[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. 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”.
Been Here Before
I can hardly believe it. Hamza is already six weeks old. He is such a happy little boy, and his mother is such a doting mother. His grandmother is equally so.
I have spoken a good deal with Rashid. Since I’ll be gone so much of the time at the caliphate headquarters, I’ve impressed upon him that I’ll be depending on him to be a very, very dutiful uncle! I’ve told him that I want him to be “a stand-in Dad” when I’m away. I’ve also warned him that he must never lay an angry hand on Hamza as he gets a bit older and into a child’s mischief. I am aware of Rashid’s temper. Rashid added that he would early on be seeing to his nephew’s strict Muslim education and upbringing, as well. I told Rashid that I had no objection to this . . . and added that perhaps some day soon he’d be referring to me as his Muslim brother-in-law. He lit up with the biggest smile I think I’ve ever seen on his face. I just said, “Insha’Allah, Rashid. Insha’Allah.”
The months have raced by. It is time for my return to My Caliph. I have to confess that I have missed him and that I am anxious to see him. I have sent him photos of Hamza, and he has expressed his wish to see more of them. He says that he wishes that he could extend my months with the baby . . . but that it is time for me to take over some new duties at the caliphate headquarters.
Rashid has taken me to the airport, as usual, and I am boarding. I am stepping into the cabin, and – “My Caliph! I cannot believe it!” He is standing here right in front of me! I drop to my knees, lean over to kiss his sandaled feet. I rise to kiss his cheeks and finally to hug him strongly.
“My boy, my boy! It seems I have surprised you - as I intended. I hope that it is a good surprise.”
“My Master . . . it is the best of all possible surprises! You honor me so. Thank you, Thank you.”
“Sit down, my boy. Strap yourself in so that the pilots can put us in the air back to the caliphate and your new position there.”
“What new position, My Caliph? You said something about new duties in one of your communications, but you didn’t add any details.”
“Oh, Jessie. We can talk business later. Once we have reached cruising altitude, I have other plans.” He is smiling and looking at my crotch. I lift the hem of the jalabiya I am wearing to reveal that I am wearing the black mesh underwear again. He chuckles and says, “Oh, Jessie. It seems you know me all too well. Of course, you’re wearing the garment that I gave you so long ago! You just thought I wouldn’t see it till you arrived back in the desert! It does look very fitting on your fine body, my boy. I can only imagine what an attraction you must have been in that brothel owned by – was it – ‘Sultan’?”
I am laughing thinking back to that long distant chapter of my life. “Yes, My Master. It was ‘Sultan’, all right. I must say that all in all, he was not only a great teacher for me, but he was also very kind to me. He was never cruel for the sake of cruelty . . . only for the sake of training his ‘investment’!” I laugh again.
We talk about the baby, about Yethro, about Ronnie, and small talk about people who work in the Caliph’s office. Finally, we reach cruising height and speed, and the pilot says we can move about if we wish.
The Caliph says, “I have given the pilots instructions not to disturb us unless I buzz for them. Stand, Jessie. Show me your naked body – except for that black mesh garment!”
I was hoping this would happen since greeting My Caliph after entering the plane’s cabin and finding him here. I don’t want to wait the hours till we are already returned to feel My Caliph’s hard cock seeding my asshole. It has been more than three months, and while Yethro is good at fucking . . . NO ONE is as good as My Caliph!
I stand naked on the soft added carpet laid over the one that is part of the cabin’s installation. I turn around slowly. My Master tells me to bend at the waist so that he can inspect my hole. As I bend, I pull down the mesh underwear to reveal my anxious pucker. I am sure that it must be winking at My Caliph.
“Ahh, yes, my boy. Your body is signaling its readiness to be invaded! Do you feel it, Jessie?”
“Oh. My Master. Do you need to ask? When have I ever not yearned for you to take my ass? You do it the best, My Caliph. I truly mean that. I would not lie to you!”
“Turn toward me, my boy. Undress me.”
I do as he tells me . . . slowly and sensually . . . running my hands over his strong body as I do so. Once all his clothes are folded and set aside and he is seated again with his legs spread wide, I kneel between his knees. His cock is rigid, pointing at me, and leaking. I take my finger and swipe the precum from it and clean my fingers with my tongue. I lean in and kiss his slit . . . then each of his balls . . . and now I begin to suckle his cock head oh! so gently. I hear him make a small ghast. Closing my lips very tightly around just his glans, I suck hard!
“Ahhh! Ahhhh! Jessie. I have missed your mouth on my hard penis so much. Knowing I won’t have to suffer such deprivation any more is wonderful!”
I register something that seems not to follow in what My Caliph is saying, but I am too lost in my task to think more about it just now. I release his cock head, and I begin slathering the top, bottom, and sides of his long, hard shaft with my spit. I suck on his balls, first one then the other. He is groaning . . . as am I, too. Eventually, I take the head of his cock back into my mouth, and – as is my habit – plunge all the way down onto it until its head is well into my throat . . . and I hum.
“Ohhhhhh. Ohhhhhhhhhh. That feels so WONderful, my boy!”
I keep bringing him to the brink of cumming, and then backing off his cock. Finally - knowing he is super primed, I stand, turn, kneel down in front of his chair with my ass ready for him. He moves into a kneeling position behind me. I feel his cock head moving into my ass crack. Finding its target, My Master is slowly entering me. “Oooo. Oooo. Thank you, My Caliph, My Master! You are the perfect lover!” He continues. It must be at least twenty minutes by now! He has varied his speed and the depth of his pounding from rough to gentle. Now, he has just plunged in . . . and he is staying! I know he must be arching his back. He thrusts forward almost pushing me over forward, and howls loudly, seeding my asshole!
“Ohhhhhhh! My Master. Seed me. Seed your boy, your subject, your slave! Seed me, My Caliph!”
Finished, he stays still inside me for a bit and now he’s pulling out. He tells me as he stands up behind me, “Stay as you are. I want to admire that hole and to see my seed leaking from it. My boy - you are an excellent fuck! I am so glad that I will always have this hole available to me!”
Everything goes black.
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Note to Reader: From this point forward, think of all the dialog and the characters’ thoughts as being in Arabic. Any words or threads that are to be thought of as in English [will be bookended by brackets.] Jessie’s college degree in Arabic plus having been brought up in Arabic-speaking places mean he has, all along, been fluent in the language.
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The Caliph steps into the lavatory to clean himself up, leaving Jessie where he is – unconscious on the carpet. Then he puts his jalabiya back on and opens the door to the cockpit.
To the two pilots he says, “You will both recall that you are sworn to complete and permanent secrecy under pain of death. Do you understand?”
“We do, Caliph. You were ‘never here’, Sir.”
The co-pilot rises and he helps Haroun to roll up Jessie’s unconscious body in the extra carpet.
Haroun and the co-pilot return to the front. He tells them, “At some point ocean, alert me and then take a steep dive downward and turn off the transponders. Fly for a hundred miles or so underneath the radar. Then, slowly rise and leave the transponders off until we reach our own airspace.”
“Yes Caliph,” the captain answers.
Once the plane is back in its own hangar, the pre-arranged pick-up truck with a covered back is waiting with one of the caliphate male brothel captains waiting next to it. The pilots transfer the carpet to the pick-up and leave. The army captain assures that he knows his orders and his absolute obligation to be silent about what has happened.
“Wha . . . wha . . . what the . . .?? What happ . . . happened?”
I am groggy. I try a few times to sit up before I can do it. I am sitting on the ground. There’s straw all around. My eyes are focusing a bit better. It’s light, but dim. Like at about dawn. I’m in a big room. I try to stand but fall back. Wait! My ankle has an iron around it! And I am naked. Looking down, I see metal in my crotch. My eyes go wide, and my hand goes to my cock. It is a nub – contained in a small cage of steel bars! I’m in a chastity cage! My body! It’s denuded of any hair. I feel itchy all over. They’ve put hair regrowth preventive on my body! I move my hands to my face and head. My beard and head are shorn in what feels like a buzz cut.
I think I recognize this place now. I’ve passed through it a few times. It’s one of the soldiers’ brothels underneath the Caliph’s harem houses. The light’s getting brighter. Looking across the open area, I realize I’m in a group of chained men, each to his own post cemented into the ground, and with iron rings welded at intervals from top to bottom, and each man just far enough from the next one so as not to be able to reach him. The ones on either side of me are just now standing up to stretch and they walk to the edge of their circles to piss. The one to my right is caged like me. The one on the other side is not. Why not? As I look, he turns fully facing toward me. He Has No Balls. He’s a eunuch!
What’s the last thing I remember? I remember the plane. My Caliph had just fucked me after I had given him head. It was all fine . . . it was great. What the fuck happened?
Wait – this can only mean one thing. I’ve been outed. My Caliph must know I’m an agent! This is bad – as bad as it could get. That’s the only reason why he would have put me here – and I know there’s no escaping from here. My only hope is if the U.S. government somehow figures things out and can put some kind of pressure on the Caliph. But – I don’t see that happening. When a spy is embedded as long and deep as I’ve been . . . he’s flying solo when he’s in-country. And – that’s me. I’m Fucked . . . bad fucked!
I hear, “Hey – you – pig.” Turning, I see one of the soldiers who’s assigned to oversee the brothel slaves. (A “brothel slave” – I’m back to where I started – except worse . . . way worse.) I say, “My name is Jessie . . . Sir.”
“No it’s not. My Caliph has told us you’re to be called ‘the pig’ or just ‘pig’. So – pig – get up and piss – then move as far your chain will go over there.” He’s pointing to where he wants me to end up. “You’ll get a bowl of food there. Ya better eat it all, too – you won’t get more till before you’re allowed to sleep again . . . and you’re gonna be working today.”
“Working”. That means I’m enslaved . . . again. I’m a slut again - in another male brothel on the other side of the planet. And my head is throbbing from whatever My Caliph used to drug me.
(Why is he still “My” Caliph? Why the hell is that? That IS what my mind is telling me. He Is MY Caliph. My head is so fucked up.)
The stuff in the bowl is gruel of some kind. I imagine it’s healthy enough. No taste. It’s all I’ll be getting for who knows how long . . . VERY long. Oh Damn! I’ve been here before – sort of. Just another time, another place. I knew what I signed-on for. I just never thought I’d get caught.
The Caliph’s adjutant says to him, “Caliph – Here is the list of appointments for your day, Sir.”
“Yes, adjutant. First, here is something I have written for you to communicate to all the offices of the caliphate both here at home and around the world. It is sad news.”
The Caliph’s military adjutant reads it aloud: “Last night, an airplane carrying Jessie ibn Allwadii’, the first assistant to the Caliph, crashed over the ocean. There were no survivors. Please make this known to the officials of the Caliphate at large.”
The adjutant looked shocked and said, “My Caliph. This is terrible news. I know that he was a close friend to you as well as your next-in-charge. I share my sympathy with you, Sir. Do you wish me to cancel all appointments today so that you can retire to your quarters?”
“Thank you, Captain, for your thoughtfulness and your sympathies. I appreciate them. No – I will carry on as I should. You are correct, his loss is a blow, but I must be responsible.”
The soldier guarding the brothel tells me, “pig! Your first cock for the day is here.” He unhooks my chain from the post and leads me across the room to one of the fuck benches. I know the drill. I lay my body down along its length and let my arms drop. He fastens them to the front legs of the bench and my ankles to the back legs. I know not to look into the faces of “customers”, so when a body appears in front of my face, I look at its crotch . . . open my mouth and extend my tongue.
“Ah. This new piece of white shit knows what to do! He must have been bought from some other brothel. Hope he’s worth my time!”
I think, “Oh . . . it will be worth your time all right! If I’m back to being a brothel slave again, I’ll be just as good as I ever was! I’m proud. Whatever I do . . . I do it damn good.”
The man pulls up the front of his jalabiya exposing his stiff and leaking cock. It’s good size, but not the biggest I’ve ever serviced. I am waiting for him to advance toward my waiting mouth. When he does so, I make it clear that my mouth is eager. I kiss his slit. I pull his cock head in and tighten my lips, suckling it. I come off his head and lick up and down the sides, top, and bottom of his hard shaft. It’s a long one. Without any easing up to it, I plunge my mouth down the whole length of his cock till its head is in my throat as far as it can go with his pelvis jammed against my lips. He ghasps loudly. He tries to pull out . . . but I am holding him too tight for him to do it. He lets out a scream that almost sounds like he is alarmed . . . maybe even frightened! Wonder if he’s thinking this is “worth it” or not?!
He shouts, “Ohhh. Ohhhh. Shittt! Fuck. I’ve never had a blowjob like this! Damn!”
I release his cock. He has not cum. I want him in my ass to do that. Having pulled out of my mouth, his cock straight up against his abs, spit from my mouth dripping off it, he hurries to get behind me and plunges his cock in . . . all the way. I let out a shout less in pain than in a bit of surprise and definitely of pleasure. He has hit my prostate. He moving back and forth . . . and I can’t hold back my moans. “Oh Fuck Yeah. Do Me.”
After a quarter hour or so of varying speeds and depths of plunges into my ass, he finally thrusts in . . . and stays in. When I hear his “Arghhh Arghhh”, I know he’s seeding me. He pulls out. I loved it! - I hate being enslaved again . . . but I love a good fucker in my mouth or ass. And this dude is a fine fucker.
“Sir. Thank you, Sir. You are a strong fucker, Sir.”
The customer thinks as he walks away straightening his jalabiya, “What? Is the slut speaking to me? it’s THANKING me! it blew me like no one’s ever done before! I gotta tell the others to try the new meat.”
I’m guessing he’s decided I was “worth his time”.
It’s the middle of the morning. Three soldiers have used me. Two of ‘em shared . . . one at the front and one at the back, then they switched. Hearing them talk they couldn’t believe my “skill”.
(Why the fuck am I able to be feelin’ some sort of pride?! I’m caught in the worst possible trap . . . and I can’t escape. My wife and new child are on the other side of the planet. I am so fucked up in my head! Maybe I am what My Caliph has named me . . . just “the pig”.)
Yethro is in shock. He can’t believe the message he’s just received in an encrypted text from the caliphate headquarters. Jessie. Dead. No! This can’t be! Not my adopted son . . . my lover! He collapses back onto the couch and weeps. Finally, he calls Rashid. He tells him to come to the mansion.
“Rashid. My boy, I have grave news. Terrible news. The Caliph has messaged me that Jessie’s plane went down in the Atlantic. He and the pilots were lost! Jessie Is Dead!”
“Noo! No! This cannot be, Yethro! Jessie can’t be dead! How will I tell my sister? How can a brother tell his sister she is a new widow . . . and with her first infant child still nursing at her breast? This will just kill her spirit! I just KNOW it.”
“Rashid – you have had many difficult moments and tasks in your life . . . even though you are still a young man. Jessie would want you to do this . . . for your nephew – my grandson – and for your sister.”
“He would, Yethro. He would. He even told me that over the coming periods of time when he’d be away, he wanted me to be what he called Hamza’s ‘stand-in’ Dad. This is just too terrible. How can we believe it?”
“Rashid, we have no choice. I will have word sent to my staff. A memorial must be set. You, Rashid, go to the imam to tell him in case he did not get the same message that I did. Maybe he would consent to go with you to your house to tell Ronnie and your mother this terrible news.”
“That is a good idea. I will need help giving this news. I don’t know how to do this!”
The imam consents to Rashid’s request. Rashid drives them both to the house. His mother sees them coming and meets them as they enter the living room. The imam’s never been to her home. She knows that something big – something bad – must explain it. Her worry is written on her face.
“Rashid, my son . . . what is wrong? Imam – why are you with my son?”
“Mother, I have news. Not good news. But first – Ronnie is upstairs, yes?”
“Yes, she is. Why?”
“Just a moment, Mother. I must bring her down. Please sit down for a moment with the imam.”
Rashid goes to bring his sister downstairs. She, like her mother, knows it has to be bad news . . . and they both know that it must be about Jessie. Once they are all four in the living room, Rashid remains standing. He says, “Ronnie, Mother, I have fearful news. The Caliph has communicated that Jessie’s plane back to Sinai crashed in the Atlantic . . . he and the pilots were lost!”
Ronnie immediately falls into her mother’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Likewise, their mother is weeping. The imam is watching quietly. He has been part of similar scenes before, and he knows to wait and to be quietly consoling before trying to come up with words. He knows, too, from his experience that there really are no words for such occasions.
The next thirty minutes are mostly just a lot of crying and questioning and expressions of non-belief . . . like “there has to be some mistake”. Finally, things subside a bit. The imam tells them that he will tell those close to them or to Jessie at the mosque what has happened. He will schedule a gathering just for them so that they can share their grief with those friends. Ronnie’s and Rashid’s mother takes Ronnie’s hand and leads her to the stairs saying, “Let’s go to the baby. Let’s spend some time with Hamza.” Rashid takes the imam back to his home and then returns to his sister and mother.
Police Chief Mike, Phil Green’s contact person between him and Jessie at the governor’s mansion or Yethro’s cabin, upon getting word of Jessie’s death by way of Yethro’s general message, contacts Phil. Phil has not heard anything about it. He is immediately suspicious. He says he will check his contacts in D.C. in the C.I.A. and the other security related departments. In the back of his mind is the memory of Jessie’s fears that the new loose-lipped president would let slip to someone about his embedded spy . . . with details. Phil has to wonder to himself, “Did it happen?”
The following week sees the memorial for Jessie with Yethro’s political associates, the gathering at the mosque, and an attempt to adapt to a new normal in Rashid’s family. A deep pall hangs over them all.
Phil Green has found something that greatly disturbs him. A member of the staff of the Director of National Intelligence has told him that he was assisting in a conference between his boss and the president when the president mentioned that “an Agent Jessie Benson” was deeply embedded in the caliphate. There were at least two other staffers present whom he did not know personally.
The “smoking gun”. Phil no longer believes that Jessie’s death was an accident. However, he has no reason to think that Jessie is alive and enslaved instead of murdered. He decides he’ll keep his antennae up for rumors that might back a murder having happened. Beyond that, though, he doesn’t have enough to go on to suspect or do more.
To be continued.
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