[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”.
Bad Fucked
At the caliphate, it’s been a month since Jessie was spirited to the male brothel and enslaved. He’s achieved a reputation. Even the soldiers who are assigned to control the brothel have made sure that they have “sampled the wares” of this newest, and a bit older than most, brothel slave. Sure enough. There’s been no exaggeration. it makes them feel like no other slut ever has! The pig is completely aware of what’s happening. it knows – or at least it hopes that it knows – that it will serve him well for “his” Caliph to have extra reason not to kill him. Word has also reached Haroun’s ears, via what his adjutant has mentioned in passing, about how some of the soldiers are raving about the servicing provided by a certain new brothel slave that he hears has been added.
The Caliph decides it is time for him to visit the brothel. In the past, this has almost never happened, so when he enters, there is a stir among the soldiers working there. The slut slaves neither know nor care much what new male appears in the brothel. It’s just one more cock to service.
The sergeant overseeing things upon his arrival is told to take the pig to one of the fucking benches and secure him. He’s also told to remove all of the other sluts to the exercise yard . . . and that all soldiers and hired servants working in the brothel are to be removed. Then, the doors are to be shut.
I am secured to a fuck bench and I am looking straight in front of me waiting for the crotch to appear . . . or to feel the cock in my ass crack. A robed man is standing there. I know better than to look up or to make any sound.
The man says, “pig.” I reply, “Sayid? (Sir?)” He says, “Look up.” I obey . . . and there he is!
“My Caliph! My Master!”
“Oh, really? I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I understand that you are Agent Jessie Benson. Is that right?”
At first, I don’t know what to say. Then, I say, “My Caliph. I am so sorry. Yes. I am Jessie Benson.”
“Not any longer you aren’t. You are ‘pig’. That is what you are, who you are. You will only be known by that word from now forward and forever. You are a white, heathen, piece of shit. You bear on your body the physical mark of the heathen . . . and it shall never be removed.”
“My Master. I am so sorry! I am guilty of being a traitor. From the first time I met you, I felt you were my superior . . . but my obligation to my country held me back. Many times, I wanted to come over to you . . . but I couldn’t do it. I am so sorry, My Caliph.”
“pig, you will pay for your betrayal of me and the caliphate for the rest of your life. You are once again a brothel slave. You’ll never see your wife or meet your son.”
My eyes fill with tears. I can say nothing more to excuse myself. “My Caliph. I must accept your judgement. I wish I had not offended you. I love you, My Master.”
“Hah! ‘Love me!’ No – you piece of shit. You are not capable of loving me. You are not worthy to love me! You are nothing! To me, you are two holes to give me pleasure when I use you.”
“My Caliph. I promise that I will pleasure you as much as possible . . . ALWAYS. I know you cannot feel anything for this traitor, but I still love you, Sayid.”
“Enough!” My Caliph has raised his jalabiya and he is plunging his hard Muslim real man’s cock down my throat. I anxiously accept it and I try to pleasure My Caliph more than ever before. I hear him moaning as he fucks my face violently. My cock is as completely hard as it can get in its cage. (Even in this strange circumstance, despite all . . . I am loyal to and love the Master – MY Master . . . MY Caliph!)
After My Caliph pulls out of my mouth, he moves behind me and plunges his spit covered rigid rod into my hole. I grip it – I again want to service him better than I ever have before. (I cannot explain myself. I do not understand myself.) My Caliph pulls out and leaves without any word. I am left alone, his semen dripping from my grateful hole.
In the weeks since My Caliph’s first use of me as his brothel slave, he has returned at least once each week, sometimes more. He never says anything to me . . . but he does place his forefinger under my chin to make me look up so that I will know that it is he that is using me. Every time this happens, my cock tries to go immediately hard inside its cage and I feel happy to be servicing My Caliph. (Why? How can this be?)
Yethro has called Rashid to the governor’s mansion. He tells him, “I have received an order from the Caliph. He is sending his plane to take us to Sinai this weekend. We are to cancel any plans and be at the private hangar at 6:00 P.M., Saturday.”
“Why, Yethro? Is he angry? Have we offended him? Should we be fearful?”
“I have no idea, Rashid. But – we have no choice. Do you have someone to take care of your mother and sister . . . and my grandson?”
“I will call the imam. Can I tell him why I will be gone?”
“No. Definitely not. The Caliph orders that this is to be kept totally secret.”
“Very well. I will make up some excuse. The imam and his wife have become friends of ours ever since Jessie’s death - after the imam helped me tell Ronnie what had happened. His wife is very kind. She has been a great comfort to my sister. She dotes on Hamza like an aunt!”
Yethro smiles. “Ah, I am happy to hear that! I want Hamza to be raised a strong and observant Muslim man. Such a family friend will help greatly in fulfilling this hope of mine! Please tell the imam that he has my greatest thanks added to yours.”
The day of the flight has arrived. Yethro and Rashid are soon to land at the caliphate headquarters. The plane taxis into the hangar. Only a limousine with a single chauffeur standing beside it is in the hangar. No Caliph. No “greeter”. He motions them to the car without anything other than a, “Welcome, Sirs.” Both of them are nervous. They still don’t know whether they are in some sort of trouble or not . . . though they cannot imagine what such might be.
Once at the headquarters, things seem better. They are delivered to the front doors – not some side or back door! A servant is standing to bow to them and allow them in, having been signaled by the gate keeper when they had arrived. Inside, in the entrance hall, the Caliph stands.
“Caliph! My respectful greeting to you!” Yethro exclaims as he bows deeply. The Caliph approaches him, and they kiss each other’s cheeks. Then, Rashid follows Yethro’s example and is greeted the same way.
The Caliph says, “I am sorry for this clandestine flight and greeting. You will discover why it is necessary. Do not worry. You are not here for any punishment.” Both of them visibly relax their rigid postures. They had been frightened. “Thank you, My Caliph,” Yethro says. Rashid remains silent.
Once in a salon and seated, a platter of various sweet snacks and coffee having been brought in, the Caliph dismisses the servant and tells him that no one is to disturb them unless beckoned.
The Caliph says, “This news will greatly surprise – and disturb – you both. It is worse that telling you that your adopted son had died, Yethro. He is a traitor!”
Yethro nearly shouts, “A traitor! No. That cannot be! And – what do you mean by saying he ‘is’ a traitor. Jessie is dead!” Rashid’s eyes have gone completely wide. He is such a junior member in this threesome, though, that he knows his place. He says not a word.
“Yethro. I understand your reaction. I expected it. Yes – ‘Jessie’ is dead – but the body that he was is not.”
“My Caliph. You are speaking in riddles. What do you mean?”
“I mean that I discovered incontrovertible proof that ‘he’ is a traitor. He was a U.S. government spy from the very first. He has a college degree in Arabic and is even fluent in several dialects. He was reporting about your – and later the caliphate’s - secrets to his spy handler. Several of our secret converts working in the government of his country were revealed and dealt with quietly so as not to reveal that a spy was inside our headquarters.”
“I don’t understand. I can’t believe this. I must believe you, My Caliph – but . . . but . . . it is just all so much to comprehend!”
“Indeed, Yethro. It surely is. My own reaction was similar when a secret convert came to see me here – having spent his own money for a ‘vacation’ ticket to avoid any suspicion. He had recordings and documentation of the reports that he had spent months in gathering in a manner so that no digital trail would have revealed him pulling up any official records. He even had transcripts of some recorded conversations between Jessie and his handler.
“My Caliph – you have twice referred to Jessie as somehos ‘alive’. But – he is dead. You sent that notice to all of us, worldwide.”
“I did, indeed, Yethro. I had to protect the caliphate from the embarrassment of knowledge of having had its security so severely breached. Also, I am concerned that the family name of your grandson not be besmirched. Just as there was previously a plan for your adopted son perhaps to become an American Caliph some day . . . that possibility must be kept as an option for his son. He shares your bloodline . . . and he will be a real Muslim. So, you see, I had to tell the world that your adopted son was dead.”
The Caliph continues, “In a way, it is true. His real name, by the way, is ‘Jessie Benson’. But, that man is gone. Officially, he is dead. However, that body now bears a different name. He is known simply as ‘pig’ or ‘the pig’ . . . and I have enslaved him in my male brothel for the soldiers.”
Yethro has visibly slumped into a heap in the armchair where he is seated. Rashid has buried his face in his hands. Seeing Yethro’s physical reaction, Rashid rises and goes to one knee in front of the older man’s chair. He props him up with an arm behind his shoulders and reaches to the tray for the cup of tea. “Yethro. Sir. Here. Drink some of this.” Yethro does so and begins to get himself back together.
The Caliph now says: “I wish you to see it. I wish you to disown it for the white heathen piece of shit and the pig that it is. I want you to fuck it. I want you to witness it being severely punished for its betrayal.
“Oh, Caliph! Ohh! I do not think that I am able, Sir!” Yethro says. “You will, Yethro. I order it. And – you, Rashid. Do I have to order you to do so, too?”
Rashid replies, “My Caliph. I am shocked at what you have said. I will have no problem at all in disowning it and seeing it punished. it is a traitor. it married into my family. it deceived me and my sister and my mother. it is now nothing to me! I will delight in fucking it, Sir!”
“Good. Tomorrow in the morning, I will arrange for it. The brothel will be emptied except for us three, the pig, and anyone else whose services will be needed.”
That night, neither Yethro nor Rashid sleep well . . . but for somewhat differing reasons.
Yethro feels like a second death of his adopted son has just occurred.
Rashid feels rage at how he had been so thoroughly taken in by Jessie’s true aims. He even finds himself wondering whether all of Jessie’s protestations of love for his sister were lies. Reflecting, he has to admit to himself that he does believe that. At least in that – Jessie had been truthful. Then, he thought of Hamza . . . and Jessie’s telling him to be a “stand-in dad” when he was away. These revelations mean that he is going to be “away” – forever. He is now going to be far more than a stand-in. He is now going to have to BE Hamza’s father.
In the morning, Rashid has an appetite for breakfast . . . but Yethro has none. He feels ill. The Caliph persuades him at least to drink some tea. Then, the Caliph excuses himself briefly to make a few calls. To the brothel sergeant, he gives the order to secure the pig to a fuck bench and to remove his cock cage. Then, he calls the vet to make sure that he has prepared things as directed. He tells him that when he calls him again in a short while, he will expect him to be at his brothel office so that he will be able to arrive inside the brothel immediately thereafter.
“Come Yethro. Come Rashid. It is time. You must confront the pig and hear his confession. Then, you must fuck it . . . each of you – and not gently!”
“My Caliph . . .” Yethro began –
“No! There will be no sparing you this, Yethro!” the Caliph interrupted. Rashid said nothing. He was more than ready to have his pound of flesh.
Once arrived at the dingy soldiers’ brothel, they find it empty. On the far side of the open space, they see a slut tied to a fuck bench. The Caliph leads them to it. They would not have recognized Jessie had they not known ahead of time that it was he. Shorn of all body hair and his beard and head buzzcut . . . it is not an “object” they would ever have identified as their longtime acquaintance, friend, and confidant!
“pig!”, the Caliph shouted. “Lift your head and look at my guests.” “Ya sayyidi,” the pig says as he obeys. Seeing Yethro and Rashid, he flushes with embarrassment, looks back down hanging his head.
“Lift your fucking head, you white heathen piece of shit!” demands the Caliph. The pig complies. it looks into the faces of its adopted father and its brother-in-law.
“Tell them the name that was yours when you first knew them . . .the actual name. Then, tell them what your job was, pig.”
“Sirs – my name was Jessie Benson. I worked as a spy for the United States government. My assignment was to spy on you and report anything important to my handler. I am very ashamed, Sirs. I do not want to look you in your faces!”
The Caliph points out, “You will notice its perfect Arabic! All this time, it has been understanding EVERYTHING that was said in its earshot! The pig betrayed every secret it heard! it will suffer for the rest of its life for its treachery! Is that not just, Yethro . . . and Rashid? What do you say? Speak!”
Yethro knows that as Jessie’s – or “the pig’s” father, he is expected to answer first. He looks back at the slut tied to the fuck bench and asks, “How, Jessie . . . how could you have betrayed us for so long . . . even after you knew us . . . after we had not only befriended you . . . but after we had come to love you?”
“Sir – I dare no longer call you ‘Abba’ – there came a time when I was torn and did not completely want to continue my spying, my lying. But – my sense of duty to my task for my country kept pulling me back from coming across to your side. I am so sorry. I accept my punishment now, Sirs”
Rashid finally sees his opportunity to speak has arrived. “pig! Yes – p i g – I have no feelings of mercy for you. You are nothing to me any longer. No punishment that the Caliph might put on you would be too great! He has named you well! You deserve no human name! You are an animal . . . the lowest and most disgusting of all animals. I look forward to fucking you!”
“Rashid,” the Caliph directed, “stand in front of the pig’s head and lift your jalabiya. Yethro, stand at its ass and do the same.” They obey the Caliph. “I command you both to fuck it hard . . . and then trade places. Rashid, you are not to seed its mouth. Save your semen to be added to its ass . . . as deeply inside him as you can leave it!”
As they take their places, Yethro has tears streaming down his face, but not Rashid. His eyes show only rage.
The Caliph has picked up a whip and says, “As you punish it with your Muslim cocks, I will whip the pig’s body. it will not enjoy this fucking . . . even though I am told that it has very much seemed to be enjoying its return to its previous work as a brothel slut! Yes. The pig is doing what it is best suited for now . . . and it shall do it for as long as it lives!”
“BEGIN!” And they do. The two men at either end of the fuck bench began to fuck the pig mercilessly. Before they are done, it has blood coming from its mouth and its hole. Then, they trade places and continue. Yethro is no longer shedding tears. The fucking has set free his anger. Now, his eyes look much like those of the pig’s brother-in-law. They fuck it with abandon . . . while the Caliph bloodies its body with the whip the entire time. It goes on about half an hour. The pig’s cries of anguish are loud and constant. When they finish, it is still conscious . . . but not by much.
“YES! EXCELLENT! You have both done well. You had the right to deliver suffering to this traitor. Never again call him anything other than the pig he is. You may spare his wife hearing about the traitor he is, the punishment he is bearing, or hearing his new name. As for his son – I do not want him told anything about his father’s treachery. It would cause him shame he does not deserve. He is to be a proud Muslim leader - not a shamed man. As he grows, tell him only that before his death, his father worked as your administrative assistant, Yethro, and then as mine. That will be enough. Speaking of his death will not be lying to the boy. The man who existed before he was renamed ‘pig’ IS ‘dead’.”
He goes on, “Let us take a rest and leave it to recover before I continue. Come upstairs to the quarters of my male concubines. We will refresh ourselves.”
Upstairs, in a living room-like area, they are alone. There are few words, no actual conversation. The emotions of the past hour are overwhelming each of them in his own particular way. Yethro is no longer shedding tears, though. His anger once having surfaced, it now seems that the love he once felt is well and truly dissolved. Rashid’s body is still trembling a bit, but his face bears a sinister smile. As for the Caliph, his expression is blank. He has been slowly working up to this . . . and fucking the pig several times a week . . . for some time now.
After about an hour, the Caliph directs them to return with him to the brothel. As they arrive, the Caliph goes to the exercise yard and brings in one of the guards. He tells him to move the pig from the bench and to place its wrists and ankles in the cuffs on the “X cross”, facing outward. Then, he is to add straps firmly binding its thighs, waist, and biceps to the beams, too. When done, he orders him to go back outside shutting the door behind him. Then, the Caliph calls the veterinarian, simply saying, “Now.”
The doctor comes into the room. He has two roller suitcases with him. He goes to the cross where the pig is fastened. He opens his equipment containers and arranges the items inside them. The Caliph has not advanced near the doctor and is standing at a distance with Yethro and Rashid.
Suddenly, they hear a low moaning from the pig. it has looked down at the veterinarian’s spread out equipment. “nooo . . . noooo . . . nooooo . . . Noo . . . Noo . . . Noooo . . . . NO . . . NOOO . . . NOOO . . . Not THIS, My Caliph! Not THIS. NOT MY BALLS! NO – NO – NO! PLEASE, My Caliph – Do Not Take My Balls! Not My Manhood! NOOO! NOOO!”
The Caliph’s expression finally changes to a smile. “Yes, pig. YES. You have betrayed your Caliph! You will live out your life in this brothel not just as a fuck toy . . . but as a EUNUCH. A eunuch slut.”
Now, even Rashid is looking shocked. Yethro has fallen to his knees on the dirt floor. The veterinarian reaches up and coats the pig’s penis and sac with a strong-smelling antiseptic. He takes out a farm animal gelding tool. He sets aside latex gloves along with his materials for sewing surgical wounds for his use after the castration is done. He takes the large farm tool and carefully places it underneath the pig’s totally limp penis, setting it so that he will cut its testicles in a single motion.
The Caliph calls out to the doctor, “Remember that I want that sac whole, with the balls still in it, cleaned of blood and then dried in the sun. I will turn it over to the leather crafters to weave its sewn-closed opening into a leather necklace. I will sometimes wear it when I fuck the pig . . . or hang it around its neck as a reminder of what once hung in its crotch.”
“NOOOO! NOOOO! My Caliph – Do Not Take My Balls! NOOO! NOOO!”
Suddenly, the doctor takes the handles of the tool and brings them together fast and firmly.
“AAAAAAAH AAAAAAH AARGHHHH AARGHHHH AAAAAAAAH AAAAAAAH AARGHHHH AARGHHHH AAAAAAH AAHRGHHHHH AARGHHHH AAAAAAH AAAAAAW AARGHHH”
Blood is spilling from the pig’s crotch. After quickly putting the severed sac and its contents into a prepared container, the doctor quickly puts his hands into his gloves. He uses surgical clamps to staunch the blood flow from the vessels that are cut, and he deftly stitches them closed. Once he is satisfied that the bleeding is adequately stopped, he begins to stitch closed the slice where the now separated sac used to attach to the pig’s body.
It is done. The pig is a eunuch.
it is making a combination of moaning and sobbing sounds as it hangs on the X-cross. its entire body is trembling in physical and psychological shock. There are occasional “aaahh” and “aaargh” sounds . . . but mostly just long, low, moaning “NOs” and sobbing. The pig knows it is forever changed.
The still smiling Caliph turns to Yethro on his knees beside him. He nods to Rashid to help him get Yethro to his feet. They leave the brothel and return to the headquarters. Yethro says he’s going to be sick. They take him to his suite of rooms where he rushes to the toilet and vomits out what little is left in him. Even Rashid feels queasy . . . but he manages not to vomit. What they have seen is the most shocking thing they’ve ever witnessed. They will not forget it. Yethro is mourning it. Rashid is celebrating it . . . as is the Caliph - who has been responsible in the past for several such procedures as today’s.
To be continued.
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