Pale Whores, Pale Rider

By Hypnothrill - hypnothrill@yahoo.com
published October 10, 2020
2757 words
Summary

During the 1919 pandemic, a returning soldier seeks a distraction to take his mind off his dead friend.

Pale Whores, Pale Rider

I couldn’t stop thinking about Adam, about the last letter I ever got from him. He was telling me how I had to visit him in Denver sometime soon, how he’d introduce me to some pretty girls there.

Adam was always looking out for me like that, almost like a big brother. I’d never told him I was a virgin, but he must have guessed all the same, on account of my being so shy around girls, with my stutter and all that. And once the war ended, just before we got shipped back home, it was Adam who dragged me to that whorehouse in Paris. Of course, I was shy at first, all blushing and stammering. But that lady was a professional. She knew just what she was doing. And when I stepped out of that whorehouse, I felt like I had finally become a man. And I had Adam to thank for that.

Adam. I still couldn’t believe that he was gone. After all that fighting we had seen, with the guns and the bombs and the tanks and the poison gas. We’d lost so many friends along the way. At the Somme. But we’d survived. My best buddy Adam and me, we looked out for each other and we’d survived. And now he was gone. Like that.

I’d kept writing him letters, but no response. Until yesterday, when I got a letter from his Ma back in Denver. Telling me that Adam had caught the influenza and gotten real sick. Telling me that Adam didn’t make it.

In the envelope, she attached a pair of his dog tags. She told me that Adam had wanted me to have them. I was wearing them right now underneath my shirt; I could feel Adam’s embossed name rubbing up against my breastbone.

Dammit, I have to stop thinking about this. Or else I’m going to burst out crying here right in the middle of the street. And that damn mask I’m wearing won’t cover up the tears in my eyes.

Where could I go to take my mind off Adam, just for a moment?

One block down, I see the marquee for a cinema. They’re playing a matinee of some movie called The Sheik’s Conquest. I’ve never heard of it, but it’s starting in ten minutes, and that’s good enough for me.

I fish fifteen cents out of my pocket and hand it to the cashier, then head into the dimly-lit theater. Not too many people around, but that was no surprise. These days, the influenza had a bunch of people spooked and staying at home. Walking down the aisle, I spot two college boys in straw boaters sitting near the back. Neither of them are wearing their masks, and I give them a stern look as I pass, thinking about what happened to Adam.

I pass by a couple of other people on my way to my seat: a farmhand in overalls, a young man in a suit and his pregnant wife. I give them a friendly nod as I see they’re wearing masks too. I finally take a seat a couple of rows ahead of a burly mustached man in shirtsleeves, his mask dangling from his left ear. That big bruiser looks like he could thrash me within an inch of my life, so I don’t say a word.

Restless, I shift in my seat and look over toward the organist. He sure looks spiffy there, in his fancy jacket and bow tie. Wait… is he wearing trousers? I crane my head to get a closer look, but the organ is in the way, and I can’t tell for sure. Maybe he’s just wearing light-colored trousers.

The lights dim some more, and the music starts up, and I don’t pay that any more mind. The music’s all I’m paying attention to now—those strong, penetrating chords from the organ, the insistent melody getting stuck in my head.

With the organ music filling my head, it takes me a moment to realize that the picture’s started. I see a man on the screen, in a desert and wearing some kind of white flowing robes. That must be the Sheik. Then it shows a close up of his face. With his smooth pale skin and dark eyes, he reminds me a little bit of Adam. But Adam never looked at me the way this man is looking at me through the screen. Intense. Like his eyes are trying to burn a hole in my soul.

A title card flashes on the screen:

THE PALE SHEIK

UNQUESTIONED RULER OF THE DESERT

OTHER MEN BOW BEFORE HIS POWER

OTHER MEN OBEY HIS WILL

The deep chords from the organ reverberate around my skull as I read these words. It is almost too intense, and I start to look away when suddenly his eyes fill the screen again. Those dark penetrating eyes. I can’t look away from them.

I stare at those dark eyes for I don’t know how long until another title card comes on the screen:

“GAZE INTO MY EYES

FEEL MY POWER

SINK INTO MY WILL”

This time, the card is only on the screen for a few seconds, then the Sheik’s dark eyes fill the screen again, then the words, then the eyes, over and over again, and the music is filling my head, and feel the power of those eyes, the power of those words bearing down into my brain, staring deeper, sinking deeper, staring deeper, sinking deeper…

At some point, the words start to change, but the Sheik’s dark eyes still fill the screen, still fill my mind:

“MEN BOW BEFORE MY POWER

MEN OBEY MY WILL”

Wide-eyed, I nod along as those words sink into my brain. Of course, men would bow before the Sheik. Who could resist those powerful eyes? Who could resist submitting to that powerful will?

“MEN, BOW BEFORE MY POWER

MEN, OBEY MY WILL”

Not me. I couldn’t resist those powerful eyes. I was just like any other man. And all men would be happy to obey their supreme ruler, the Sheik.

“BOW BEFORE MY POWER

OBEY MY WILL”

Something is wrong. Something about the way I’m sitting. It’s all wrong. It’s disrespectful. I leave my seat and shuffle toward the aisle. There, that’s better. Now I’m kneeling in the aisle, my eyes never wavering from the screen. Now the Sheik can see I am bowing before him. That I have submitted to his will.

On the screen, the Sheik was beginning to remove his white desert robes, to reveal his pale muscular chest. Another card flashed on the screen:

“GAZE UPON MY GODLIKE BODY

ONLY MEN CAN SEE ITS MAGNIFICENCE

NO WOMAN IS PERMITTED TO GAZE UPON MY GODLIKE BODY

ALL WOMEN MUST LEAVE MY SIGHT”

I hear a clatter behind me, but I don’t turn around. As a man, I have the privilege of gazing upon the Sheik’s godlike body as he disrobes, and I cannot look away from its magnificence as it fills the screen. His broad shoulders. His strong arms. His large hands. His firm chest. The ridges of his abdominal muscles.

“GAZE UPON MY MAJESTIC MEMBER

ITS BEAUTY AND POWER MAKES EVERY MAN’S MOUTH WATER

IMAGINE WHAT IT WOULD FEEL LIKE IN YOUR HAND

IMAGINE WHAT IT WOULD FEEL LIKE IN YOUR MOUTH”

His alabaster phallus fills the screen. I have never seen something so beautiful in all my life. Fully hard, it pulses in time with the throbbing organ music that fills my head. Kneeling before it, I begin to drool.

I think back to when I was a kid, messing around with my buddies, showing off our hard-ons. But those were boys’ members. This is a man’s. No, a God’s! This is a member that demands to be worshipped. I imagine what it would feel like, that magnificent alabaster phallus, throbbing in my hand. I imagine would it would feel like in my mouth, my tongue running over the veiny shaft and flared head, the salty, musky taste filling my senses. My own member grows uncomfortably hard, pressing against the fly of my trousers.

"UNZIP YOUR TROUSERS AND PULL OUT YOUR OWN MEMBERS

STROKE YOUR MEMBERS

AS YOU WORSHIP MY SUPERIOR PHALLUS

STROKE YOUR MEMBERS

AS YOU IMAGINE SERVING MY SUPERIOR PHALLUS”

My eyes never leaving the screen, I fish my rock-hard erection out of my trouser flies and begin rubbing my sweaty palm along the length of its seven inches, so puny in comparison to the God-like phallus filling the screen. This was my destiny. Down on my knees worshipping and servicing that magnificent member. This was my destiny. I could feel it more and more with every stroke of my throbbing erection.

Suddenly, I hear a voice behind me. A deep male voice, grunting and groaning out, “No….no…not gonna… I’m no cocksucker… gotta look away… no…”

What!? Was someone daring to resist the Sheik’s power!? Incensed, I turn around to face the infidel. It is the burly mustachioed man, his thick six inch unit jutting out angrily from the open fly of his wool trousers.

A stare for a moment at his throbbing red member, so hard and thick, and yet so puny compared to the Sheik’s divine magnificence, and suddenly I know what I must do to subdue and convert the infidel. Pulling off my mask, I crawl over to the mustachioed man and take his erection in my mouth. He gasps and groans, then gives me a half-hearted shove, but soon he ceases to resist.

I reach up and angle his hips so we can both stare up at the screen as I suck him off. The Sheik’s God-like phallus still fills the screen, and I imagine that I am worshipping it with my mouth as I run my tongue over the veins in the mustachioed man’s throbbing shaft.

“STROKE YOUR HARD MEMBERS

AS YOU IMAGINE SERVING IN MY HAREM

FEEL THE PLEASURE IN YOUR HARD MEMBERS

AS YOU IMAGINE SERVING IN MY HAREM”

What would serving in the Sheik’s harem be like, I wonder? Eternal bliss, no doubt. The bliss that only comes from sexual service to the God-like man whose every word I worship.

I feel a tingle of pleasure running through my member as I stroke it, and then I redouble my efforts to pleasure the mustachioed man with my mouth, to service him as I would service the Sheik in his harem. A moment later, I hear him gasp, then something warm and salty fills my mouth as the mustachioed man reaches his climax. I feel proud that I have subdued his resistance, so proud that I swallow down every drop.

Beside me, I can feel the mustachioed man go weak in the knees with pleasure. And it is my pleasure to pull him down to his knees. Until we are kneeling side by side in front of the screen. Kneeling with our hard members out as we stare up at the Sheik’s godlike phallus.

Suddenly, the Sheik’s dark commanding eyes appear on the screen again. Then his divine phallus. Eyes. Phallus. Cutting back and forth. Both so commanding. And then the words:

“STROKE FASTER NOW

AS YOU IMAGINE JOINING MY HAREM”

My hands were a blur running up and down my hard member. I wouldn’t last much longer now. I could feel the spunk churning in my balls, ready to shoot for the Sheik.

“FASTER FASTER

AND AS YOU SHOOT,

SHOUT OUT

‘I BELONG TO THE SHEIK!’”

“Uhhh…I belong to the Sheik!” I can hear coming from the back of the theater.

“I belong to the Sheik!!!” I hear another deep male voice crying out. And suddenly my spunk is spewing up my shaft like a volcano, spewing everywhere as I scream out, “I belong to the Sheik!”

As I start to come down from my orgasm, I hear the man beside me grunting out, “I belong to the Sheik!” and then I feel the droplets from his second load of spunk spewing on me.

I open my eyes to see new words on the screen:

“MY SERVANTS ARE COMING TO COLLECT YOU

AND BRING YOU BACK TO MY HAREM

OBEY THEIR COMMANDS

AS YOU WOULD OBEY MINE”

I keep kneeling beside the mustachioed man, spunk still dripping from the ends of our members onto the carpeted aisles of the theater. The music from the organ still filling our heads, we wait patiently for the Sheik’s servants to collect us.

We don’t have to wait long. Soon two clothed men wearing strange dark goggles and earmuffs enter the theatre and stand in front of the screen.

“Listen up, all of youse,” the taller one says. “We’re… um, whatiscalled….?”

“We’re the Sheik’s servants,” the shorter one interjects. “And we’re here to take you to his harem. So just… uh… obey all our orders and follow us.”

Our half-hard members still wobbling in front of us, we follow them out the emergency exit, to the alleyway where a large milk truck is waiting.

“Okay, strip off those clothes and get in,” the taller one says as he opens up the back of the milk truck.

“Make sure to collect their IDs first,” the shorter one says, “We’ll need those in case the families try to trace them.”

As I pull off my undershirt and toss it onto the growing pile of clothes forming on the ground, the taller man comes up to me and pulls off a pair of dogtags I have hanging around my neck. “Okay, Adam Barclay,” he says as he looks at the dogtags, “Now strip off those socks and skivvies, and step into the back of the truck.”

Adam Barclay… Adam… somehow the name sounds familiar… Is that my name…?

I suppose it doesn’t matter. All that matters is stripping down and joining the Sheik’s other followers in the back of the truck.

Easing my naked buttocks onto one of the wooden benches in the truck, I take a seat between the mustachioed man and a young man with a farmer’s tan on his arms and shoulders. Across from us sit three other naked men, two younger ones with hairless chests and one slightly older man with a hairy chest.

The older one looks slightly distressed about something. “Where…where are we going…” he’s muttering to himself. “I’ve got somewhere… someone….”

The shorter clothed man hears his complaints and enters the back of the truck. “Don’t you remember? You’re heading to the Sheik’s harem. I’m sure you’ll all love your new jobs there. Love them so much you’ll never want to leave. Here: I’ve got something you can listen to for the ride.”

He sets a Victrola between us, starts it playing, then scurries out of the truck. A second later, we hear the familiar throb of the organ music. It sends a tingle and throb down my own organ as well. I look over at the hairy-chested man sitting across from me, and it seems that all the worry has left his face as his hand travels down to this lap to play with his own hardening member.

Soon, we are traveling down the road, enraptured by the organ music on the Victrola, stroking each other’s hard members as thoughts of serving the Sheik fill our heads. The farmboy’s rough hands are stroking my shaft as the mustachioed man’s meaty paws play with my balls, and I hold both their units in my hands, rubbing them in time to the heavy throb of the music as I stare at the three men sitting across from me, who seem like they can’t keep their hands off each other’s hard members.

I wonder if the Sheik will let me take all my harem-mates’ members in my mouth, to taste them and swallow their spunk like I did with the mustachioed man. Something tells me that I don’t have to worry. That I will never have to worry again.

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