In the dimly lit room, the Maulana, his beard neatly trimmed, sits on his prayer mat, his robe bunched up around his waist. His student, a young man with wide eyes and a nervous smile, kneels before him. The Maulana, usually so pious and stern, guides the boy's head down, his cock already hard and leaking. The boy takes it tentatively, his inexperience clear. The Maulana, his voice a low, gravelly whisper, guides him, "Take it slow, my child. Feel the power of Allah's gifts." The boy, choking back tears, takes the cock deeper, his gag reflex fighting against the intrusion. The Maulana, his grip firm, helps him, his own ragged breaths filling the room with the scent of musk and sweat.