Malik Arslan

The teen boy stood tall, his dark skin gleaming under the fading light of day. The silver shoulder guards hung loosely on his lean but athletic form, leaving most of his sculpted muscles covered in nothing more than a fine sheen of oil.

A hundred long braids, threaded with vibrant orange beads, cascaded over his shoulders, framing his young face. His piercing eyes, sharp like his sword's blade, scanned his surroundings for any sign of adventure, while his bare backside leaned casually against the fortress wall.

His uncircumcised manhood dangled freely upon the fullness of his smooth scrotum, like a ripe fruit longing to be tasted by a hungry tongue. His lithe, sinuous form hinted at the possibility that the tongue might just as easily be his own during those lonely patrol hours.

He was Malik, the youngest son of the Benduti tribe's chieftain, now fresh blood in Prince Martin's elite guard. At just eighteen years old, he yearned to prove himself worthy of his place amongst Armbury's finest men. Training every day, mastering the art of love and war alike, his faithful sword in one hand and his equally loyal cock in the other.