[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”.
Prior to this point where I pick up and continue the tale . . . Jessie, an American spy, has already become deeply imbedded in an organization that seeks to establish a Muslim American Caliphate. He has been enslaved in a male brothel (where he was known as the “Dexter” of the title) and then he is freed. The Muslim American Judge responsible for this thus-far heathen’s being saved has adopted him - thus placing him in the Judge’s blood line from the Prophet. This makes Jessie especially valuable as an American whom the caliphate plotters would like to place in as high a position as possible in American politics.
As this first continuation chapter starts, Jessie is planning with his American spy handler, Phil Green, to set up a second meeting with the Caliph.
The Meeting
Today, I started by talking with Phil about setting up the second Canada trip. It turns out he’s already acted on talking with the Canadian government and also gotten their approval to talk to that Royal Canadian Mounty whose name I’d given him. Phil wasn’t wasting any time. I can’t either. It’s time for me to call the Caliph.
The Caliph answers his private line, “Hello? Do I recognize your number correctly? Is this Jessie?”
“Habibi! It is I! My body responds just hearing your voice, My Caliph!”
“Oh, Jessie. Indeed! Mine speaks to me, too. What is the reason for your call today?”
“Sir. My Caliph. When we were last together in Canada, we spoke of the need for us to repeat that occasion. That is why I am calling. I am securing a cabin in the Canadian woods. Once I send you the coordinates, you can arrange to have your advance men go to verify it is acceptable. My arms ache for you. I yearn for the warmth of your body next to mine in bed!”
“Oh, Habibi! Your father must not be nearby . . . you would never allow him to hear you say that!”
“My Caliph. What Yethro wants is insignificant compared to how much you mean to me!”
“Habibi . . . Habibi. My beloved!”
“My Master, please call me back as soon as you can to suggest a few dates after your men have approved of the place. Then, I will arrange to come to Canada to meet you. I only wish that it were to be tomorrow. I dream of you at night and wake up aroused but sad because it is only a dream, My Caliph! I sometimes wear the black mesh underwear that you gave me . . . and it immediately arouses me!”
“That makes me smile, Habibi! I will do as you ask. I will call you as soon as my team has inspected the area, my Beloved.”
“Excellent! Goodbye, then, Haroun, My Master!”
Well – Now it is begun. The engine is primed. I just have to wait and then coordinate with Phil.
“Phil – I just got off the line with Haroun. Once you have the place picked out, let me know. I told him I’d send him the coordinates so that his team could go there to make sure it met their security demands. He will then contact me back – you can bet very, very quickly - with some possible dates for the meet.”
“Jessie, that’s great. I’m glad you’re moving on this.”
“I’ve gotta work my wedding into the middle of all this, too! By the time the Caliph’s men have checked things out in Canada and he’s gotten back to me with a few possible dates, the wedding date will be really near. Don’t know bout a honeymoon, though! That just might have to wait till after stuff with the Caliph starts to run its own course.”
Phil has located what he thinks is just the right cabin in the woods north of Minnesota. After I sent Haroun the location, he really surprised me. Within only a few weeks, he called to say that his team had checked it and that it passed muster. Damn! I was not expecting such a quick turnaround. Maybe he really does love me. He’s at least definitely anxious to get his cock up my ass! I can’t say that I’ll mind that, either. When this all started six years ago, and before I got enslaved in Sultan’s brothel, I sure never foresaw that a whole side of myself I didn’t know was there was going to be awakened. Guess it’s an unexpected perk of my job!
Phil and I coordinated on a date from the ones that Haroun sent. It is going to be in only two more weeks . . . I’ll be back about a month prior to the wedding date. Good thing that Yethro is taking care of planning all of that along with Rashid. It keeps both of them busy and out of my hair . . . and it gives me the luxury of the time needed to plan (plot?) everything in my own mind along with Phil.
It’s the week before I leave for the North Country. I’ve told Ronnie and Rashid that I have to go out of the country for a meeting. I didn’t say with whom. Ronnie looked fearful and said, “Not to that awful Sinai, Jessie! Not there!” I smiled at her, took her into my arms and assured her, “No, my darling – not there!” Then, we kissed. I added, “I should be back in less than a week’s time from when I leave. I’ll expect to see every detail for the wedding all taken care of by then. You can give me a full report!”
I’ve gotten myself to a town called Sprague, in Manitoba. It is about a two-hour drive from where the cabin is located. Haroun said that he’d have a member of his guard already here to pick me up. That works just fine. It means that there’ll be no suspicions about anyone shadowing me (or being secreted in by me!). The man picking me up I’m told is named Fuad. He’s described as 6’ tall and having an untrimmed beard. He will be wearing hunting clothes and carrying a newly bought lantern still in its box. He will have a photo of me. I have a throwaway phone and a number at which to text Fuad now that I’m here. I do so. Nearly immediately, I get a verification of its being received. I type in the name and address of a diner I see on the street and the word: “Now”.
After about ten minutes I see my lantern-carrying chauffeur walk in the door. I smile and try to act like I know him, waving him to come over. He plays the same game. All smiles he sits down at the table. In a very low voice and very broken English, he asks, “You are Jessie?” In an attempt to sound like I don’t know much Arabic, I tell him that I am. Not wanting to arouse suspicion, we speak little, order coffee, black and strong, and two pastries. We are done quickly, and we take turns in the restroom and then leave. It’s a ten-minute walk to the jeep that Fuad has. We get in and head further north. Around 8:00 P.M. and still quite bright, we pull into the cabin.
As I get out of the jeep, I see Haroun looking happy and advancing from the porch. I stand and bow very profoundly. When he gently lifts my shoulders, I stand . . . and then he embraces me in a bear hug. In my ear, in a low voice so as not to be overheard, he says, “Habibi!” Then, he kisses me on each cheek, as is the custom. With that, we enter the cabin.
One of the Caliph’s entourage has been preparing a meal. They knew the time of our arrival, as we had texted them periodically and briefly from the road. I smell a wonderful meal. Seeing it served, it is simple and straightforward Arab fare. It is hummus, falafel, lentil soup and flatbread with grilled chicken kebabs. It is similar to what I am used to at the Governor’s Mansion.
After the meal, the men with the Caliph clean things up. Then, Haroun tells them to form a perimeter at some distance outside the cabin. He instructs them not to disturb us for any reason until they are summoned to return. They leave. I immediately kneel in front of Haroun and then prostrate myself on the floor before him. Knowing that he made good on his promise to transfer a million U.S. dollars to Rashid’s Swiss account and that the document clearing Ronnie, along with a fatwa against anyone questioning it, had been delivered to Rashid, I am prepared to be subservient to My Caliph.
I stand up on my knees and begin to undress. When I stand to unbuckle my pants, unlace and remove my boots, and then my pants . . . Haroun gasps. The only garment left on my body is the black mesh underwear he had given me.
“You are pleased, My Master?”
“Oh! Habibi! Yes! I AM pleased.”
I can see the tent already in his crotch. He is ready. Looking at my mesh enclosed cock, its tip is protruding from the top waistband of the garment. I am definitely ready as well.
He stands, saying, “Undress your Calaiph.”
I untie the sash hanging from his shoulder across his strong chest and then undo the buttons, allowing more space to pull his jalabiya over his head. Then, I carefully remove his undergarment. He was wearing nothing more than that. His immense cock is erect and leaking.
I sink back to my knees, lean inward and kiss its slit. I lick the pre-cum from it and spread it around my lips with my tongue. Next, I take only his glans into my mouth and gently suckle on it. I kiss each of his balls, licking each of them, and taking them one at a time into my mouth to taste them. I lick his stiff shaft from its base up to its tip over and over again until I have licked over every exposed part of it. His hard cock is glistening with my spit. It is time. I put my mouth over his shaft, close my mouth, and immediately plunge it to the back of my mouth and down into my throat. While enslaved at Sultan’s brothel, I had learned to completely avoid any gagging.
Haroun gasps loudly. His body jerks. He exclaims, “Oh, Habibi! How is it possible for you to do that? You give me such pleasure, my boy!”
(“My boy?” That is new. What does this imply? Why do I like hearing it?)
Taking my mouth briefly from his cock, I look into his eyes and smile, saying, “I was taught by an Arab male-brothel owner, My Master! A very excellent one.”
I continue to play with the Caliph’s rod getting it to the edge and then letting back. I know it is driving him crazy, but I do not want him to cum. No. I want him to seed my ass with his semen. (Yes. I want it!)
Finally, when I know it is time to stop winding him up to let him down again and again, I pull my tight lips off of his hard cock, put my hand around it and lead us to the side of the bed. Once there, I turn and sit back onto the bed, rocking backward while removing the black mesh underwear, and then putting my arms under my legs to hold them up, exposing my eager hole for My Master to ravage. And so he does!
He does not wait a second to point his circumcised head at my pucker and immediately ploughs all the way in until his pubic hair is pressed to my hole. I groan loudly . . . as I had grown to like my sex rough from my time at the brothel. This is welcome. He pounds me in and out, in and out, in and out. After about ten minutes, he thrusts in and holds there. His head is arched back. He howls . . . and explodes into me. Without withdrawing in the least, he thrusts again and again, pumping rope after rope of his offering into my chute. I am in ecstasy! When he seems finished, to keep him from leaving my hole, I wrap my legs tightly around the back of his waist and hold him securely in place.
“My Caliph. Always just like this. Always. Never leave this coupling of our bodies, Habibi!”
“My boy. Would that it could be so!”
For some time we remain like this. I don’t know how long. The man I was before living in Sultan’s brothel – that man who did not know sex with other males – is clearly long gone!
Releasing him, he falls forward over my body. Once our breathing is back to normal, he invites me to the shower in the cabin. It is small . . . just a shower head at the end of the bathtub. But, for us at that moment, it could have been made of marble in a palace.
Once finished and dressed again, we determine that we will talk in the morning about how he plans to use me to help him as his assistant in heading the caliphate. For now, we will call the men back inside. We will sleep.
All of us sleep in separate single bunks. Mine is in the Caliph’s small room. I fall immediately into a deep, exhausted sleep. The next morning, My Caliph tells me it had been the same for him . . . and for the same reason.
Haroun only sketches out the most general outline of his plan. He says that he wants me by his side, learning. He wants me to take daily Arabic lessons. He also will demand not weekly, but daily, sessions with his imam to teach me the true faith, the right path, for my eventual conversion.
I note to him that my wedding is to be in about a month, and that I’ll need some time after that to spend alone with my new wife, Ronnie, to begin to make babies as is my Muslim male duty. He agrees. He says that after six weeks, I will be expected to come to his headquarters in the Middle East. Then, I will start a routine of five weeks there, one week back with Ronnie, and repeat. When a pregnancy comes and its resulting birth, thereupon, I will spend three months straight with Ronnie and the son that will be born before returning to the five/one routine again. (Yes. He had said “son”. He has no doubt!)
He is to return to the Caliphate headquarters on an overnight flight. He is concerned about some matters there that he does not want to trust anyone else to oversee. He says to me, “That is why you must be with me. You must learn it all. Then, I will have someone whom I can trust to be left in charge.”
The plan is working perfectly . . . and much more quickly than Phil or I would have anticipated. I would have thought that it would be taking Haroun much more “testing” time before setting out even the details that he has put forth today.
At 1:00 P.M., my chauffeur and I head back to Sprague. Once there, and having watched him drive away, I find a motel and call Phil to report on all that has occurred. (Well – not “all”.) He tells me that he will contact me in the morning to tell me how he is going to get me picked up that day.
To be continued.
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