Here is chapter 10, thanks again for all the great letters, I really appreciate them. Emails are always welcome: jetjockboy@yahoo.com
Don't Get Caught - Chapter 10
Rick closed his eyes and relaxed. The combined warmth of the hot tub's bubbly water, the strong sun, and the Emir's lap enveloped him in a sense of calm and serenity he'd not felt in a long time.
He sat in the Emir's lap, head resting on his shoulder, gasping and moaning quietly in response to the Emir's caresses, while the sun warmed his face. It was the first time Rick could remember being outside in so long. It felt so good; Rick had no desire to move, to worry, to think.
The Emir watched his slave's face and was content. It had been a week since their first intimate encounter, the Emir and his slave, and although the Emir was still uncertain what actually turned the boy, he was quite convinced that the boy was indeed his. Still, the restraints remained in place, the slave conceding that if he were in the Emir's place, he'd do the same.
The Emir continued to stroke his slave's body, both men getting more and more aroused. He watched the slave's face and listened to the soft moans, cuffed hands relaxed in front, and marveled at how fantastically excited this slave made him. The Emir marveled at how this slave was one he never had to break, at how he just seemed to move in the right direction naturally, and how since he'd never completely been `broken' in traditional Emirate style, he'd retained an edge, one that kept his intellect and wit intact and one the Emir found very sexy. Every once in a while a shadow of doubt crept in, a shadow prodded on by his friend Nigel, that the slave was just pretending, a very good actor, waiting for the opportunity to complete his mission, motivated by a sense of duty. But, as he watched his boy, radiating serenity, yielding all control, he found it hard to believe. He didn't want to believe, he couldn't believe.
One of the Emir's hands ran its way down to his slave's hard cock while the other gently rubbed his balls. The slave moaned, stiffened for a second, and relaxed again.
As for Rick, his mind was empty, open, free of thoughts. The thoughts that usually ran at warp speed, the ones that constantly put him in conflict with himself, the cynicism, mistrust, and constant analysis he'd grown so accustomed to. He remembered that first time they were intimate, the Emir's words, "let me play you like you played that piano." He focused solely on his master's hands.
Rick felt the Emir's hands go down to his cock and balls and jumped slightly at the pleasant sensation, the gentle caresses becoming more focused, more steady, and Rick's heart began to speed up as he pushed his head back further on the Emir's shoulder and moaned softly. The hand, which had been caressing his balls, trailed up his chest and began to work first one nipple, then the other, pinching and rolling, pinching and rolling. He felt the Emir's breath on his neck and the kisses, soft bites really...each one causing Rick to lose his breath momentarily. He was rock hard, heart racing, with ragged breath, all the while with eyes closed.
He felt the Emir's breath in his ear before he heard the words, "You may come now, slave", whispered. The combination of the words and the sensation of the whisper sent goose bumps up his legs, his ass, his arms, as it was all his body needed to hear, and sure enough, as it had worked every single time since he'd met the Emir, the words did it. Again, this orgasm was powerful and uncontrollable and started from someplace he'd never tapped before the two met, through the whole of his body. He lay there at peace in the hot tub, spasm after spasm, while the Emir whispered to him, "Good slave... good boy, yes... yes... my god I am going to eat you whole."
And when it was over, he lost all muscle control. The Emir held him up by the armpit to keep his head from going under water while he caught his breath and came back to reality. The Emir held Rick's chin and turned his head so they faced. Once done, they kissed passionately, while time ceased to exist and the rest of the world disappeared.
The Emir smiled, "My turn." He positioned Rick at the other end of the hot tub, facing the side with his cuffed hands over the edge, knees on the bench, legs spread. At the first touch of his hole, Rick groaned and laid his head down on the hot tub's side, the bubbles of the hot tub, the warm sun on his back, the touch of the Emir again overwhelmed him, he was just a mass of sensation.
He felt the Emir's finger enter his hole and waves of pleasure shot through him, his cock shooting back to full attention. The finger wiggled and teased his prostate and then was motionless. A minute passed like this.
"Well?" It was the Emir's voice, and the tone was stern.
"I am sorry Master."
"That just earned you a demerit."
"Yes Master, I deserve it, for fucking up."
"Fucking up what?"
"When you stop like that I am supposed to talk.... to tell you what I feel...that I want it. Because it turns you on...because it makes me humble to beg for you to fill my ass...to fuck me. And I do feel humble, and I do beg you master, to fuck me because I truly like it, because it's you doing it."
"Good comeback, but you still get the demerit."
Rick nodded his head in agreement, the motionless finger in his ass distracting him.
"Demerit number two." The Emir's voice again was stern, "You know I hate that nodding shit. It's YES MASTER."
Rick turned and looked the Emir in the eye, by the look on his face; the Emir could tell that Rick was angry with himself. Rick gritted his teeth for a second and then spoke, "You are right, Master. You told me that already and already I didn't do it a few times. I am angry with myself but I know I deserve it, and for what it's worth...I am sorry, Master."
The Emir had explained the system of merits and demerits to Rick after the first time they were together. Every action that broke one of the Emir's rules was given an appropriate amount of demerits, for every action by which the Emir was pleased a demerit would be removed. Three times a week, the demerits would be tallied and every one counted as fifteen minutes in a session with Nigel. Thus four demerits equaled an hour. An hour in which Nigel could do as he saw fit...with the exception that he could not fuck the Emir's slave.
"You must enjoy your time with Nigel is all I can say. Now turn over and help me recapture the mood."
Rick turned around, sat on the bench, and began to massage the Emir's cock and balls, the Emir, standing over him began to kiss his lips, and they kissed long and passionate. The Emir gave Rick a couple of pats on the chest to indicate he was ready, and Rick returned to his previous position, ass to the Emir.
This time, instead of the slow fingers, the Emir began to press his cock against Rick's hole. Rick lost no time this time.
"Yes Master, I want it...I am nervous because before always you put the fingers, but I want it, please.... please give me your cock."
And with that, the Emir, using all his weight, gave one giant shove into his slave. Rick screamed, the Emir was motionless.
"Master", Rick exclaimed between breaths, "Master...I....Master I know why you did that, and yes it hurt me but now you are in and I want it. Please."
"Please what?"
"Please fuck the shit out of me. Always before you were gentle but if you like this I know I will like it, too. Hard, soft, whatever, I am addicted to you Master."
"You're what?" The Emir was incredulous.
"I am addicted to you Master." The reply came in a soft slow tone, the reality of it hitting the slave as he spoke the words.
That was all the Emir needed to hear. He rammed his slave like there was no tomorrow and the slave took it all, sometimes screaming, sometimes moaning, all the while bucking in rhythm. The Emir knew he wouldn't last long, his slave was making him crazy with lust, and not too much later he rammed himself in hard and stayed there while he shot load after load. Rick was moaning and shaking, the Emir realized his slave was cumming too, and the sensation was incredible.
The Emir put his arms around Rick's waist and laid his head down on Rick's back, and lay there, catching his breath.
"God, I can't stand up any longer." He held tight to Rick's stomach, pulling him, and flopped down on the other side of the hot tub, sitting, still inside the slave, the slave now on his lap. He pulled out so that Rick could sit more comfortably and both men just laid there, in a semi trance, recovering.
Rick's state of relaxation was interrupted by a sound he knew well, he heard it from a distance and barely needed to look up to confirm what his ears told him. An American fighter jet was screaming across the sky, barely overhead. The sound of this plane was one with which Rick was intimately familiar; it was the one in which he himself had flown so many missions.
He sat immobile, waiting for the Emir's reaction, but there was none. He turned, straddled the Emir and looked him in the eye. The Emir returned the look but said nothing. Rick raised his cuffed hands over the Emir's head and onto his back, he moved in to kiss, but the Emir's hand caught his chin.
"Ask." The Emir said.
Rick bit his lip and hesitated before he replied, "I am not sure I want to know, Master." He began to massage the Emir's shoulders.
"Yes, you do, Rick, you can't help it. You and I both know that you know exactly what that was."
Rick looked down for a moment, sighed, and looked back into the Emir's eyes, "We are no where near the capital. We are in the north country, aren't we, Master?"
"Yes."
"And no one knows that you...that this, " he gestured at his surroundings with his head, "is all here."
"Well, I would venture to guess that there are those who do know that we are here...or I should say, that I am here, but you didn't, nor does your former government."
"If they do, then they never told me."
"And what do you make of that?"
Rick kissed the Emir's nipples, the Emir groaned, and Rick answered, "I am trying not to care."
"I don't know whether to believe you or not, but I am going to take you at your word, slave." And the two men kissed again.
The Emir sat at a grand chair in front of the enormous large desk that stood in the center of his massive and impressive office, the slave sitting on the floor in front of him cross-legged, dressed only in a pair of loose drawstring pair of white cotton pants, his hands cuffed in front.
The large wooden double doors opened and Waleed Khalil entered, followed by three naked slaves shaved from head to toe, wearing nothing except black leather collars and the cuffs keeping their hands behind their backs. Waleed motioned to the slaves to stand by the wall next to the door as he proceeded to the Emir. He took the Emir's hand in both of his, smiled, and spoke, "Emir, you are looking quite well." He looked at the slave seated at the Emir's legs, "And I see you are making good of your last purchase."
The Emir patted Rick on the head. Although he did not let on, he noticed his slave's attention focused on the new slaves, and the familiar biting of the lip and narrowing of the eyes that he had come to recognize when his slave's mental gears were working overtime. He addressed the slave trader, "And you look good as well. Business must be treating you well, Waleed. Please --", the Emir gestured to a chair a few feet away, "Please do have a seat."
Waleed sat down and partook of the coffee that was offered by one of the palace slaves, "Thank you very much, Emir."
"Tell me, Waleed, what brings you here?"
"A gift, Emir." Waleed pointed to the slaves, who were standing at attention, legs slightly apart, heads bowed. "Americans, special forces. The older one, he was a colonel."
The Emir shifted his gaze to the slaves, "Magnificent."
"And, although I know you enjoy breaking them, as part of your gift I took the liberty of having them broken for you. They are ready to serve. Very ready. It's been a good year for me, Emir, thanks mostly to you, and I wanted to show my appreciation."
The Emir glanced at his slave. Rick's hands had left his lap, and the side of his left index finger was moving across his lips as looked back and forth between the new arrivals and Waleed, his eyes still narrow.
"That is very kind, Waleed. What can they do?"
"Anything. Anything and everything you ask. I assure you, completely ready to serve."
The Emir played with his mustache as he thought for a moment, "hmmm interesting. Do they have names?"
"No, Emir. I have been calling them pussy 1, pussy 2 and pussy 3, in the order you see them standing, starting with the former colonel. But they will answer to anything."
The Emir looked down at Rick, "Slave?"
Rick looked up, "Yes Master?"
"Take off those pants, and lay on the floor, legs spread."
Rick's eyes darted around the room for a split second, "Yes Master." Still sitting, he began to obey.
The Emir looked across the room, "You, Pussy 1 over there. Come here." He pointed to a spot a couple of feet in front of him.
Wordlessly, Andre Menendez approached the Emir. Upon reaching the Emir's throne, he got down on his knees and resumed his gaze at the floor.
The Emir glanced at Rick, lying naked on the rug, staring up at the ceiling, poker faced, "Hands over your head, slave."
Rick's hands moved immediately, "Yes Master."
The Emir got up from his chair, Waleed began to rise as well and stopped in response to a motion of the Emir's hand. The Emir placed a foot on Rick's handcuffs and spoke, "Ok pussy one, show me what you've learned. Get my slave off. You have five minutes."
Rick remained motionless as his old teacher and mentor crawled over to him, licked his lips, and began complying with the Emir's orders. At first Rick had no response, but the Emir squatted and began twisting his slave's nipples, and it was not long before Rick's body took over. The Colonel was licking and sucking all the right places and Rick moaned as he looked directly into the Emir's eyes. Rick and the Emir kissed and Rick could feel the buildup starting. The Emir leaned over and Rick knew what was coming next, "You may cum now slave" was whispered in his ear, and as usual the words had the desired effect. Rick spewed into his former mentor's mouth over and over until he lay exhausted and panting.
The Emir got up, returned to his chair, and looked over at `Pussy 1', "Now clean him." He demanded, while watching Rick jump at the feel of the new slave's tongue on his now sensitive cock.
Upon completion of his task, the colonel sat back up on his knees, eyes to the floor.
Waleed spoke, "You may speak, pussy."
"Thank you Master for allowing me to suck such a wonderful cock."
The Emir cocked his head, "Pussy slave, where are you from?'
"Puerto Rico, Master."
"Ah, that explains the accent." The Emir was speaking to Waleed, who nodded. "Now get up and bend over that desk."
The Colonel did as he was told, all the while with eyes downcast, and a look on his face that was best described as numb. The Emir looked over at Rick. His slave had not moved; laying on the floor, hands overhead, legs spread, and his eyes were closed. The Emir took off his robe and began to fuck his new slave. The slave for his part remained motionless. The Emir was starting to enjoy himself, ramming the colonel harder and faster, trying to illicit a response. Finally, he heard the slave grunt. The Emir yelled, "Rick, you better be watching this. If I look at you and your eyes are still closed you will have 8 demerits."
"Yes Master." Rick complied.
The Emir pounded his new slave, who began grunting and sweating with every thrust. Harder and harder, faster and faster. He turned to make sure Rick was watching and noticed an odd expression on the slave's face, "What is that?" More thrusts, "What"... thrust... "is"... thrust... "that"... thrust... "look"... thrust... "on"... thrust... "your"... thrust ..."face"... thrust `..."slave?"
The response was fast. "Jealousy, Master."
As the Emir's voice had an effect on Rick, the same was the case for the Emir. Upon hearing Rick's answer, he slammed one last time into his new willing slave, "Ohhhh my god, god damn", and spasmed for five minutes before stopping.
The Emir caught his breath. Two servant slaves came over with a washcloth and cleaned the Emir up and helped him on with his robe. The Emir walked over to Waleed, "I accept your generous gift, Waleed. You are a good man, thank you."
Waleed stood up and took a small bow, "It is indeed my pleasure, Emir. May you enjoy them in good health, and may we work together for many more happy years to come." The two men shook hands, Waleed continued, "I will show myself out, Emir, thanks once again."
"Good day, Waleed."
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Coty Michaels, president of the United States of America, sat in the top-secret conference room, one of the many rooms hidden below the Executive Offices. He watched, amused, as his cabinet members jockeyed for the best position relative to him at the large conference table. He watched as the technicians fooled with the camera, the microphone and the screen, testing, correcting and perfecting the picture and voice that was to come momentarily from the scrambled broadcast.
Michaels reached into his suit pocket and took out a pack of Marlboros. He placed a cigarette in his mouth, and was fumbling for his lighter when he was interrupted by the sound of Craig Cannon, his national security advisor, bursting through the door.
In terms of physical appearance and demeanor, Michaels and Cannon could not have been more different. The President, a handsome 52, full head of dark hair graying at the temples, olive skin, dark eyes, a physique that showed everyone what many years of faithful attendance at the gym could do, a passionate man, who usually wore his heart on his sleeve, and his advisor, 72 5'4", bald, very conservative, and very quiet. But they shared the same core beliefs, a strong sense of morality and a strong belief that their country proactively defend itself. Unlike his predecessor, this president chose to defend covertly, relying on intelligence and secret operations to get the business done.
"Mr. President, the UN, the media, the American public. You can't keep secrets in this day and age." Cannon had told him.
"Mr. Cannon, crap, crap, crap. Let them all live in ignorant bliss. In fifty years, the historians can figure out we rid the world of terrorists. For now, let's just get the job done. Quickly, quietly, surgically." And those last words had become the mantra of the Michaels administration...quickly, quietly, surgically.
"Really, Coty, you don't need that." Cannon was pointing to the cigarette hanging from the president's mouth.
Michaels held out his hands, palms up and lifted them one at a time, as if physically weighing his options, "hmmm, need it, want it, need it, want it." He lit the cigarette, "Guess I want it, Craig."
Craig Cannon shook his bald head, "Childish, Coty. 30 years out of college and still the silly frat boy."
Coty smiled and shook his head, "30 years out of college and you still think you're my professor."
"I think that because it's true." Cannon smiled. He couldn't help it, his former student, now his boss, was charming. Even when he was being a sarcastic juvenile.
Michaels turned his attention to the entire room, "Gentleman....ladies", he held his hands in the air, "What's the problem? Let's get this going already."
"Yes, Mr. President", was the group response.
"Mr. President?" A young technician standing next to the large computer screen addressed him.
Michaels smiled to himself and wondered if all technical people looked like Bill Gates or just the ones employed in the white house, "Yes, son?"
"We are ready, Sir."
"Ok, let's rip."
The black screen faded and Waleed Khalil's face appeared.
"Good morning, Waleed." Cannon began the conversation.
"Thank you Mr. Cannon, it's evening here, but thank you just the same."
"Waleed, I'd like to thank you for joining us today, you and I have spoken before, but I'd like you to update the President personally on the latest developments."
The President spoke, "Good Evening Sir."
"Good evening Mr. President. I am going to assume that Mr. Cannon and CIA director Herman have briefed you as to who I am, and the part I play in this mission."
"Yes, they have. And may I say you are doing a great service to your nation and all nations of the free non terrorist world."
"I don't know about that Mr. President, but anyway, I have managed to penetrate the special forces team into the brother's palace. Unfortunately there were casualties, but they are in."
"Shit." The president paused while he dragged on his cigarette. "How many?"
"Three are left. I am sorry, Sir."
The president looked like he had been punched in the face, "Shit" He banged the table with his fist, "Goddamit." He paused before he spoke again. "And the Israeli?"
"I am not sure what is going on with that."
"What do you mean?"
"He's been in there longer, two week head start and he's not attempted to carry out the mission. He may be compromised. He may have to be killed."
"No, I don't want him killed. I know him, he's a good man. He'd never turn."
"It's too late, Mr. President, it's out of my hands."
The president sighed, "I understand. Waleed, thank you."
"Have a good day, Mr. President. I will update my contact here as I have news."
The screen went black again.
The President of the United States pushed his cigarette into the large glass ashtray, extinguishing it, "Sometimes I hate this job", he said.