[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”.
Confused Loyalties
FINALLY, today is the day I return to my pregnant wife. I will feel my child moving inside her with my hand! A shiver moves up and down my spine at this thought. All these last nine years I have been “married” to my job . . . and my country. I have had sex nearly constantly as part of my job – even if much of it not the sort of sex I’d ever thought I would be having (let alone loving) . . . and until Ronnie, not the kind that would ever make me a father. Strangely, though – with Yethro - it DID make me a SON!
My Caliph has assigned his private jet for me. Being the first assistant to such a powerful man has its perks. I’m not complaining. In about 13 hours, I’ll be home. I doubt that I’ll be able to sleep on the plane. I’m too excited. It’s 9:00 A.M. here now, and in the states it’s about 1:00 in the morning. So, it’ll be about 2:00 “this” afternoon at home when I get there. Jet lag’s gonna really hit me in about 36 hours! Doesn’t matter. I’ll be with Ronnie. I will feel my baby moving!
When I am on my way from the airport toward home, I’d better stop and get a throwaway phone to call Phil . . . AFTER I see Ronnie. I have a lot to report to him.
The flight seems endless. I’ve been watching the LED indicator trace progress across the Atlantic. It’s like watching paint dry! Seems SO slow. I’ve never felt time drag so much. I just wanna GET there!
Finally. We’re dropping into an approach pattern, and I can see the traffic clearly from my window. I’m nearly home . . . really home.
Much as I don’t want to delay even a few minutes, I have told the cabbie to pull into a Best Buy. I’m picking up that phone. As soon as I can, Phil will be hearing from me. But – for the moment – it’s first things first. Home to wife . . . and BABY.
The driver’s gotten my bags out of the trunk and handed them to me, and I’m heading up to the Governor’s Mansion’s big front doors. They’re already opening, and there she is! There’s Ronnie. She’s all dressed up and looking beautiful. She’s running toward me. I’ve dropped the bags and lift her in my arms, turning around in a big circle in front of the porch. I’m laughing and she’s half-laughing, half-crying.
“Oh Jessie Jessie Jessie! I’m SO happy you’re home. It’s been so lonely without you!”
“Tell me about it, my love! These hours on the plane seemed like each of them was a month! I’m so happy to see you . . . to hold you. How ARE you? How’s the – OUR – baby?”
“Jessie . . . Jessie, I’m fine. I’m feeling really good. My mother tells me that there will be times when I won’t feel so good . . . but that hasn’t started happening yet. All I feel right now is joyful and excited . . . because you’re home!”
I look up and I see my father, Yethro, in the doorway. He’s beaming, too. Keeping one arm holding tight around Ronnie’s waist, we move up the stairs toward him and I put my other arm around the back of his neck. In the Arab way, we kiss each other’s cheeks. I tighten my grip behind his neck for a few seconds before letting him go. His smile tells me that he understands and acknowledges my respect and the sincerity in my greeting . . . and that he understands why my greeting has to be a “shared” one.
We go into the house and Ronnie and I head upstairs with my luggage. We sit on the edge of the bed, side by side. I turn to her and take her gently into my arms. “You are so beautiful. I’ve been so excited as today’s trip got me closer and closer . . . but on the plane . . . it just seemed endless. I’m so, so happy to be back with you.”
I begin to undress Ronnie, and she starts unbuttoning my shirt. We’re going slowly, not rushing it . . . enjoying the lust. My cock is full out hard, of course. As she unbuckles my belt and unzips my pants, it springs out. (I’m commando.) She smiles as she takes it into her hands and I undo her bra and gently knead her full breasts.
For the next hour we are playing and periodically coupled together. I feel so fine, and Ronnie is laughing and tearing at the same time. Finally, we shower together and then dress to join my father. Rashid has arrived, too. We embrace and kiss on each cheek. “Hello brother-in-law,” I say with a big smile. He says, “I am so proud that you have made Ronnie pregnant. You are behaving as a good Muslim man should. I am sure you will have a son!”
We four visit. They ask about things at the caliphate headquarters and the whole atmosphere of life there. I tell them that at first it was pretty exciting. Everything was new. I was learning new stuff every day. Then, though, I tell them it got to be routine. I explain how most of my duties are pretty mundane . . . nothing of great import. But I tell them that My Caliph told me that I had to get used to all of that as it was all vital to the life and growth of the caliphate. My father is definitely looking the part of the proud father, smiling and nodding approval.
Finally, we are being called to the dining room by the cook, and we eat a delicious supper . . . basic Arab fare. As supper ends, my father tells me that he needs to have a conference with me in his office. I know what kind of conference he is thinking of . . . and I am hard for it myself. Ronnie and her brother are going into the living room to visit while Yethro and I go the office.
Once there, Yethro goes directly to the door to my adjoining office. He opens it. We both enter closing and locking the door behind us. I make sure that the hall door is locked, too, and as I turn back to him, I am already removing my shirt. It falls to the floor. I bend to unfasten my shoes and then shed my commando pants . . . leaving me standing naked before him. He is not far behind me, already taking his pants off, too. We embrace long and hard, our naked cocks grinding one against the other. We kiss deeply and passionately . . . then he says to me, “Habibi, Son, I can wait no longer. I must have my cock in your powerful chute. Bend over the couch.”
He does not have to tell me twice. I can’t obey him quickly enough. He grips my waist as I reach behind and pull my ass cheeks apart for him. His cock is leaking heavily, and he uses his precum to slime his rod and to finger my ass hole. After having had three fingers inside me to prepare me, he takes me.
“Oh, my father, Habibi! Fuck me. Yes, Fuck Me.” And he does. He pounds me long and hard, finally thrusting himself into me and gripping his arms tight in front of my body as he breeds his son. “Ohh! My father, Ohh! Yes! Thank you, My Master!”
When he comes out of me, I turn and kneel, cleaning his hard and leaking cock. Once cleaned, I do not let it fall from my mouth. I begin sucking, nibbling, using my tongue to play with his cockhead and taking him deeper and deeper into my throat as he grows hard again. Finally, I “play” my vocal cords around his glans, causing him to moan in ecstasy. I know that I am showing him the respect he wants . . . and deserves after all he’s done for me - his adopted son and heir.
Our “conference” over, we put ourselves back together and go to join Rashid and Ronnie. Ronnie says she has really enjoyed just relaxing with Rashid, talking and joking and sharing about past times from her and her mother’s years with him as he grew up having to be the man in their family. I added my congratulations and thanks to him for having protected them.
The days of my one week at home have sped by like lightning. All of a sudden, it is time to pack for my return to the desert. Ronnie again tells me how worried she is . . . how she will never be able to separate her having been kidnapped to that same area to which I am returning. I try to console her. I point out to her that I am now My Caliph’s second in command, his most trusted colleague . . . the one being groomed to become the American Caliph! She says, “You keep referring to him as ‘My’ Caliph. Why is that, my love?” I answer without thinking, just automatically, “Because, my love, it is true. He IS ‘My’ Caliph. When I am in his presence, I feel a sense of awe . . . and I cannot quite believe that he has such high regard for a no one like I am – not even a Muslim . . . yet, at least.”
(Where DID that come from? I meant it as I said it. But I am spying on him. He is a threat to my country!)
I find myself once again being driven to the private plane departures at the airport by Rashid.
I had managed one afternoon under the guise of wanting to wander around downtown and just idly shop to get away with my store-bought phone and call Phil. I made a full report which he was recording so as to capture every detail. I had learned from snooping in files in the office some locations of caliphate properties and accounts that were scattered here and there in Europe and the Americas with their addresses and account numbers. Also, I’d been able to identify one key caliphate secret convert who was working for the CIA. Phil was super hyped and happy to get all this info. He said he wished we could have met in person, but we both knew that since I was now not Yethro’s assistant, but Haroun’s, that would be too risky.
Rashid reaches over from the driver’s seat and grips the back of my neck firmly. He says, “I am very proud to have you as a member of my family . . . my brother-in-law. When I first met you at the mosque here in town – when I was scouting you to determine whether you were the plant I was convinced that you were! – I never thought I’d be saying this!”
I turn to him, lean toward him, and kiss the side of his face – not like an Arab greeting kiss on the cheek would be but something more genuine.
My internal emotions are such a mixed-up scene. There is my country, my job as a spy, my contact, Phil. There is the father who’s adopted me after saving me from being a brothel slave. There is my pregnant wife, my brother-in-law . . . and, of course, “My” Caliph – to whom I feel very anxious to return right now. I am anxious to feel his body warm against mine . . . and to let him realize my real devotion to him. How can I reconcile all these wild stirrings going in so many directions? (I cannot!)
When we arrive at the hangar, I get out and take my duffle bag from the back seat. I tell Rashid not to wait, but to go ahead home. He looks at me and says, “Thank you, my brother, for your love for me . . . and for Ronnie and for my mother.”
The plane is ready. As soon as I am inside, the co-pilot closes the door, and I settle into the recliner-like chair and strap in. I am excited to be returning, but it’s nothing like it was on the trip getting here to see Ronnie for the first time after knowing that we were pregnant. It turned out that I was not able to feel my baby move in the womb after all. It’s still too early! Damn it, but that was a letdown. We did, though, determine that the baby’s gender is male! (My Caliph was right.) I texted him to let him know. He texted me back . . . and directed me to name my son “Hamza” – “strong”, “steadfast”. I told Ronnie and Yethro and Rashid this. None had exactly an objection . . . but Ronnie was pissed that a man who’d had something to do with her kidnapping was directing the naming of her first child. Yethro said that we could not disrespect the holder of the office of Caliph by disobeying this order, though.
(Strangely, I am feeling a sense of pride that My Caliph himself would take such an interest in my son. I know his influence on me is growing. It sometimes makes me “think twice” before including some things in my reports back to Phil.)
To be continued.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
