! That would be a sin against God!" Sacha gasped.

The two Janissaries both burst out laughing, to Sacha's surprise and alarm.

Sacha was certainly not naive. He had witnessed older boys boldly masturbating in full view of younger lads down at the swimming hole. But he was astounded that these two grown men would talk about such a thing. The priest who traveled the valley hearing confessions had cautioned him several times that it was a sin to intentionally draw forth one's manly seed. (Sacha hadn't deemed it an item worthy of holy confession to disclose the many times he had manipulated his penis, imitating the older boys, since no "sinful" seed ever emerged from his penis when he gave himself the special feeling.) "I see... well, do you ever play with other boys' cocks in the manner that I was handling yours?"

Sacha just stood there in stunned silence, staring down at his feet... and at the erect penis that stood up from his crotch. Racing through his mind were thoughts of the times he and Havel snuck into the woods, pulled off their trousers, and gave each other's dicks the tingling pleasure-feelings, using their fingers and lips and tongues. He nodded his head in silent shame, realizing that this activity must have been a sin as well, even though the priest had never mentioned it.

Again the men laughed, slapping their knees with delight at the guilty expression on Sacha's face. Sacha didn't know, but would soon learn, that Janissaries were forbidden to marry... forbidden to have relations with any women except for those they raped when pillaging enemy territory. It was with army comrades that they relieved their lust or expressed their romantic affection. And sexual companionship with an attractive young cadet was a special treat to be cultivated and savored.

In Turkish: "He'll be quite the favorite in the barracks!" In Bosnian: "Hey, kid! Don't be ashamed; you're a fine lad. Now put your feet up here on the bench, one at a time, and let's see if they'll hold up to a lifetime of marching."

When the interviews of the boys had ended, the predictions were correct -- only Sacha would be taken. The soldiers gave him just a few minutes to say goodbye. When Sacha's teary-eyed mother handed him the family's best coat and some boots for his bare feet, the sergeant took them and gave them back to her.

"Save them for the family, Mother," he said, kindly. "He'll need nothing but the clothes on his back... and even those will be replaced by a new uniform this very evening."

With a weird swirl of feelings in his heart, and a lump in his throat, Sacha kissed his family members on each cheek and was thus kissed by them in return -- his parents, his older sister, the two younger brothers who would now be exempt from the tax, the toddler who was oblivious to what was happening around her.... And finally his eyes sought out Havel, who had hung back behind the crowd of villagers who gathered around to say farewell. Sacha pushed past the well-wishers to Havel and threw his arms around the 12-year-old. Only then did his tears begin to flow. The two boys hugged... hugged so tightly it hurt. And their lips met in a long, tender kiss, as tears rolled down both their faces. This was the first time Sacha had kissed someone on the mouth, other than his parents, and he didn't care who saw it.

"I'll miss you so much, Havel...."

"Sacha.... Oh, Sacha; don't forget me, dearest friend. Save a place for me in you heart, as I will keep you always in mine."

"Time to go!" said the sergeant at last, after watching the two boys embrace for a full minute longer than he had planned to. And turning to the village headman, he said "Your tax has been paid. May Allah, the merciful and compassionate, grant your village prosperity."

The three walked out of the village in mid-afternoon along the rough dirt track that meandered through the valley. In keeping with a decision he had reached some time ago, Sacha never once looked back.

"Where are we going, sirs?" he said after they had walked a while in silence.

"Your first lesson in being a Janissary is that you do not talk while on the march. You will know the destination either when your superior tells you, or when you get there," said the sergeant in a patient voice.

As it turned out, the march was not at all far, even for a barefooted 11-year-old. After about 5 miles' walk down-valley, at the midpoint between Sacha's former home and two neighboring villages, they came to the encampment. Ten Janissaries were variously lounging, puttering around the camp, or supervising 14 youths who were gathering firewood for a bonfire. Each of the youths wore identical uniforms consisting of a colorful shirt and baggy Turkish-style trousers.

A soldier called out cheerfully in Turkish as Sacha entered the village. "Ahmad! Waliq! Only one catch from today's hunting, eh? Well, he looks to be a worthy prize."

The sergeant directed Sacha over to the side of the encampment where there was a tent set up. An iron pot was heating over a small campfire, and a middle-aged man with short-cropped thinning hair was emerging from the tent.

"Sergeant Ahmad, do you have your report?" said the older man sternly, in Turkish.

"Yes sir, Commander," he replied, handing over a sheaf of papers.

Sacha hung back, quiet and observant, as the men spoke in a language he did not understand. Several times, the older man looked over at Sacha, and the last time a half-smile creased his face and he winked at the boy. His stern demeanor returned immediately, however, as he continued to question the sergeant.

Finally, the commander returned to his tent, and the sergeant directed Sacha to sit in a grove of trees with two other boys he hadn't noticed before. Both wore the same simple peasant garments as Sacha, and he recognized them as residents of the village that was nearest his own. As he sat down with them and they compared stories of their interviews with the tax collectors, another group was approaching the camp... two more soldiers accompanying three familiar boys from the other of the three neighboring villages. He was heartened to see that one was his cousin Daniil, the 9-year-old son of Sacha's mother's brother. Daniil had a tired look of sadness on his face. His eyes were puffy and red, as if he had been crying recently. But when he recognized Sacha, the small boy's face brightened, and he ran up to his cousin and hugged him. Now all six of the newly-acquired slaves spoke excitedly about the events of this momentous day.

As the sun dipped from sight, a chill began intruding on the pleasant warmth of the late-September day. Small campfires were being lit as it got progressively darker... and then the soldiers lit the bonfire that had been stacked up in an area well separated from the trees.

"Come on, lads," called a soldier. "Time for Commander Mustafa to perform the naming ceremony."

The newcomers were led over to the bonfire. All the other boys, as well as all the soldiers, gathered around to watch and listen. Again the middle-age commander emerged from his tent.

"Welcome, lads," he said in a firm, loud voice, speaking fluently in Bosnian. "This is the first day of your new lives, and we have a ritual to mark the occasion. On this bonfire you will cast the remnants of your old lives, and you will stand before this band of Janissaries as naked and empty-handed as when you were born as helpless babes. As your recruiting sergeant calls out your name, come before me to be renamed... and reborn. Now, throw your clothing onto the fire, along with any possession you may have brought from your old life."

The six boys glanced at each other, and then slowly began to comply, flinging shirts and pants onto the blaze. Standing there naked, they were well aware that the eyes of men and boys were focused upon them. They were checking each other, too, and Sacha glanced curiously at the variety of genitals on display.... Lech was the oldest of them and had a good-sized dick and low-hanging balls... even a bit of hair. Little Daniil had a penis the size of Sacha's little finger and a tiny ball sack that was pulled up tight beneath it. They all stood close to the crackling fire for warmth in the chilly night air.

A soldier called out "Radek, son of Petr."

The boy looked around cautiously, then stepped toward the commander.

"You henceforth will be Rafiq. It means 'good friend'. Welcome to the Corps, my son. Receive your uniform from the corporal over there." And the commander grasped the boy by his shoulders and kissed him on each cheek.

A cheer went up from the onlookers, with shouts of "welcome, Rafiq!" and "congratulations!"

A soldier holding a large book entered the boy's new name as the commander called it out. Another soldier had gathered together, from bundles on an ox cart, a small pile of clothing in the boy's approximate size and handed it to the naked lad. The boy dressed quickly, with a little help from some of the boys as to garments with which he was unfamiliar.

"Lech, son of Milos," called out a sergeant.

"You will be Latif. It means 'one who is kind'. Welcome, my son. You are now a Janissary." He kissed the boy, and again a cheer went up.

"Daniil, son of Rajko."

"Welcome to your new family, little one. You will be safe and well cared-for with us. And you will grow to be a mighty warrior in the coming years. From this moment, your name will be Damir, which means 'blessed'." And after kissing the boy's cheeks, Mustafa hugged the lad briefly.

"Sacha, son of Kostek," called out Sergeant Ahmad, just as he had in the village earlier that day.

"Ah... Sacha..." said the commander wistfully, as his eyes glanced downward to take in the beauty of the boy's body. "Your naming was easy. You will be Salim, which means 'flawless'. Welcome, my son." The commander's lips lingered for a moment on Sacha's cheek as the man kissed him.

Sacha's pile of clothes consisted of pants and shirt, a fine warm cloak worthy of a prosperous merchant, and two items of a soft fabric the likes of which Sacha... no, Salim... had never felt. There were also hobnail boots and two pairs of socks.

"Those are undergarments of cotton," said a down-valley boy who was dressed in the uniform. "You put them on before the pants and shirt. Let me help you on with the boots, if you wish. They will feel strange and tight, if you are like the rest of us."

The naming ceremony ended as Salim, with the other boy's help, had just finished jamming his wide, callused feet into the totally foreign boots. The six new cadets stood before Commander Mustafa.

"Now that you are Janissaries, there will be much for you to learn. Some of it you will learn in the classroom, where you will be taught to read and write, and to speak in Turkish and other languages of the Empire. The second phase of your education will be in the ways of combat, and the older lads among you will begin those lessons much sooner than the youngest ones.

"Remember always that you are soldiers, and moreover you are slaves. As such, you must be doubly obedient to those who are your superiors. Disobedience will always be punished. Persistent disobedience will be punish very harshly.

"I understand that you are all Christians, and you will not be compelled to give up your beliefs. But you will never become a true Janissary until you submit to Allah and become a believer in Islam. As an infidel, you will always be given the most menial tasks. And when grow to manhood, you may find that your superiors think your talents are best suited to manning an oar in a galley. Think it over, but realize that every man in this camp was once a Christian boy just like you, and each is now a Muslim.

"As you travel about the Empire in the coming years, you will be respected by most people, and you will be feared by the some. We fight hard and show no mercy to the enemies of the Sultan, but we are always merciful and courteous to the Sultan's loyal subjects.

"You will live clean lives. That means no alcohol... ever. No tobacco. And no sexual relations with women... ever. Not with the giggling village girls; not with the lonely widows; and not with the pox-afflicted whores who will try to tempt you every time you enter a town or city.

"The older boys among you may have already dipped your horns into honey..." He paused as some of men and youths laughed... "but your days of honey-dipping are over. This is a unbreakable law that we all must live by. The good news is that whenever your urge gets powerful -- and I guarantee that it will -- there will be no priests running around to tell you that the pleasure a stroking hand is a sin.

"And you will quickly learn that you have comrades who feel the same urges. You are free to help each other attain relief, so long as it does not interfere with discipline. That means no fighting over petty jealousies. And no bullying to force a comrade to perform a sexual service... a refusal is to be taken as the final word. And a superior will never order a soldier or cadet into his bed. To do so is a severe violation, and it will be dealt with severely.

"That is all. Now, let us go to the cooking fire and take our evening meal."

As Salim followed the more experienced boys over to the mess area. He picked up a metal plate that was soon filled to the rim with a rich stew of mutton and vegetables -- as good a meal as he had ever tasted. As he sat against a tree, spooning up the last of the stew, he reflected on how his life was changing... almost by the minute. He looked down at the clothing he wore and realized it was incredibly comfortable! Well, all except for the boots. Then he looked around at the other boys. There was no Havel, but his cute little cousin was there with him. And all the boys and men seemed kind and sincere. As he rinsed his plate in a tub of water, and conversed with the other boys, he heard a voice calling for Salim. It was a long moment before he realized that the voice was calling for HIM! And he was especially embarrassed to realize it was Commander Mustafa that he was ignoring.

"Salim, would you care to visit my campfire and drink coffee for a while?"

Some of the boys whispered to each other. A couple patted Salim on the back and smiled knowingly. Salim was a bit confused, but hastened to follow the commander.

Chapter 2

The 11-year-old wasn't sure what Commander Mustafa might want of him, but he hastened to the man's side. This was the day that Salim had become a slave... taken from his village through the imposition of the Sultan's boy-tax. No ordinary slave, though. He and the other boys similarly taken from the valley would be cadets in the Corps of Janissaries -- the elite troops of the powerful Ottoman Empire. For over 200 years, this army had been comprised solely of men taken in boyhood from the conquered Christian territories of Greece and the Balkans.

Earlier that day the Salim and five other boys had left their villages in the mountains of southwestern Bosnia, likely never to return. And a half-hour ago, the commander of this recruiting unit had presided over a naming ceremony, in which the six youngsters had thrown onto a bonfire all of their clothing and anything else they had brought from their old lives. While being re-clothed, they were also renamed and warmly welcomed into the Corps. Before the ceremony, Salim had been Sacha. His 9-year-old cousin Daniil, who had lived in a neighboring village, was renamed Damir.

With a hearty meal of mutton stew in his belly, and wearing an impressive new uniform of dark purple shirt and baggy black pants of the Turkish style, Salim followed Commander Mustafa away from the center of the encampment. The eyes of others -- 14 Janissary soldiers and 20 new cadets -- followed the man and boy as they disappeared into the darkness while walking to the place where Mustafa's tent was pitched and his small campfire burned. The soldiers were envious of their commander, retiring for the night with the most beautiful boy any of them had seen in some time. And the boys in the camp were impressed at how their bright and personable young comrade had been instantly elevated in status by his selection.

"Sit with me on this log, Salim," said the man, pointing to a stout tree trunk that lay 6 feet from the fire. "Have you ever drunk coffee?"

"No, sir... but I know of it."

"I will give you half a cup to start," said the commander as he picked up two metal cups.

The commander looked to be about 40, his short-cropped brown hair flecked with grey, but he was strong and had an aura that suggested he was an excellent leader. Pouring hot strong coffee from a small pot that hung over the fire, he handed one to the boy, and they sat down together on the log.

"The infidels drink alcohol when they talk around the fire at night. We Muslims drink coffee to help the conversation flow."

Salim nodded his head in acknowledgment, adding this fact to the growing store of information about his new life.

"So, boy, what are your thoughts on this momentous day? You don't look at all melancholy or frightened like some of the others."

"Well, sir... I think I am excited that I shall finally see the world outside this valley. And I have always known I would be a Janissary, so it makes me proud to now wear this uniform."

The commander beamed. "Well said, lad! ... So tell me a bit about your life... and about this valley of yours. It strikes me as a rather pleasant place to grow up."

Salim looked around him -- at the snow-capped mountaintops in the distance, barely visible in the moonlight -- and he breathed deep of the crisp autumn air. And then he began to talk -- of life in a village of subsistence farmers and shepherds; of the way the morning sun blazed a rich golden color on the tallest mountain to the west; of the majestic silence that followed a heavy snowfall; of catching small game with ingenious snares and traps; of the thrill of seeing the men and older youths return from the hunt with deer or mountain goats shot with bow and arrow. And he talked of the empty bellies that growled when the deep snows were late in giving way to the thaw, and the beauty of wild flowers when the snow finally receded. Salim's intelligence and enthusiasm -- and the near poetry of his descriptions -- warmed the man's heart.

"I will miss the valley," said Salim, "But I am ready to leave it, sir. Ready to see what lies beyond." After a moment, he added "May I ask, sir... have you traveled much in your time as a soldier?"

"Traveled? Ah, yes, lad. In 31 years of service, during the reign of five different sultans, I have been to the four corners of the Empire. I've seen the pyramids of Egypt, the metropolis of Baghdad, the holy city of Jerusalem. I've been to the islands of the Aegean Sea and sailed through the Straits of Gibralter. Let me tell you about the time we fought the infidels right up to the gates of Vienna...."

As the commander spun his tales of adventure, Salim listened... entranced. Whenever Mustafa's narrative flagged, Salim would ask a question to get him started again... or sometimes the lad would tell story of his own, often of the boyish adventures he had shared with his best friend Havel. The commander was charmed by the Salim.... and the boy was captivated by the man.

As the hour grew late, a chilly wind whistled through the camp. Salim, who had left his new cloak back with the other boys, shivered and held his hands out to the red embers of the dying fire.

"Come, boy. Sit on my lap, and I will wrap my cloak around us both."

Salim sat sideways on the man's knees, his legs dangling to the right of Mustafa's lap. It was just the way Salim had loved to perch on his father's lap, until his father said he had grown too big. As the man and boy resumed their conversation, Salim leaned his head against Mustafa's chest, hoping the commander would not mind. Mustafa's long woolen cloak enveloped the boy, and a strong hand rested lightly on Salim's shoulder... the other hand on the boy's knee. As Salim snuggled closer, the man's embrace became even more intimate. Conversation ceased, and they sat for a time in silence. While a feeling of safety and comfort pervaded the boy's mind, quite a different set of feelings coursed through Mustafa. There was lust, to be sure... his cock was growing stiff inside his thick uniform trousers. But there was also the far more complex feeling of true affection and protectiveness.

Janissaries were forbidden to have relations with women, and Mustafa had shared sexual companionship with uncounted men and youths in the 31 years since he had been taken from Romanian countryside as a young boy. At times over the years, he and some fellow soldier would share an extended relationship, built on love or mere expedience... or perhaps both. Most of his sexual encounters, however, were just one-time releases of lust... a time of pleasure to relieve the boredom of the barracks or the bivouac. And more than a few were with cute young cadets.

As Mustafa breathed in the subtle scent of the boy who snuggled on his lap, his heart beat faster and his cock strained with lust. Surely a boy so beautiful and charming had attracted the frequent sexual attentions of horny teenagers or of men in his village who appreciate the eroticism of tender boys.

"Salim.... Are you experienced with men or older youths?"

"Experienced, sir?" said the boy is a slightly puzzled tone. "There are... let's see... 14 men in my village and 5 boys of courting age. I know all of them rather well."

"No, lad; I meant, have you ever been... uh... penetrated." He refrained from using the crude Bosnian word for "fucked".

"Penetrated, sir? In what manner?" asked the boy innocently.

"You know... have you taken a man's hard cock in your bottom hole?"

"Sir??" Clearly, Salim had never considered such a thing. "Why would a man do that, sir?"

Mustafa silently cursed himself for having presumed the boy's lack of innocence. But this would not be the first time he'd relate these particular facts of life to a boy. "(Ahem).... Well.... You know of how a bull will mount a cow to later produce a calf?"

"Yes" said Salim, nodding earnestly. Every country boy had seen the mating of farm animals.

"And do you know how a man will take pleasure lying between the legs of a woman and thrusting into her?"

"Yes, sir. And the woman pretends not to desire it, but she moans just as loud as the man!" said Salim, causing Mustafa to laugh out loud and hug Salim even tighter. Salim and Havel had twice spied on a teenage couple who were courting, following them with stealth as the youth and maiden had snuck off to the meadow for private intimacy. The young boys had watched from the edge of the woods as the couple engaged in the kissing, touching, and fondling of teenage lust. And they had watched with particular interest when the boy cajoled the girl into spreading her legs and receive his urgent thrusts.

"You are perceptive, lad! Well, two men can make love in a similar fashion, with one sliding his cock inside the other's bottom until the manly seed spurts, and he feels great pleasure. And a man can do it to a boy. In the barracks, you will find it is rather common. The soldiers call it fucking. Some men and youths, if they have no modesty, will fuck in full view of the entire barracks. More often, though, you will hear the sounds after the lamps are extinguished at night and men lay together in the dark."

Salim well knew the sounds of sexual coupling from having lived in a one-room shack, where he would sometimes awaken to the distinct sound of his parents' lovemaking... the harmony of muffled pleasure noises in the dark, growing to a crescendo, then almost instantly dying down to a few gentle sighs.

"I think I may have done fucking, sir. Several times, my friend Havel and I... we took off our clothes and hugged each other, taking turns being on top and rubbing our stiffies together. It was a most enjoyable feeling sir," said Salim with total candor.

"No, lad," said the commander gently. "What you and Havel did was sex play of a gentler sort. Fucking involves a stiff cock entering your bottom. There will be many a soldier -- and many an older cadet -- who will ask if they may fuck you."

Salim looked up into Mustafa's eyes. "Sir, would it please you to fuck me tonight?"

For a moment the commander could not speak, his mind swirling with conflicting thoughts. Then he kissed the boy on the cheek and said "You have spoken to me in candor, Salim, and I will answer you honestly. If you had told me that you were experienced in the ways of pleasuring men, I would have gladly taken you to my tent tonight. It would have pleased me greatly to make love to you. But long ago I resolved not to fuck a boy who was unaccustomed to having a man."

Mustafa's cock was of generous length and girth, and he knew the pain that a boy would endure at being deflowered by it. Indeed, Mustafa could still remember his own pain when he was first penetrated... succumbing to the flatteries of a smooth-talking soldier in the barracks, some 30 years before. Giving a boy his first fuck, or even the second or third, was too much like rape for the commander's liking. (And Mustafa was quite familiar with rape, understanding that it was a tool of war... a weapon to be inflicted on the daughters and sons of the Sultan's enemies in time of conflict.)

"Let me offer some advice about your upcoming life as a young Janissary, if I may. Although it is your right to share pleasures with any comrade, whether soldier or cadet, you would do well to turn down the offers of men while you are so young. Men are eager to take pleasure from a boy, but often reluctant to give back. Sometimes, a boy -- especially a handsome one such as you -- allows his body to be used indiscriminately for the pleasure of many men. While he is often flattered by the men, and feels himself to be popular, he acquires a reputation that is undesirable for a soldier. He will be called a 'bottom boy'... viewed as a sexual toy, rather than as a comrade. Even as he grows to manhood, that identity may remain stronger than any skills he may possess as a warrior.

"For now, it would best for you to choose partners from among those close to your own age. Experience all the joys of sex-play with the other boys... the stroking and sucking... the snuggling of naked bodies at night... fingers tickling each others' bottom holes. But have a care to keep the relations equal. Do not be one who always sucks other boys' cocks without being sucked in return. And wait for the right boy to come along before you allow a stiff cock to penetrate your bottom. It will likely hurt the first time... perhaps the first several times, as you learn how to do it... so choose a boy you trust. Do you understand all these things, boy?"

"Yes, sir. I think so."

Mustafa continued hugging Salim to his chest as a few moments of silence ensued. Then the commander spoke again, softly. "This boy Havel.... You will miss him, yes?"

Salim felt his throat tighten. "Yes sir; I will miss him terribly. It is wrong for me to say this, but I fear that I shall miss him even more than I will my own family."

"It sounds as if the two of you were in love. That is a beautiful thing for two boys to have shared. Some day, you will have feelings for a comrade that are as strong and good as the feelings you had for Havel... feelings that the other boy will have for you as well. Then you will know it is time to give the gift of your body and allow him to make love to you. And when your comrade offers you his body, accept his gift with love and respect."

Commander Mustafa looked into Salim's beautiful eyes for a long moment, feeling a stab of emotion deep in his heart. "Thank you, lad, for drinking coffee with me. I hope that someday, when you are older and more experienced, we may be stationed together. Perhaps then, we might exchange pleasures."

Salim didn't know what to say. And the continued tightness in his throat would have made it difficult to speak in any case. But he wrapped his arms around Mustafa's neck and brought his lips to the man's mouth. The man's heart melted as the most wonderful feeling of love washed over him. The commander hugged the cadet tightly as their mouths joined. When the tip of Mustafa's tongue grazed Salim's lip, the boy instinctively opened his mouth and let his own tongue peek out timidly. For a long, breathless, timeless moment, the two kissed. Their tongues entwined... tasting, licking, probing... their lips nibbling.

When Mustafa broke the kiss at last, he was light-headed. "Hop down, boy, before you make me abandon my resolve. Off you go, then. Goodnight."

And as Salim made his way along the path, the commander closed his eyes and turned his mind inward. Mustafa's brain was committing to memory every detail of the boy's face, his scent, his voice, his touch, his kiss... and the memory of the boy's naked body earlier that evening at the naming ceremony. Then he stood up, adjusted his rigid cock in his pants, and poured the rest of the coffee from the pot into the embers of the fire. As he walked into his tent and began removing his uniform, Mustafa knew that his delicious memories of the boy would be put to good use -- for the first of many times -- as a mental accompaniment to the pleasures of his stroking hand.

Salim felt as though he was walking on a cloud as he started down the path away from the commander's campsite. So many thoughts and feelings inhabited in his brain and body... so much new information to absorb. His penis was stiff, a phenomenon that happened with increasing frequency in recent months. And he felt the urge, more strongly than ever before, to touch his penis and manipulate it in the way that brought the tingling pleasure feelings.

But first he must find the spot where the other boys were camped. He silently cursed himself for being inattentive as he had walked here with the commander. The camp was spread out widely in an area of thick clumps of trees interspersed with grassy patches of meadow. As he looked through the trees ahead, he saw several low- burning campfires at various spots. He picked one and headed toward it. A three-quarters moon provided some illumination as he walked along in the cool night air. Up ahead, he saw two figures standing together, and he moved toward them to speak to them. But as he approached, he saw that they were... well, not exactly embracing... they were being VERY intimate. And one was a boy, identifiable by the purple color of his uniform shirt and his smaller stature.

As Salim quietly walked closer, he could see the boy's face -- an older kid, maybe 13 or 14, that Salim did not know personally. One of the group from down-valley who had been "recruited" on a previous day. He was leaning against a tree with his legs spayed out a bit. His pants were open but not pulled down. The man was standing at his side with his left arm around the boy's shoulder, his right hand masturbating the boy's erect adolescent cock in a slow, erotic rhythm. The soldier had his mouth to the side of the boy's head... perhaps whispering erotic words... more likely flicking his tongue sensuously in the lad's ear. The boy's eyes were closed and he was sighing and cooing with pleasure, oblivious to Salim's presence only 15 feet away. As Salim moved along a bit more, he saw that the man's cock was out too -- a virile erection of impressive size. The boy's right hand was wrapped around it, giving it an occasional distracted stroke. Though Salim was aroused by the sight -- his small cock throbbed more than ever -- he thought it best to move along and give these two their privacy.

He continued along toward the fire beyond the grove of trees, and soon heard low voices -- mostly men's voices, but also the higher-pitched sound of boys. As he stepped into the clearing, it was immediately apparent that he had not found the place where the boys were camped. Before him was a tableau of adult sexuality... displaying all the things about which Commander Mustafa had spoken... and THEN some. He counted eight men, in their bright red uniform shirts, and two boys clad in purple. As his eyes scanned the scene, he gazed at a pair of soldiers standing with their bodies entwined... kissing and embracing in a much more aggressive way than were the man and boy he had just passed. But like that other pair, these two were also stroking each other's cocks, and they were not shy about grunting out their growing lust. Another pair lay on a sleeping mat on the ground, facing in opposite directions, pants open, and sucking each other's cocks in a leisurely 69.

On the ground next to the fire, a boy lay on his back on the covered ground, his pants and undergarment removed, and he was being fucked by a soldier who had his trousers pulled down around his knees. The boy's slender legs where pushed back toward his armpits, and the man's glistening oiled cock was thrusting into the lad's exposed anus. The thought ran through Salim's mind: the fucking of a boy seems much like how a maiden is penetrated. The boy's right hand grasped his own cock -- a slender 5-incher that he masturbated in jerky strokes. The boy's left hand reached up to stroke the erection of a soldier who knelt beside the lad's head. This second soldier had his pants pushed down and this shirt hiked up, and he was caressing the boy's hair while squeezing his own ball sack.

Salim's scanning eyes finally came to rest on the last cluster of bodies, glowing in the dim light of the small campfire and the autumn moon. A soldier was reclining on a sleeping mat, his upper body propped up on his elbows, his legs apart, his pants open and pulled down a bit. Between his legs knelt a boy, naked below the waist, his head bobbing at the soldier's crotch, with slurping gutteral pleasure-noises coming from his mouth.

The globes of the boy's buttocks were raised up high, glowing white in the moonlight. Beside the crouching boy knelt a soldier who was pouring some fluid from a small bottle onto his hand, and then smoothing it onto his erect cock. Then the soldier poured a bit more on his fingers and glided them between the boy's ass cheeks.

"Agh! Yes, boy! You DO have a talented mouth!" moaned the man sitting on the ground. "Uh, yes! Keep taking it deep, just like that! I swear by the Prophet's beard, you give the best blow-job I've ever had," he lied.

"And he takes two fingers as smoothly as the most experienced bottom-boy in the Corps of Janissaries," said the soldier who was finger-fucking the lad in preparation for a fuck. "It's so nice when a new recruit knows how to join his comrades in night-time fun, like our new friend Latif, here." The man winked at the other soldier.

'Latif?' thought Salim; 'that's the name they gave to....'

"Lech?" he blurted out, then put his hand to his mouth in embarrassment.

"Well if it isn't the commander's boy! You're Salim, right?" said a soldier. "Didn't think we'd see you until daybreak. Come on over and join us, lad; we'll show you a good time. Latif, tell your friend how much fun we're having."

The 13-year-old had stopped his sucking and was now sitting up. A trail of saliva dripped down his chin, and he looked embarrassed. His adolescent erection, which was rather impressive for a boy his age, was beginning to wilt.

"Hi, Sacha," he said sheepishly.

Salim had known Lech all his life, though they had not been close friends. The two had grown up in neighboring villages 3 miles apart, and they saw each other perhaps a dozen times each year. As Salim stood silent at the edge of the clearing, his mind was stuck on the term he'd now heard twice tonight: 'bottom-boy'.

"Come on, comrade. The commander may not value your friendship, but we certainly do," said the man with the oiled cock who knelt next to Lech/Latif.

"No... no thank you, sirs.... I'm looking for the place where the other boys are camped. My young cousin is there."

"Ah, a shame. Maybe some other night, eh? Well, let's see... go back the way you came for about 35 paces, then turn right. It's just over a slight rise. Can't miss it with this moon."

"Thank you, sirs," said Salim, as he quickly retreated from the scene.

"Damned pretty, that Salim," said a soldier as the boy disappeared into the darkness.

"Aye, but we have two handsome young comrades here with us still, right lads? Let's get back to our fun.... Latif, raise up that beautiful ass for me again. There, that good. Are you ready for a good fuck, boy?"

In only a couple of minutes, Salim was back in the area of the camp where the bulk of the boys were settled in for the night. Blanket-covered lumps lay motionless on the ground... some clustered in twos and threes, others by themselves. The only sound Salim heard was a quiet whimpering... a boy crying. He walked to the source of the sound.

"Sacha!! I knew you'd come back!" Nine-year-old Damir jumped up, wearing only his thin cotton undergarments, and hugged Salim.

A couple of the lumps on the ground made shushing noises. "Keep it down, kid!" said a voice.

"Cousin," whispered Damir; "they said you would be spending the whole night with the commander, but I knew you would come back to be with me. I got a sleeping pad and a blanket for you, and laid them out here beside me. Brrr... it's cold."

As Damir slipped back under the wool blanket, Salim took the lad's long cloak and put it on top for extra warmth. Then he shucked off his uncomfortable hobnail boots and his uniform pants and shirt and crawled under his own blanket. Seeing that his cousin had brought over his cloak, Salim arranged it on top of himself just as he had done for Damir.

"Cousin," whispered Salim; "you were crying. Are you alright?"

"I was just lonely, Sacha. I miss my family so much! And I was sad that you were not here with me. But I'm not sad anymore."

The older boy snaked his arm beneath the youngster's covers and patted his back. "I'll stay with you. Don't worry. But there's one thing... you must start calling me 'Salim'. There is no longer a Sacha. And you must get accustomed to being Damir instead of Daniil. Will you try?"

"Yes, Sach... I mean Salim," he said with a giggle.

After they had lain together in silence for a couple of minutes, Damir whispered "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure. What?"

"After you left, all the older boys were talking about something, but I couldn't figure out what, and they wouldn't tell me. A young soldier said he would explain everything if I would spend the night with him, but a sergeant told him to leave me alone, cause I was too young. Could you tell me what the words mean?"

"Well... like what words?"

"Let's see. There was 'jack-off' and 'blow-job' and 'fucking'... and maybe some others."

Salim grinned. So recently the innocent, now he considered himself the expert. "Here, let's arrange the covers so we can scoot close together and talk."

When they were side-by-side, Damir snuggled close to his cousin, and they draped their arms around each other. "Now, tell me the secrets," whispered the youngster.

"Well, these things are called sex, which is the pleasure feeling that men get. And boys can get it too. It comes from the place you pee from."

"You mean like when you rub your pee-pee and it gets stiff?"

"Yeah, that's it. But big kids call it a cock, and it's fun to get together with a friend and feel each other's cock... that's called jacking each other off... and to use your lips and tongue to suck the other guy's cock... that's called a blow-job."

"Have you ever done these things, cousin?"

"Yeah; a few times. You know Havel, from my village?"

"Sure!"

"Well, he and I would play the sex games. And sometimes we would rub our cocks together and it felt really good. But men do a thing called fucking, where they put their cock into the other person's bottom hole to make themselves feel good. But I've heard that it hurts a lot when a man does that to a boy, so I'm not ever going to do it." Salim hoped he would be forgiven this lie. Only 15 minutes before, he would have willingly given his body to Commander Mustafa. But he wished to shield his young cousin, as the commander wished to shield Salim.

"As you get older your cock grows bigger, and the good feelings when you play with it get stronger. Here, reach between my legs and feel mine."

Damir slid his hand down Salim's side, to his hip, and then to his crotch. Through the thin cotton of the undergarment, his small hand explored the shape of Salim's penis, which had quickly pulsed to full erection. Salim untied the waist, and the boy reached in to fondle the stiff boyish rod.

"It's long, cousin! And fat too! And the balls in your sack are big as robin's eggs."

"No, Damir. I am still small compared to men and older boys." At 4 inches, though, he was ahead of the majority of his 11-year-old age mates, and the pleasure-feelings his cock could generate increasingly occupied his thoughts.

"Salim... do you want to feel mine too? It's stiff, just like yours."

"OK. But to do it right, we should take off these undergarment and be naked."

"Yes; let's!" said the eager youngster.

In an instant, the two prepubescent boys were pressing their naked bodies together. Salim rolled them both over so Damir lay atop him, their stiff penises pressing together.

"This feels REALLY good!" whispered the younger boy, as his hips began to move in little jerks.

"There's another thing boys can do, Damir. Do you want to kiss?"

Damir giggled, but nodded his head in consent. As their lips came together, Salim felt a surge of erotic energy, and he wrapped his arms tightly around his cousin's small frame. Damir was as instinctively talented at tongue-kissing as Salim had been, and they hungrily licked and sucked at each other's mouths as their bodies pressed and slid together. Salim's hands glided over the boy's back and the slender mounds of his little ass.

"Cousin," said Damir; "could I see what it's like to suck your pee-pee... I mean your cock?"

"Sure! That would be great! Scoot down under the covers and kneel between my legs." Salim couldn't help but picture Latif, kneeling between the soldier's spread legs to suck his cock. "And then I'll suck your's too." He did not want Damir to ever become a bottom-boy.

The youngster disappeared under the blankets, sliding his body down along Salim's, his belly and chest grazing along Salim's cock as he went. When Salim felt hot breath on his penis, he held his breath. And when the boy's warm wet mouth surrounded his plump cockhead, Salim moaned softly. Havel had done this for him only a few days ago, and he loved the sensation more than anything he could think of.

But Damir was not nearly as skilled at this as Havel. He was using too much suction and not enough sliding. His teeth continued to scrape the shaft, even after Salim told him not to.

"Let's switch places, OK?" said Salim

As Damir lay on his back and Salim dove beneath the covers, it occurred to the older boy that he loved the sensation of a stiff penis in his mouth almost as much as he liked to be sucked by Havel. He inhaled deeply of the scent of the little boy's crotch. It was complex and intoxicating... not as earthy as Havel's, but every bit as erotic.

His tongue came out and traced a line from the point where Damir's penis met his ball sack, to the little nozzle at the tip of his foreskin. Then he took the little erection between his wet lips and slid down, letting his tongue dance along the shaft. The cock was considerably smaller than Havel's. But though it was barely over 2 inches long and the girth of Salim's finger, Damir's erection was as rigid and smooth and satisfying as Havel's. And Salim set about pleasuring his cousin... and in the process pleasuring himself. Sometimes he would shift down to the round ball sack... licking and sucking... playing with the round pebbles within.

After several minutes of gentle pleasuring, Salim decided he should see if he could get Damir to have the same kind of pleasure-spasm that he and Havel could produce in each other's cocks. Salim pulled the tight foreskin all the way down the shaft to completely expose the cute little cockhead. His lips moved up and down rapidly along the slender penis, giving just the right suction, just the right tongue action. Damir was squirming around like he would jump out of his skin, and in another moment Salim could feel the erection throbbing as the special feeling pulsed through it.

When Salim came back up, his cousin was ecstatic. This was clearly his first dry orgasm, and he hugged his older cousin tightly and snuggled against him.

"You are so good to me, Salim," he said, and then yawned. "I'm so lucky we will be together in the army." And almost like he had been hit over the head with a hammer, little Damir closed his eyes and fell fast asleep.

After a while, Salim separated himself from his cousin's sleeping embrace and lay on his back. His cock was still hard... still demanding his attention. Reaching down, he gently ran the foreskin up and down over the head of his penis, using his thumb and two fingers. Yes! That's what it needed. Then he had a thought. He brought two fingers of his other hand to his mouth and coated them with spit. Spreading his legs, he gently rubbed them along his tight anus... discovering the exciting sensations that such stimulation could produce. As he continued with the anal play, his right hand returned to the familiar motions of masturbation. Yes! This was different. This was better! As his fingers moved faster on his cock, the middle finger of his other hand slid back and forth, an inch or so inside the tight hole. The urgency just kept building, and building, and building....

And then it exploded. Twice as good... three times as good as the usual tingle he got when he orgasmed. He was out of breath as he lay there, holding his penis in his hand, with a finger still lodged in his bottom hole.

This is why boys let themselves be fucked, he thought. He could understand that it would hurt to take a man's big cock, but the commander seemed to be saying you could get accustomed to even that. And Lech and that other boy seemed to enjoy it.

These thoughts were Salim's last of the night, as he too drifted off to sleep.

The adventure he had waited for all his life had already begun.

Chapter 3

With his arm already draped over the youngster's chest, the 11- year-old brought his lips down to Damir's neck and kissed the younger boy gently. Salim breathed deeply of the boy's scent, and his hips pressed forward almost involuntarily. Salim's penis often began the morning in stiff erection, but this was the first time he had awakened with his 4-inch cock lodged in the crack of a boy's ass.

Salim knew he should get up and put on his new uniform... he needed to go over to the woods and pee, for one thing... and he was eager to start his first full day as a Janissary cadet in service to the sultan. But he found it impossible to let go of Damir. Last night they had kissed and caressed each other, and then they had sucked each other's cocks -- only the second boy whose penis Salim had ever pleasured with his mouth. Salim's hand moved lightly down Damir's body, sliding along his smooth thigh, reaching between his legs. The soft little-boy penis twitched as his fingertip played with the nozzle-end of the foreskin. In moments the boycock was rigidly erect... no bigger in length or girth than Salim's finger, but delightfully erotic all the same.

Salim's hand moved to fondle his cousin's balls... the size of small grapes and wrapped in a pouch of the softest skin. Again he kissed Damir's neck. As his hips thrust forward once more, an erotic shudder ran through his body. Another thrust.... Yes! It felt so good! Salim's cock was held snugly between the boy's warm ass cheeks, and each time he pushed his hips forward, his bare cockhead emerged from its covering of foreskin to burrow upwards into thesilky cleft. And each time he did it, his body demanded that he thrust again... and again.

"Mmmm.... It feels nice when you do that, cousin!" whispered Damir, as he awakened fully.

The older boy wrapped his arms around the youngster's chest and said in a gentle voice "It feels good for me too. Shall I do it some more?"

"OK," chirped the 9-year-old. "How about if I lie on my tummy?" Not waiting for an answer, he rolled onto his stomach -- bringing Salim with him -- and spread his legs a bit. Then he looked back over his shoulder at Salim and smiled.

Salim kissed his cheek and resumed the pleasure he had been pursuing only moments before. The older boy moved his hips in an instinctive rhythm as Damir lay prone beneath him, his head resting on his forearms, a blissful smile on his lips.

"Oh, Daniil...." whispered Salim, using Damir's Bosnian name. Salim was delighted to have found yet another way to induce the magic of sexual pleasure -- one he had never tried with his best friend Havel (although the two of them had rubbed together front- to-front before, to a thoroughly enjoyable effect). The thrusting became faster... more urgent. Staccato bursts of barely audible pleasure-noise issued from Salim's throat... half-grunt, half- sign. His breathing grew ragged as the lust continued building in his crotch. And in a moment, Salim attained his goal... the now- familiar thrill of prepubescent orgasm. As the wonderful feelings rushed through his body, Salim collapsed atop his cousin's back.

Just then, a man's voice spoke... from right next to where the boys lay. "Ah, a good fuck first thing in the morning..."

Salim quickly rolled off and looked up to see a tall Janissary sergeant gazing down at them. "I'm sorry, sir! We... uh... I..."

"Save your apology, boy. You did nothing wrong." Then he laughed and said: "It's like the old saying: 'A Janissary makes love to his comrade at dawn; slays five enemy soldiers on the battlefield before mid-day; rapes their virgin daughters before sunset; and is back in his comrade's embrace at nightfall.' You've got the first part accomplished. A shame you won't have a chance at the next two for a few more years."

And then, in a loud voice, the sergeant announced to the entire camp "Alright lads; on your feet and get dressed."

After the blanket-covered lumps began to stir, he added "Grab your plates and fill your stomachs at the cooking pot. We have some long marches in the next few days, and then it's on to Istanbul."

"Istanbul!" The word echoed from several boys' mouths at once. It was the great capital of the Ottoman Empire... better known throughout the western world as Constantinople. The excitement was palpable as the boys quickly dressed in the cold mountain air.

As they were milling around in line for breakfast, one boy called out to a friend using the other lad's Bosnian name. The tall sergeant strode over and smacked the offender on the back of his head with a open palm... so hard it almost knocked him over. A hush fell over the camp.

"You all have new names. Good Muslim names. Learn them and use them."

Salim breathed a sigh of relief that it was not he who had been punished. He had used Damir's old name just minutes before.

Every one of the soldiers in the camp had once been a Christian boy, just like these new recruits, and each was now a Muslim. Renaming was the first step in the process of encouraging the boys to give up their infidel beliefs.

With a plate of thick hot mush balanced on his lap, Salim sat with a circle of boys who were describing what bits of information they had heard about Istanbul... its enormous ornate buildings; its wondrous bazaars with goods from all over the world; a mix of all the exotic, diverse people of the Empire. Then Salim noticed a jovial group emerge from the trees, heading for the cooking pot. There were eight soldiers and two boys -- a familiar 13-year-old, now named Latif, and a boy of similar age named Tamir. This was the group whose steamy orgy Salim had stumbled upon the previous night. Salim noticed that Latif seemed to be walking a bit awkwardly, though he was laughing along with the others. A handsome young soldier had his arm draped around Latif's shoulder and ruffled the boy's shaggy blond hair as he would a favorite younger brother. As they drew closer, the soldier looked over at Salim and smiled, then whispered something in Latif's ear. After the cook ladled a portion of mush onto Latif's plate, he came over to where Salim sat.

"My friend... will you sit with me in a place where we can talk?" said Latif.

Salim stood up, and the two boys moved to the edge of the bustling campsite. They had grown up in neighboring villages and had always been friendly, though not close friends.

"Latif... I was a little worried about you last night," said Salim as they sat down beneath a tree "You seemed distressed. Are you OK?"

Latif's face showed a moment of turmoil, but then he smiled and said. "I had a great time, Salim. It was fantastic! I wish you had stayed and joined us. My new friends would really like to have you share their campsite... and their fun. Maybe tonight?"

"I don't think so, Latif. I need to look after my young cousin. And I'm not yet ready to, um.... Latif, when I left last night, it looked like one of the soldiers was about to... to fuck you. Did it cause you pain?" Commander Mustafa had warned Salim that the penetration of a man's cock in a boy's bottom hole could be quite painful.

"Not at all! They used this oil that made their cocks slide right into me. It was only the last of them -- that tall guy over there..." Latif motioned with his head toward a big soldier with broad shoulders and a powerful chest. "He was the last of them to fuck me. He has the parts of a horse, and I guess I was a little sore after he shot his seed into me." What Latif left unstated was that he was already sore from multiple penetrations when the tall soldier first thrust his thick 9-inch cock into the boy's rectum... that it was only by clamping his teeth on the thick sleeve of his uniform shirt that Latif kept from crying out in pain... and that he went to sleep with a throbbing ache in his bowels that still bothered him when he awoke that morning.

"How many of the soldiers did this to you?" asked Salim, not sure if he was understanding the boy correctly.

The older boy blushed a bit, and his face flashed momentarily with the same look of guilt that Salim had seen the previous night when Latif had been interrupted... sucking one soldier and preparing to be fucked by another. But his voice kept its veneer of cheerfulness. "My new friends were much impressed at how well I did. Five of them spurted their seed in my ass last night. I pleasured several of them with my mouth too, but only tasted the seed of one." Latif looked very pleased with himself, adding "The soldiers told me I'm truly their comrade now... they say that Janissaries greatly respect a boy who can take several men, one after another. The other boy with us -- Tamir -- only let two soldiers fuck him before he had to quit. And in the middle of our fun, the soldiers had Tamir and me get in a position to suck each other at the same time, and they took bets on which of us could make the other cum the soonest. And I won! One of the soldiers who wagered on me even gave me this copper mangir!" Latif pulled from his pocket a tiny coin... the smallest denomination of all Ottoman currency. It was the first coin that Latif had ever possessed.

Salim didn't respond at first. The commander had told him that cadets who allowed soldiers to use them in this manner were looked down upon in the Corps of Janissaries.

But when he finally spoke, it was only to satisfy his curiosity and not to offer gratuitous advice about the possible harm to Latif's reputation. "So there was no discomfort when a soldier first penetrated you with his hard cock? I had heard it is painful when a cock enters you the first time.... But you took five men your first time...."

"Salim.... It wasn't... I've been..." Latif paused for a moment, and again his cheeks blushed with embarrassment.

"We won't ever be going back to our villages, so I guess it does no harm to tell you. Besides; I already told my new friends," said Latif. "Last night was not the first time a man has fucked me, Salim. My father.... When I was young, and started going out with my father to spend the night guarding our sheep in the high meadow, he would play with my cock in the sexual way... and get me to play with his. At first, he would have me stroke him until his seed spurted. After a while, he taught me how to give him pleasure with my mouth. And then... I guess I was a bit younger than you... he began to fuck me whenever we went up to the meadow at night. He's a kind man, Salim, and he was always gentle with me. But he told me that these things must always be kept secret. I believed that it was a shameful thing. That's why I was surprised by how open the soldiers are in doing this, not caring whether anyone sees it. They have sex among themselves without shame.... just for the fun and comradeship. And when the soldiers told me how much I had pleased them, it was so much like my father's words... his praise as we lay together after he had given me his seed."

Salim was silent for a time, a mix of feeling bouncing around his brain. Finally, he said "Latif, I'm not sure it's wise to do these things with so many men at once. Why don't you sleep in the boys' camp tonight? Sleep close to Damir and me. OK?"

Now it was Latif who was briefly lost in thought. "Maybe, Salim," he said at last. "Maybe so."

Just then the sergeant called out again. "Time to move out! You cadets put your things in the ox cart for now. You'll learn soon enough how to march with the weight of a pack on your back, but not on this journey.... And remember; no talking during the march."

When the two ox carts were loaded, 14 soldiers and 18 boys headed down the rough dirt track that served as the valley's only real road. The oxen were tended by their owners -- peasants who had hired on for this short recruitment journey. Only the commander rode a horse.

They passed wide around the villages along the way, going well off the road when necessary. These were places they had already visited on previous days, collecting the boy-tax throughout the valley. It wouldn't do any good for the villagers or the new cadets to say their good-byes again. But some people came out of the villages to watch them pass. They stood at a distance, wary of the Janissaries. Only one boy called out from the ranks, shouting anxiously to his weeping mother. A sergeant walking near him pulled his curved scimitar from its scabbard in an instant and brought its razor-sharp tip to the boy's lip, flicking it to draw a dribble of blood onto the blade.

"Do I need to slice the end of your tongue before you obey orders?" said the soldier in a calm but ominous voice.

There was absolute silence in the ranks for the next several hours. The pace was fast, and the younger boys struggled a bit. But the march down-valley was essentially all downhill, so they made good progress. They paused only three times along the way... twice to drink water and rest, and once to take a meal of dried meat, cheese, and bread. At each stop, the time was used to begin teaching them the Turkish language... the official language of the Ottoman Empire.

By late afternoon they were out of the valley... farther than Salim had ever traveled in his life. They kept marching until the sun dipped out of sight, and they set up camp as dusk gave way to twilight. Every boy immediately removed his uncomfortable new boots. They had all grown up going barefoot on all but the coldest days.

At the campsite that evening, some of the boys -- Damir among them -- stretched out on their sleeping pads as soon as they had eaten their dinner, easily slipping into exhausted sleep. Others stayed up to talk around the fire. Soldiers socialized freely with them, but there seemed to be a clear theme to their conversations... they were looking for partners with whom to share pleasures that night.

Salim saw the commander walking back toward his tent with his arm around Tamir. He felt a pang of jealousy, even though he had taken the commander's advice to heart. Indeed, Salim grew weary of being approached by soldiers who asked, either subtly or bluntly, if he was interested in sharing the man's bed that night. But each time he rejected a come-on, it was accepted by the soldier in good spirit... typically with a rejoinder along the lines of "perhaps another time, then."

Salim saw Latif talking to three of the soldiers who had gang- fucked him the night before. As Latif got up to follow the men back to their campfire, he looked over to Salim and motioned with his head as if to say "Come join us."

Salim shook his head, and Latif shrugged as he picked up his sleeping pad and blanket and walked off

Salim stared into the fire, feeling a strangely exciting desire, but also wariness of the men who wished only to penetrate him with their cocks. He kept turning in his brain the word the commander had used in his warning: "bottom-boy".

Among the boys who were still awake, some were pairing up among themselves... undressing, getting under blankets, and lying with their bodies close together. A few were slipping into the woods for more private play. The rest just settled under blankets in solitude to get their sleep. Salim was about to lay down beside the sleeping Damir, but something compelled him to walk to the other side of the encampment in the direction that Latif had gone. The moon was not yet up, but it was not difficult to find the campsite, as the soldiers had stoked the fire to a hearty blaze to warm their activities. Salim stopped at the edge of the clearing, behind a tree just beyond the reach of the fire's light, and watched in silence.

The tableau before him was not unlike that of the night before... raw sexuality being played out to the illumination of flickering firelight. This time there were only three men, and they encircled Latif, taking turns lustily kissing the boy while slowly stripping off his clothing until he was completely nude. The soldiers removed their own pants and undergarments, but left on their bright red wool shirts. Latif was being caressed and fondled by all three men simultaneously, kissing one for a minute, then being turned to accept another's tongue in his mouth.

Though the men's hands guided him and roamed over his body, Latif was hardly passive. The 13-year-old was hungry for their kisses, and plunged his tongue into their mouths with growing excitement. He held a man-cock in each of his hands... switching to stroke a different erection each time he turned to join mouths with a different soldier. His own stiff penis stood up over 5 inches, not much shorter than some of the soldiers' cocks, though not as thick. Salim was a bit disappointed not to see the big soldier Latif had mentioned. The thought of an erection "the size of a horse's" made his senses tingle.

Salim could make out most of what was being said -- sounds of lust for the most part. And, as Latif had mentioned, there were words of flattery for the boy... complimenting his handsome body... speaking of his comradeship within this group of soldiers.

Salim was undeniably aroused, and briefly contemplated stepping into the light to participate in the orgy. The throbbing of his erection drew his hand to the front of his pants... the visual excitement driving his urge to masturbate. Unhooking the belt that held up his pants and untying the waist of his undergarment, Salim now had unfettered access and began stroking his stiff penis and squeezing his balls.

As Salim's stroking fingers drove his senses deeper into the realm of sexual arousal, the soldiers were taking the action to a higher level. One of them -- the handsome young soldier who had been the first at Latif's ass the night before -- was spreading a coating of oil on his cock as he stood behind the boy.

"Bend down, Latif, so I can enter you."

The boy moved quickly to position himself -- spreading his feet a bit, bending his slender legs at the knee, and leaning forward. Reaching back with a hand on each of his skinny round ass-cheeks, Latif spread the globes apart... presenting his asshole to be fucked... and at the same time he brought his face down to the level of the other two soldiers' cocks.

As his fingers began probing the youth's anus, the soldier spoke in a soothing yet compelling tone.

"Tell me what you want, boy. Ask me for it." Two oiled fingers were now gliding in and out of Latif's upraised ass.

"Fuck me, sir! Fuck me good!"

"No; not 'sir'. Remember what you said last night when I fucked you? Say that again." The soldier was now rubbing his lubed cockhead teasingly around the outside of the boy's pink pucker of anal flesh.

"Daddy...." said the youth in a trembling voice. "Fuck me, Daddy! I'm ready for you. Take me the way you like to! Oh please, Daddy.... Do it to me!"

"That's it... Here comes Daddy's cock. Open up for me." And holding the boy's hip-bones firmly, the man slid his 6-inch erection slowly into Latif's flexing circle of muscle, not stopping until his curly pubic hair was pressing against the sensitive flesh at the entrance of the boy's hole.

"Ahhh; yes... nice and tight... and so warm! You're good Latif. You're the best.... Uhhhh.... that's so good! Take it boy... Take Daddy's cock.... Oh, YES!" moaned the soldier as he established a steady rhythm of fuck-stokes.

The other two soldiers stood hip-to-hip in front of Latif. Each had an arm around the other, and they were facing inward a bit so that their erections were touching, only inches from Latif's face. One of them put his hand behind the boy's head and drew him closer. As Latif brought his hands up to grasp men's cocks, his mouth came down to fellate them... alternating from one to the other... sucking for 30 intense seconds and then switching... back and forth... driven by an intense lust. The two soldiers began kissing each other aggressively and their cocks were being tended by the boy. Muffled moaning grunts issued from Latif's throat, joined by the pleasure-noises of the men. All the while, the third soldier was plowing his cock in long thrusts into the boy's anal tunnel.

Salim brought his left hand to his mouth and collected a glob of spit on his fingers, then reached back to his ass. Bending his knees a bit, he brought the two fingers to the pleasure spot he had only recently discovered. Stroking and probing, he felt almost overwhelmed by the intensity of his sexual feelings. As he watched the activity only 20 feet away, he kept envisioning himself in the action... being Latif, with his ass being fucked and his mouth full of cock... being the soldier who was humping the boy's ass... or being sucked by Latif while slurping at the tongue of a handsome young soldier.

Just as the soldier... groaning with intense pleasure... shot his seed deep into the youth's rectum, Salim reached his own climax. As his penis trembled with the thrill of immature orgasm, Salim's anal muscle clenched rhythmically around his two slippery fingers. He leaned against the tree, gasping with exhausted pleasure.

Before him, the arrangement of bodies was changing. Men's hands were guiding Latif onto his back, as another soldier got into position between his legs. As Salim was securing his pants, the soldier had pushed back Latif's legs and was guiding his cock into the boy's dilated hole. The other knelt with his knees on either side of the lad's head, his full ball sack dangling down to be licked and suckled. He held onto Latif's ankles, pulling the boy's legs apart and back.

Slipping quietly through the trees, Salim made his way back to the boys' encampment. As he slipped under the blankets and snuggled up close to Damir's warn naked body, Salim knew that he had made the right decision to not join in. He was not yet ready for men, even though thoughts of their intense sexuality thrilled him.

The next day's march was just as long as the first, but with the added burden of walking uphill at times. For a while Salim carried Damir on his back as they strode up a steep mountain pass, though he couldn't do it for very long. That night, he too went to sleep as soon as he had taken his meal.

The third day's journey was more of the same, but Salim could sense a strangely different quality in the appearance of the landscape and the scent of the air he breathed. When they reached the crest of a hill in the late afternoon, there before them was the ocean... the Adriatic Sea. And a beautiful walled city was clustered on the shore, it's red tile roofs glowing in the setting sun. Numerous boats bobbed in its perfect protected harbor. One of the ships, with many long oars sprouting from its sides, was much larger than the rest.

"Istanbul!" shouted Damir.

"No, lad," said Commander Mustafa. "It's Dubrovnik. A fine little port, but hardly a match for Istanbul."

As Salim's group entered the town, there were many other soldiers and boys... hundreds of them... moving in the same direction, toward the large war galley. All the boys were in the same age range 9 to 14 and all wore identical purple shirts with billowing sleeves.

At the quay, Salim was in awe at the size of the vessel. It had two tall masts, and at the stern a tall structure with many windows. Thirty-six huge oars stuck out from each side. Walking up a wide gang-plank that directly entered the ship's interior, the boys found themselves in a large low-ceilinged room. Three hundred boys were already in the room, 200 more were waiting on the quay to enter. Throughout the room were a forest of posts with hooks along the sides, and sergeants were instructing boys on how to hang the hammocks - stacked four high - in which they would sleep.

Salim did not notice the ship's officer who approached Commander Mustafa and said, in Turkish "The captain requests your presence in his quarters at once to meet with an emissary of the sultan. You will bring the log-book from your collection of the boy-tax."

Later, as Salim was getting accustomed to the excitement of being among such a large number of boys, in a completely foreign environment, the commander returned and sought him out.

"Salim... come with me." The boy looked up, puzzled. "No questions," said the man, firmly.

They made their way up on deck and then through a door into the stern superstructure. There, in a hallway before a closed door, were a dozen boys... each with a commander by his side. And each was a particularly handsome youth of Salim's age or a bit older. Nobody spoke, but each time the door opened, a boy and a commander would come out, and another pair would enter.

When it was Salim's turn, he walked through the door to find a bald man wearing clothes of extraordinarily fine material. The man was of indeterminate age, and he was soft and fat, with smooth boyish skin on his face. When he spoke, his voice was strangely high-pitched, but he spoke the Bosnian dialect without an accent.

"Strip nude, boy," he said, without any preliminary pleasantries.

Salim looked over at the commander, whose facial expression said "do it!"

"Hmmm.... Now make your member stiff."

Salim blushed, but he did as he was told, running the foreskin up and down over his cockhead as his penis lurched up beneath his fingers.

"Do you sing, boy?"

"Sir?" Salim was puzzled by the incongruous question.

"You heard me. Sing a song that you know," said the unsmiling eunuch.

Salim thought for a moment and chose his father's favorite, then opened his mouth wide and began to sing:

"In the very beginning, when the first mountain was but a hill..."

He stood up straight and sang in a high, clear tone, oblivious to how odd it must have looked for a skinny nude boy of not-yet-12 years... his stiff penis standing up at his crotch... to be singing for two men.

"... when the first pine tree was but a bush, when the Drina was but a swamp, when the north wind was but a breeze, there was a Bosnian ancestor, with a horse of fiery hooves..."

"That will do," said the plump man. "Get dressed and go through that other door, pointing to one different from the door through which Salim had entered.

"Goodbye, Salim. And good luck to you," said the commander.

Salim was confused by the commander's words, but he obeyed the orders. As he entered the next room, he noticed a boy sitting on a bench and a large black-skinned man standing. The man was plump and beardless, just like the well-dressed questioner, and he had a curved sword hanging from his belt.

"Otumak," said the man. Pointing to a stool across the room from the other boy. Salim had learned the word; it was Turkish for "sit".

Salim looked over at the other lad and was immediately struck by his exotic beauty. There was a feminine quality about him, but there was no question he was a boy, dressed in the uniform of a Janissary cadet.

"Hi. My name is Salim," he said to the boy.

"Sessizlik!" ["silence"] shouted the man.

Salim could not help but stare at the boy. His hair was as black as a cloudy moonless night; his dark eyes smouldered with sensuality and seemed to burn into Salim's soul. His dusky skin and sharp features were totally unlike the blond Slavic people of Salim's valley. Perhaps he was a Turk.

As Salim stared, the boy's full red lips turned in a knowing smile... part friendly; part almost sinister. The dark-haired lad's eyes glanced down, and Salim's eyes followed. The boy's hand moved slowly from his knee, along the inside of his thigh, and finally to his crotch. There, his fingers slowly and inconspicuously fondled the bulge beneath the loose material.

Salim was mesmerized... and increasingly aroused. When at last his eyes returned the boy's face, Salim's first thought was 'Oh, how I would love to kiss those lips!' Just then, the mysterious lad pursed his lips together and made a subtle, silent kissing motion. A sexual chill ran through Salim's body. Never had he seen a person like this. So beautiful; so erotic; such knowing eyes. And that indescribable smile!

At last, the white-skinned eunuch entered the room and spoke in Bosnian. "We will go now. You will be the only two. No questions. No talking."

The two men and two boys walked down the gang-plank and onto the quay. A hundred yards down the dock a much smaller boat was moored, with a single lateen-rigged mast and eight oars on each side. It was low, sleek, and ornately decorated. When they boarded, the Turkish sailors on deck turned away and went about their business. (They had been told that if they so much as stared at these boys, their genitals would be cut off and used for fishing bait.)

When the two eunuchs left the boys alone for a moment, Salim whispered "Do you speak Bosnian?"

"Of course!" whispered the lad without an accent. "I do not look like you because my people are Roma. Some know us as Gypsies." Then, somehow knowing Salim's next question before it was asked, the boy said "We have been separated from the others because we are the most beautiful and desirable of all the boys on the ship." Not a boast; not speculation. A simple statement of fact.