Chapter 2
Fredrick Beacham, an overweight business man from England wiped the sweat away from his bald head and cheeks with a handkerchief before replacing it back inside his pocket of his robe.
Damn this heat. He thought fanning himself with his fly whisk and pulling his handkerchief again to dab at the never-ending sweat as he headed into the market square.
Nominally he wouldn't be out at this time, when the sun was at it's highest and the temperature was at it hottest, he would much rather be in the shade with a iced drink moaning about something, but he had urges that needed to be settled. If these urges went unchecked and ignored they would scream louder and louder till he gave in, no matter how many times he told himself he wasn't gay.
Once in the market place he found himself a rickshaw and promised to pay the driver double, no triple the amount if he took him and waited for him outside the city's most cleanest brothel by the most discreet route he knew with no questioned asked, at the prospect of being paid a small fortune the rickshaw driver jumped into action, taking him down alleys and back roads.
Beacham had dealings with many people, all over the globe and all of them were very wealthy, he even on occasion did business with royalty. His carefully selected clientele had earned him a very large fortune and a good name, both he was not prepared to lose should any of them know about his escapades, discretion was the key and so far it was a key that had worked no numerous times.
They stopped outside a building on the corner and the driver encouraged Beacham to get out and pay up, which as promised he did saying he would give him the rest when he came out that seemed to displease the rickshaw driver, who had planed to driver off as soon as the English man was inside.
Before Beacham knocked on the door he looked left, right behind, behind left and behind right making sure he was not seen. He smiled to himself, no self respecting gentleman would be seen this far in the city's seedy underbelly or if they were then they would all be like him keeping a low profile. Seeing that it was safe he knocked three times on the brazened hoop knocker causing the door to open.
He was stood in a foyer that was done out in reds, gold and wooden highly decorated furniture, Arabian lanterns hung from the draped covered ceiling and along the walls, incense burned and faint music could be heard passed the moans and groans of pleasure. He saw men, woman and children making out with men women and children.
"Ah welcome, welcome." said a male voice " I am the owner of this places of earthly pleasure and what can we do for you"
The speaker and owner was a local, dress in a white robe with a fez on his head, Beacham was overweight, this guy was chubby.
"Man, woman, child?" he asked
"Male." Beacham replied
"Age?"
" 18- 25." Beacham replied
"then follow me, we have just the one for you" the Moroccan replied
He was taken to room in the same style as the foyer only this had a curtain for privacy. He was told to take a seat on the seat that ran around the edge of the room.
"Now you relaxes and take your time choosing eh." said the owner. "Would you like some wine?"
He held out his hand for a naked girl, cover in jewels to step forward and offer Beacham a goblet on the tray, he took it nodding his thanks to the girl, he would have asked for the petite blonde who had just served him, but not today he had other tings on his mind.
" Are you ready?" the owner asked,
Beacham dipped his head "Send them in."
"Send them in!" called the owner to someone behind the curtain at the far end of the room.
The curtain at the end was pulled back and in came about eleven boys aged eighteen to twenty five, different colour hair, different coloured eyes, different coloured skin, different height, different weight, Beacham study each one in turn as he sipped his wine, he had no idea what was in it but give him lots of peep ready to satisfy his urges.
"Too tall, too ugly, to fat, hmm maybe, no, too short, no, no ,no." his mind told him
He narrowed it down to six no's, three maybes and two yeses. Those that he had rejected were sent back to where ever it was that they had came from and one by one those that were left soon joined them, till there was nobody left.
" Would sir like to try a different age range or about a different sex all together." said the owner
Beacham's thoughts were drawn back to the petite blonde, who was stood in the corner with eyes down.
"How much for her?" he asked
The owner looked over to where the petite blonde was stood.
" I am afraid she is not for sale, she is part of the decoration."
Beachman pulled out a wade of cash from a secret pocket in his robe and began to count.
" How much?" he asked putting note after note catching the owner attention with the amount money he had.
"Stop." the owner called grabbing hold of Beacham's wrist when he thought the amount was reasonable
Beacham shot a look of daggers at the brothel owner and removed his hand from his wrist.
"We do have something, that you might like." said the brothel owner smiling and tilting his head to one side
"What?" asked Beachmen
"Male, blonde, aged early 20s but still young looking and the most unusual eyes you have ever seen."
"How unusual?" Beachham asked
"Lilac, the colour of amethysts"
" How much?" he asked
The owner looked at the pile of money on the table in front of him before flicking through, counting in his head.
" This will do, come with me."
Beacham was led out of the room and up a flight of stairs to the first floor where there were more rooms. It was clear what was going on in the rooms from the sounds that were coming from as he was led passed them to the room at the end of the corridor.
The owner pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the door, before stepping aside so that Beacham could enter.
" Is a hour good for you.?" asked the owner
Beacham dipped his head in agreement
" Then I shall leave to you to it." the owner said before he turned on his heels to leave but stopped and turned around " Oh and one more thing," he said holding up a finger so that he could point towards the door "This one is a deaf mute so don't except him to scream for ya or nothing."
The room was dark, lit only by a few candles, it smelt of alcohol and of something else, opium, thankfully he was a keen opium user himself so nobody would question the smell, should any one notice.
He took the time to take in his surrounding, Same as the other rooms he had been in, Moroccan style colours and wooden highly decorated furniture. It looked empty.
There was a slight movement from the bed followed by the sound of a chin begin moved, Beachman moved closer to the bed.
A male, in his early 20s with pale white skin was laying on the bed naked on their front with their arms under their head . Their hair was a very, very dull blonde that Beacham judged was shoulder length or there about as it was pushed over one shoulder, baring the back of their neck and back. He was chained by one bare foot by bronze hoop that was attached to the side of the bed. Beacham moved so that he was stood by the side of the bed, he reached out and placed a hand on the boy's buttocks, causing him to flinch on contact and ran it all the way up the boy's back as he walked up towards the face. The first thing he noticed about the boy's face when he crouched down to see was not how pale and sickly he looked but the eyes, though they were ringed by dark circles and were staring straight ahead unblinking they were just as the owner had said, the colour of amethysts. He brushed away a strand of hair that was obstructing the view causing the boy turned that purple gaze onto him.
"There," he said knowing the boy couldn't hear him "I can see you now and you can see me."
He stood up and began to under dress.
A hour later Fredrick Beacham's urge had been silenced, till next time. The boy hadn't protested when he had swung his leg over to straddle his thighs but he did flinch when but he had entered with out the aid of lube, to Beacham this was heavily. Before he had gone he had used the rag in the water proved to clean up the boy of blood and other things, amusing himself by slipping in a finger now and then. He had left the boy how he had found him, on his front arms under his head, this time he pulled the thin sheet to cover his lower half patting his buttocks and thanking him before leaving.
Outside it was still very hot and once more out came the hankie to dab at the sweat and on the opposite side of the street waiting of him was his rickshaw.
He did his checks to see if nobody was around and waddle across to his waiting rickshaw. As the driver set off Fredrick Beacham's looked over his shoulder at the brothel and knew he was most definitely going to go back and this time he knew exactly what he want.