The desert stretched endlessly, a sea of sand under a merciless sun. Amidst the dunes stood the Mektoub, a towering beast of burden, its leathery feet sinking into the shifting grains. Beside it knelt Samir, his wrists bound with coarse hemp, his bare chest glistening with sweat. He was a gay slave, and today, his master, Karim, would bind him to the Feet of the Mektoub in a ritual of submission.

The Desert’s Keeper

Karim approached, his robes billowing in the dry wind, his dark eyes fixed on Samir. He carried a leather strap in one hand, its edges worn from use. “You’re mine, slave,” he said, his voice cutting through the silence of the wastes. “The Mektoub bears our burdens, and its feet mark our path. You’ll honor them as you honor me.”

Samir shivered despite the heat. As a gay man, he’d wandered the desert tribes, seeking purpose, until Karim claimed him. Now, as a gay slave, he lived for these moments—rituals that tethered him to his master’s will. The Mektoub loomed above, its massive feet broad and cracked, a symbol of endurance in this harsh land.

“Kneel closer,” Karim commanded, pointing to the beast’s foreleg. Samir shuffled forward, the sand burning his knees, until he was inches from the Mektoub’s foot. “You’re my slave,” Karim said, “and I’m your master. These feet carry us—now they’ll carry your devotion.”

The Binding

Karim knelt beside Samir, looping the leather strap around his wrists and then around the Mektoub’s ankle, securing him to the beast. The creature stood still, its breath a low rumble, its foot unyielding as stone. Samir felt the weight of it, the power it held, mirroring his master’s dominance. He was a gay slave, and this binding was his truth.

“Feel it,” Karim ordered, pressing Samir’s hands against the rough hide of the Mektoub’s foot. The texture was coarse, warm from the sun, a living monument to survival. “You serve me through this,” Karim said, his tone firm. “The Feet of the Mektoub are sacred, and you’re their keeper now.”

Samir pressed his palms harder, the heat seeping into his skin. His heart raced, a mix of fear and reverence. “Yes, Master,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the wind. Karim smiled, a rare crack in his stern facade, and Samir knew he’d pleased him—a gay slave earning his place.

The Trial of Dust

Karim stood, tugging the strap to test its hold. “Walk,” he said, and the Mektoub lumbered forward, dragging Samir along. The sand churned beneath the beast’s feet, each step a thunderous press into the earth. Samir stumbled, his bound wrists pulling tight, but he kept pace, a gay slave tethered to his master’s will.

“You’re mine,” Karim called over the wind, striding beside the Mektoub. “Its feet mark your path, slave. Follow them.” Samir’s legs burned, the rope chafing his skin, but he focused on the Mektoub’s feet—broad, steady, unyielding. They were his guide, his punishment, his honor.

The desert blurred around him, a haze of gold and heat. Samir’s breath came in gasps, but he didn’t falter. He was a gay man, yes, but here, he was more—a slave proving his worth beneath the Feet of the Mektoub. Karim watched, his gaze piercing, a master measuring his creation.

The Offering

After an hour, Karim halted the Mektoub, its feet sinking deep into a dune. “Enough,” he said, untying Samir from the beast. Samir collapsed, his body trembling, but Karim lifted him to his knees. “Offer yourself,” he commanded, pointing to the Mektoub’s foot. Samir hesitated, then pressed his lips to the dusty hide, a gay slave giving his all.

The taste was bitter, gritty, but Samir kissed harder, his devotion spilling out. “You’re my slave,” Karim said, his voice softening. “And I’m your master. This is your offering—to me, to the Mektoub.” Samir nodded, tears mixing with the sand on his face, his heart full.

The beast stood silent, its foot a altar for their bond. Samir felt its strength, its permanence, and knew he belonged here—bound to his master, marked by the Feet of the Mektoub. “Thank you, Master,” he murmured, his voice raw but steady.

The Cleansing

Karim produced a small flask of water, rare and precious in the desert. “Clean it,” he said, handing it to Samir. Samir poured the liquid over the Mektoub’s foot, washing away the dust, revealing the deep lines of its hide. He was a gay slave, and this act was his privilege.

“You honor me through this,” Karim said, watching closely. “The Feet of the Mektoub are our strength, and you’re their servant.” Samir’s hands moved carefully, the water pooling in the sand, a small oasis born of his submission. He was a gay man transformed, a slave cleansed by his master’s command.

When the flask emptied, Karim took Samir’s hands, pulling him close. “You’re mine,” he said, his voice a vow. “A slave who bears my mark.” Samir leaned into him, the Mektoub’s foot beside them, a silent witness to their union.

The Night’s Claim

As dusk fell, the desert cooled, the Mektoub settling into the sand. Karim built a small fire, its light dancing across the beast’s feet. Samir sat at his master’s side, the rope now a loose coil around his wrists. “You’ve done well,” Karim said, his tone warm. “A gay slave worthy of the Mektoub.”

Samir smiled, the ache in his body fading under Karim’s praise. The Feet of the Mektoub loomed in the firelight, their cracks and scars a map of their journey. “I’m yours, Master,” he said, his voice steady. Karim nodded, his hand resting on Samir’s shoulder, a master claiming his own.

The night deepened, the stars a canopy above. Samir felt the weight of the day, the power of the ritual, and knew he’d never stray from this path—a gay slave bound to his master, forever tied to the Feet of the Mektoub.

The Eternal Bond

Days passed, and the ritual became legend among the tribes. Samir walked beside the Mektoub, its feet a constant rhythm in his life. He was a gay man, yes, but more—a slave honored by his master’s trust. Karim led them onward, his presence a beacon in the sands.

“You’re my gay slave,” Karim said one evening, the Mektoub resting nearby. “And I’m your master. The Feet of the Mektoub are ours.” Samir nodded, his heart full, the beast’s feet a symbol of their unbreakable bond.

The desert stretched on, but Samir no longer feared its vastness. With Karim as his master and the Mektoub as his guide, he’d found his place—beneath the Feet of the Mektoub, a slave forever claimed.