[Reader: If you are sexually active, please use healthy precautions, be regular about medical check-ups, and only act with consent. Actions in this fantasy story do not carry consequences. In real life, they do.]
The first nearly 50 chapters of a story that has led to this one that I've written were completed by Jay Benson. His story was named, “The Customer: Dexter’s Saga”. Circumstances in 2020 caused him to discontinue writing. Upon my asking his permission to continue and conclude the saga in 2025, he graciously consented. That has led to “Jessie’s Saga”.
Two Reunions
Once back in the Governor’s Mansion, Yethro wants to hear about my visit with the Caliph. I tell him how the Caliph has plans to train me, groom me, to assist in operations governing the caliphate. Yethro is overjoyed. This will enhance his position just as he’d hoped.
The weeks have sped by, and this Friday will be the wedding . . . MY wedding! I cannot deny my excitement. I know that I am in love with Ronnie.
I have explained to Ronnie about how I will have to start traveling back and forth on a regular schedule of time at home and time at the headquarters. She was unhappy. I was unhappy, too. I have fallen in love with this girl, and I do not want to be separated from her so much. We both know it is necessary, though. We have long range plans.
The day is here! It is Friday. Ronnie and I must appear before the iman in his office to sign the marriage agreement. That makes it official. Then, we go to the celebration. Were this in the Middle East, there would be two separate gatherings – one male and the other female. Especially with Yethro’s position in the community at large, though, this is being done very much “the American way”. There is eating and drinking (not alcohol), traditional dances, one of them where a woman has all the gold jewelry promised in the dowry upon a platter she carries above her head. She ends by stopping at the dais where Ronnie and I are seated. We rise. I take the jewelry, piece by piece, and I bedeck her with it. The night goes long. Finally, it is over. We retire to our room . . . and I slowly and sensually undress my wife. We have long, slow, passionate sex . . . more than just once.
The month since the wedding has flown by. In one more week, I must return to “My” Caliph. (I don’t understand it, but that is the way I have come to be thinking of him.)
Ronnie’s and my last week together following our wedding is over. Today, I am to fly on a plane rented by a dummy company directly to the headquarters of the caliphate. There are tears. Ronnie is crying . . . and worried – still recalling vividly her kidnapping to Sinai. She fears the same might happen to me. I try to console her. Although I am not worrying about being kidnapped, I am shedding tears at the prospect of being separated from her for the next five weeks.
As Rashid drives me to the private flights section of the airport, we talk about how far things have come. He still looks forward to being my right-hand man when I’m president – and the American Caliph. I tell him not to get ahead of ourselves. That might happen – we both want it to happen – but one never knows the future until it is the present. Rashid is just “lit up” with his big plans, though. The “poor boy makes good” syndrome. He sees it all!
The flight is long, but the private jet (a first for me) makes it seem like I’m in my living room or a study. I think, “I could get used to this.” Then I realize, this is going to be my new normal. To my surprise, My Caliph is present himself in the hangar where the plane taxis in and stops. My surprise is physical, too . . . I realize that my cock has immediately erected. I had changed into nothing other than my jalabiya on the plane . . . and the tent at its front is obvious. Haroun looks at me, laughs as he looks down, but immediately hugs me tightly . . . pressing our two hard cocks against each other.
Now in his limousine, he says, “Tell me, my boy . . . tell me all about the wedding – and about all your efforts to make babies for the Prophet’s bloodline that you now share.” I tell him about the passionate sex that I have been having every night since my wedding. He smiles, and he says with a sly smile on his face, “My boy, we will replace that – and more – each of the nights in the coming weeks . . . in my bed.” Without thinking, this causes me to reach into his crotch and grip his hard member in my fist through his jalabiya (which, like me, is the only garment he is wearing). He turns and places his lips to mine. I open mine, willingly inviting his tongue into my mouth. We kiss passionately for minutes, then break as we laugh happily. I am happy to be with My Caliph again. It is the first time since leaving the states in the plane that my thoughts have not been on my wife. I realize that I do not feel in the least bit guilty at this. (Why?)
As soon as we arrive at Haroun’s quarters, we strip naked and fall into each other’s arms. We kiss long and deep. My hands are all over him and his all over me. We are like frantic youngsters excited to be naked with each other . . . with our lover. Haroun bends me over the end of the couch and plunges his hard and leaking cock into my tube without any preparation. He has rightly assumes that my body is always “ready”. I grab onto it with my anal muscles, and I start milking it.
He exclaims, “Habibi! You are fucking my cock with your ass! That is not possible!” I reply – “Do you remember that brothel master I told you about? He was a true master of real man-sex. He taught me that . . . and so much more! You have more yet to experience from my trained body, My Master.”
After he seeds me, I take his slimed shaft and clean it thoroughly with my mouth. I delight in doing this especially as it is a way of allowing My Caliph to debase me. (Why do I want this?)
After sleeping in the Caliph’s arms, I awake feeling excellent. At breakfast, he tells me that I’ll spend the next week shadowing him in all his activities. He says he doubts that there will be any event that will require me to allow him privacy.
I am thinking that my next report to Phil will, no doubt, have a great deal of new information useful in keeping the caliphate from succeeding.
Haroun removes a file from a cabinet. He says, “This is important. We have a network of new converts – secret converts – many of whom work in Washington. This file is a list of them. Some even work on the staffs of members of the president’s cabinet!”
I cannot believe that the Caliph is starting right off with something so very sensitive. I say to him, “Sir. My Master. Are you certain that you wish me to see this . . . so early on in my training?”
“My boy, I am a most superior judge of men. I have judged you. You are to be my second in charge of the entire caliphate. There is nothing that I plan to keep secret from you.”
I have to wonder whether this might be a test trap. Maybe some of these persons are not converts at all – but a move taken against them after my being told about them would show me to be a spy. I will have to give this caveat to Phil when I transfer the info to him. Otherwise, it could be my balls!
Later in the morning, I am ushered into the Caliph’s imam’s office in another part of town. He is very gracious . . . and speaks Oxford-sounding English! My Caliph introduces us . . . and then says, “Today we begin. Jessie is to have an hour’s instructions from you every day. Is right now a good time to begin?”
An hour later, the imam is expressing that he is impressed with how much I have learned already in the States. He says he is happy with the great respect with which I regard the Koran and Islam . . . and that he agrees that a “false” conversion should not be made just to please My Caliph.
In the afternoon, following lunch, another introduction takes place. It is the Arabic instructor. His English is not so good. This will be a good thing. It will make it necessary to do a lot more communicating in Arabic. I’ll just have to be really careful not to give away my expertise with proper Arabic as well as many dialects! I will be “a very fast learner”, though! We will start tomorrow with a daily hour following lunch. Actually, I am anticipating this. It will give me a chance to really get back into an appreciation of the language. I’ve always loved it.
Every night, I am sleeping in My Caliph’s bed. I never presume to enter his bed. I always wait for his command. It is never an invitation. We are both nude, of course. I have come to know well what he most desires and how he wants it. I begin by lying on my side, facing his prone body. I raise my head to kiss him, moving my hand to his usually already erect cock. I start to stroke it slowly as we kiss deeply. This will go on for as much a quarter of an hour. Then, when I feel it is the right moment, I move my head to his crotch and place his leaking cock into my mouth. I suck it gently. Then, I always kiss each of his balls, followed by taking them one by one into my mouth and just rolling them around with my tongue. We will both be moaning a lot by this time. Then, I take the tip of his cock into my mouth . . . and immediately swallow it completely into my throat . . . where I hold it and start humming around it. Once his hips start to move, I come off of his rod and lie over on my back, pulling his body over mine. I raise my legs and he places my ankles on his shoulders. Just as fast as I had swallowed his cock, he now plunges it all the way into my hole in one huge thrust . . . and stays inside me. After a bit, he may move just a bit back, but then right away forward again. Since part of his greatest thickness is teasing my prostate when he does this, he could continue it all night as far as I’m concerned. Finally, he will seed me . . . and since we must sleep, he rather soon withdraws from my chute.
On some nights, this varies. But this is what I have found pleases him the most. (Nor do I mind it!) Plus, I want (yes, WANT) to please “My” Caliph. (I am nightly asking myself as I fall off to sleep after our sex, WHY is this so?)
The first two weeks have followed the routine that My Caliph dictated on my first full day here. I am actually enjoying it. I don’t even find myself consciously thinking about my “spy status” except when some gem is being dropped into my lap to report back to Phil on my next rotation home.
Today, My Caliph told me he wants to show me the farms. He has a fair number of slaves there who are overseen by members of his military. They are mostly captured from among enemy fighters. He has them collared into coffles of six men, all connected with a wooden yoke that closes around their necks. He said that doing this makes it nearly impossible for any escapes. They would have to be so coordinated as to move and run as one . . . and to where would they run to?
As we return, he goes around the back of the headquarters, and we enter an area I haven’t seen before.
“My boy, this is directly underneath my harems, one male and one female. I’ll not show you the inside of the female one when we go upstairs, but I will let you see the male harem. I have three concubines there. I think you will be impressed. But here, on the ground level, are two brothels for the soldiers and servants who are not slaves to use.”
We walk through an iron gate into a large exercise yard. Military guards are watching as about ten naked men are lifting heavy weights, dragging huge tires on ropes back and forth on the ground. Most of the men have very small nub steel cages containing their cocks.
“These are the brothel slaves, Jessie. Some of them have been here for years. They are very skilled.”
I realize that I am getting hard all of a sudden upon coming onto this scene unexpectedly. “I see, My Caliph, that you keep them in chastity . . . but a few of them are not.”
“Let’s approach more closely. Now do you see why?”
“Ohh! Yes. I do see. The uncaged slaves are castrated!”
“HaHa. Yes. Those eunuchs can’t get stiff enough for long enough to plow a furrow! Every now and then, there’s one who gets too zealous about trying, though. That’s when I have to tell the veterinarian to give them estrogen.”
We move beyond the exercise area and into a big room which is apparently where the brothel slaves live. In one part of the large area, there are a few rows of poles anchored in concrete and coming out of the ground to about four feet high. Each of them has some steel rings welded to it. They are about ten feet from one another. There is straw all over the floor in that area. Looks like that’s all they get to sleep on. Don’t see anything for them to piss or shit in. It does stink pretty bad in here. This is nothing like as good as the Sultan’s brothel where I was enslaved!
Beyond that area, most of the rest of the large high-ceilinged room is filled with slings suspended from rafters and a number of chains just slung over the rafters with cuffs on the two ends hanging down. A few St. Andrew crosses are erected, and there are about a dozen fucking benches plus tables loaded with dildos, whips, tit clamps, vibrators, electric collars . . . everything and more that a soldiers’ brothel might be expected to have.
I say to Haroun, “Hmm. Sultan, the man who owned the brothel where I was a slave, would be impressed! His was very well-stocked, but you put him to shame, My Caliph, with the amount of equipment you have over there! I will say, though, that his place smelled better!”
“Jessie, the sluts are led to a trench a few times a day to piss and shit. Sometimes, they can’t wait. They clean up in here every morning with hoses and shovels. That’s when they get hosed down, too.”
Smiling, he answers, “Let’s look at the female brothel now.”
We do so, and it’s much like the male one, but without the heavy exercise equipment outside. There, it’s more stretching mats and light weights laid out. The women are given enough sun to keep their color. Like the male slaves, they, too, are naked. I look at them - and realize that I lusted more for the men we just saw.
Now, let’s go upstairs to my male harem. It is NOT like this place. It’s quite plush there.”
Once there, I see that it looks like an expensive hotel with sets of suites would look. Each of the concubines had his own set of rooms, and the common rooms are large and well furnished. On the roof, they have their own exercise yard and equipment . . . and pool. That is where they are as we enter. They all prostrate themselves and crawl to kiss the Caliph’s feet. Then, he tells them to stand and “Present”. That means that they stand rigidly straight, hands behind their heads, abs sucked in, and pelvises pushed forward. Each of them looks like he might have been plucked from an Atlas competition. My cock is as hard as a rock!
“Beautiful, My Caliph. Absolutely beautiful. But – why am I not surprised that you would have nothing but the best as your concubines!”
As the number of days began to stretch out, I am getting fewer and fewer “new” things about which to report back to Phil. Maybe that’s just as well, as I would be at risk of forgetting some . . . or, at least, some of the details. I am talking on the phone nearly daily with Ronnie, and less regularly with Yethro. Occasionally, Rashid and I also talk. I always assume that these calls have a third person on the line. It might be from D.C. or it might be from right here in the caliphate headquarters. I never say anything that I don’t want repeated at either place.
Then, one day there’s magnificent news! Ronnie tells me that she is pregnant! She doesn’t yet know the baby’s gender . . . just that she is going to give birth. We are both overjoyed. I ask her who already knows. She said only her mother – and now me – so far. She wanted to wait to tell her brother or my father until I knew. She answered my question about the due date telling me that it would be in about six and a half months.
I am so happy! I just have to share this happiness. I absolutely can’t “sit” on it. Even if I could and the Caliph found out that I had not shared such big news with him immediately, he would be more than just mildly upset. I must go to him now.
“My boy, my boy! That is wonderful news. So – in six and a half months, you will be the father of your first son!”
“My Caliph – we don’t yet know the baby’s gender.”
“It is a son, Jessie. I am correct about this.”
I will confess that I hope that he is, indeed, right.
“So, Jessie. That means four more cycles of time here and time in the States. Something tells me that on that last cycle you might be flying back to the West before all five of those weeks are over. I know that you will not want to risk missing the birth.”
“You are so very right, Haroun! Thank you, My Master!”
“Jessie. Long ago, I told you that you did not need to address me formally. Just now, you took me at my word . . . but rarely do you do so. Why, my boy?”
The question has caught me off guard. I have to think. Do I know why? After a longer hesitation than I’d like, I more “hear myself saying” than think and then speak: “My Caliph. It is because from within myself, I almost must address you as ‘My Caliph’ or ‘My Master’. It just does not seem to show my low status when in your presence to do otherwise.” (Why is this so??)
“Hmm. That is very interesting, my boy. It sounds very subservient. Almost ‘slavish’. I like it . . . boy. From now on, I wish you to continue it . . . boy.”
My cock has gone completely hard! I again hear myself speaking, “My Caliph. My body is responding to your new wishes, your new orders. Thank you . . . My Master.”
(Why the hell is this happening? I am spying on the son of a bitch! It cannot be that I am actually feeling subservience before him. It just can’t be. But – something IS going on inside me.)
Over the coming weeks, My Caliph is putting more and more of the mundane, daily sorts of responsibilities in my hands. They are not especially complicated or detailed. Neither do they expose me to much new information. Now and then, a tidbit might fall to me but not like at the start.
To be continued.
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