A Lustful Kidnapping

At the point of ejaculation, the sheik raised up, dug his fingernails into Paul's hips, holding the young, trembling man in tight control, and, as he released once, twice, three times, sounded out a victory cry in Arabic. Once more the Arab world had defeated the West. Receiving the man's cum, Paul panted and gasped, his mouth yawning in being fully possessed and his eyes bugging out. He collapsed into his bound spread-eagled position, as the sheik took some victory laps of post-ejaculation thrustings as his shaft went flaccid.

When the sheik had finished and withdrawn from the room, the two hooded thugs returned, one standing at the door while the other freed the young man of his restraints. Paul was escorted to the bath to shower again by one of the hooded men, who stayed long enough after he had showered to apply salve to the welts on Paul's back, buttocks, and thighs. The skin hadn't been broken, but the welts were red and they burned under the salve.

When they returned to the bedroom, a meal had been set on the café table. Paul was left alone to eat it.

In the evening, the sheik returned, once more only in a flared-open thawb, again in full erection and carrying the strap. Paul wasn't bound this time, but the sheik was large and powerful enough to be able to fully control the young man. He held him down on his belly on the bed and used the strap to subdue him again. This time the strikes were more forceful. Paul was fully cowed and docile when the sheik turned him onto his back, grasped his ankles, raised and spread the young's legs, thrust inside him, and fucked him in a missionary position.

In the darkness of the night, alone on the bed, still moaning and feeling the effects of both the strapping and the fucking, Paul struggled with himself on seeing this as a violation or a fulfillment of a fantasy. He had no idea why the sheik had had him abducted like this and was using him so fully and cruelly. He did realize that the sheik was fulfilling a fantasy of his own, but Paul had no idea where there went. If it was just cruel sex, he could get enjoyment out of it himself and test boundaries he had wondered about. But how far would this go?

He also contemplated what Rafik's role had been in this abduction and he couldn't come up with a scenario that made Rafik an innocent bystander--unless something had happened to Rafik after Paul had blacked out. Was Rafik wounded or dead and lying on the hill in Al-Faysallya--or was he part of this kidnapping plot? At some point would he come in and fuck Paul too? Paul was embarrassed that he wanted that to happen. He was even more embarrassed to realize that he wanted the sheik to return and to fully use his body again.

He was shocked to realize that his reaction to the initial mild strikes of the whip the first time to the more forceful application the second time was that he anticipated and welcomed even more cruelty the next time.

On the second day, Zayed al-Bunduq did return, first in the late afternoon to strap and fuck Paul again, this time with Paul spread-eagled on the bed on his back, watching everything done to him. In the evening the sheik returned again. This time he toyed with the young man, leaving the door to the cell open as if unintentionally and Paul unbound. When Paul made a foolish dash for the door, purely on instinct, as the sheik surmised he would, Al-Bunduq grabbed him, overpowered him, beat him down, forced Paul to his hands and knees, mounted him, and fucked him on the tile floor like a dog. It was done purely for the sheik's pleasure in demonstrating his power and control, but Paul had to admit to himself that he enjoyed it as well and that he was being opened to far broader sexual pleasure and satisfaction than he'd even experienced before.

On the afternoon of the third day, the cruelty escalated. Paul was bound to the X-frame, facing the wall and whipped and fucked. For variety that evening he was hung by his wrists from the chains dropping from the ceiling and whipped and fucked. When the sheik had worked himself up to full, throbbing erection with the effort of the whip, he grabbed Paul's legs under his thighs, raised and spread the young man's legs, as Paul hung there from the ceiling chains, hooked Paul's knees on his hips, put himself into position, and penetrated and buried his cock. Grasping Paul's butt cheeks and spreading the hole as open as possible with his thumbs, the sheik fucked the young man deep, hard, and fast. Arching his back and head and crying out to the ceiling, Paul wantonly went with the fuck, swaying against the thrusting cock, taking up the rhythm, giving himself wholly to this man who tortured and fucked--and fully satisfied--him.

Sensing the young man had fully surrendered to him, Al-Bunduq reached up, unbound Paul's wrists from the overhead chain, carried him to the bed without losing purchase inside him, and laid him on his back at the foot of the bed. For the first time in all of the time they'd been together, their lips met in a lingering kiss that lasted through the sheik positioning their bodies most more, with Paul's knees still hooked on his hips, and the sheik's cock working Paul deep in his spongy core. Paul's hands went to the gnarly old man's shoulder blades, his fingernails digging in to share the pain with the man who was now his lover, and he arched his back, as the old man's hands cradled and held his head, and moved his pelvis with the fuck, the old man fucking him and he fucking the old man.

The two were one, fused fucking machine.

By the fourth day Paul was thoroughly mastered and cowed. That morning, the sheik lay on his back on the bed and Paul, unbound, with the door to the cell open, and left entirely to express his own passion, saddled himself on the sheik's hips and rode the man's cock with wild abandon. Paul was fully invested in the visits himself and Al-Bunduq was assured that the young man had fully surrendered to him. Paul no longer cared that he'd been abducted. He was getting as much pleasure out of the old, cruel Arab as the sheik was getting out of him. The two clearly were comfortable with each other now and mutually satisfied. They were conversing, mostly dirty sex talk, but shared freely. At noon another chair was brought in and they ate a meal together at the café table.

In the afternoon of the fourth day, the two Arab thugs were given their bonus. One after the other, wearing only their balaclavas, the two men entered the room and each fucked Paul. One was tall and sinewy and one was stocky and hirsute. Both were hard-bodied and able to hold an erection, though. One was quick and clinical, taking Paul, bent over the end of the bed, swiftly in the position of the dog. The other was a lover, fondling and working Paul's body to where the young man was begging for it when the stocky Arab spread and raised the young man's legs, nestled in between his thighs, mounted him, and took him to heaven. Paul resisted neither of the men, was not bound or beaten during the fuck, and went with it fully. He did so later in the evening going into the night, as well, as, at twenty-minute intervals other men paid their fee to be brought into the cell to enjoy their piece of the young blond and blue-eyed American whore. This was, after all a male brothel. Paul took them all willingly and, now, with his own slice of pleasure--and to exhaustion.

In the night, he lay there, on the bed, exhausted, unable to move, unable even to close his legs, one arm dangling off the side the bed, the other one flung across his face. He had lost count of how many men at fucked him. He was whimpering--and even to his ears he realized that he was purring. The one thing he knew for sure was that he was fully satiated.

The flood of light across the bed caused him to move the arm off his face and look toward the open door from the corridor. Sheik Zayed al-Bunduq walked to the foot of the bed, unbuttoned and slipped off his thawb, and climbed up onto the bed between Paul's spread legs.

There was no question now that the sheik was in charge and Paul was to be the docile submissive. And this was the way Paul was finding he liked it. He liked to be covered by an older man; he liked to be manhandled by the man; he even liked a little pain with his pleasure--and sometimes more than a little pain sent him straight up into arousal heaven. The young man had never before ejaculated as prodigiously and often as he had done in these four days under the control of the sheik. The young man addressed the older man with respect and awe and as the master. Paul had become a willing sex slave to Zayed al-Bunduq

* * * *

On the fifth day, the police who had been stationed in Lionel Townsend's villa following the payment of a ransom demand of an almost laughable paltry amount, received notification where they could find Paul Townsend. He was where they'd been told to look--groggy from sedatives and sitting on a park bench in the depths of the Amman National Park, adjacent to the Townsend villa's neighborhood. His hands were bound behind his back, a cloth hood covered his head, and he was wearing nondescript, unlabeled shorts, a T-shirt, and the running shoes he had been abducted in. The kidnapping was just one of several low-ransom snatching of children of foreign expatriates living in Amman over the period, and the amount of ransom led the police to conclude that it was the work of a minor gang operating in the city. Thus far all of the victims had been released quickly and without harm. Paul was just one more of the lucky ones, warned to be more circumspect in his life from there on out--and perhaps to hire an off-duty policeman as a bodyguard.

The police, of course, questioned Paul closely on what he had experienced, but he was able--he was willing--to tell them little, claiming he'd been drugged the whole time. He didn't tell them he'd been molested, repeatedly and roughly, while imprisoned. And he most definitely didn't tell them that he knew who had molested him and who obviously was responsible for having him kidnapped. He didn't point the finger at Rafik, either.

When the doctor the police sent him to examined him, he found the effects of the strapping and whipping. Fortuitously for Paul, the doctor found this more arousing than something of concern to report to either the police or Paul's father, and Paul was able to win the man's silence by letting him fuck and flog him. By now, Paul had realized that the strap enhanced his own arousal during sex.

By prearrangement, Paul returned to the doctor's office after hours and, because he had learned he enjoyed being fucked bound, allowed himself to be trussed on the doctor's examination table, face down, arms dropped off the sides, wrists bound to the side of the table, and legs bound in stirrups and spread. Using his belt--and in later encounters a paddle--the doctor reddened the young man's buttocks cheeks before saddling up to him from behind and on top, penetrating, and fucking him. Both enjoyed the experience enough that Paul signed on as one of the doctor's patients with the difference that, in the future, the doctor paid him for appointments rather than the other way around.

Zayed al-Bunduq had threatened reprisals if Paul revealed anything to the police, and, as far as Paul knew, the old Arab wasn't even aware that Paul knew who he was. In the event, though, the sheik had no worries of what Paul would say. For Paul it had become an adventure that he wanted to have. There was no reason that either his father or the police need know that, however. He had no trouble understanding that he hadn't been kidnapped for the ransom money but because Zayed al-Bunduq wanted to fuck him. And, for this, Paul was flattered.

Shortly after Paul was released, the Abu Dhabi National Oil Company won the Energy Ministry's bid for oil and gas supply, which the Kuwait Petroleum Company objected to, giving evidence that they bid had been the lowest, but no one publicly charged Lionel Townsend with having been bribed--and they certainly didn't connect the bid win with the kidnapping of Townsend's son. If Townsend himself made such a connection with the Abu Dhabi negotiator, Sheik Zayed al-Bunduq, or if Al-Bunduq had made such a connection himself to force the bid win, Lionel never mentioned it to Paul

Two weeks later, the American University of Madaba soccer team hosted an exhibition game with the team of the nearby Al-Faysallya Secondary Boy's School. Paul played on the university team and Rafik Zawati coached the boy's school team. Paul and Rafik had not met up since the kidnapping. During the game Rafik found a moment to speak in private with Paul. The older man didn't explain or apologize for whatever his role had been in the kidnapping. He revealed he had been part of the plot, though.

"The man who you spent four days with is back in the city and wishes to use you again," he whispered in Paul's ear. "If you value your safety and that of your father, you will meet with him."

"You mean the old man who had me abducted and then molested me, over and over again. The man you helped kidnap me."

"The way I heard it you came to love it, Paul. That you gave yourself willingly to the man after he made you realize it was what you wanted. I thought it was what you wanted. Was it?"

"Yes, it was," Paul admitted.

"Can you then forgive my part in it? The sheik really gave me no choice but to help him. Will you go back to running with me on the hill?"

"Yes, I'd like that."

Rafik smiled. "I'll take you to him. We can arrange for you to just be going out with me after the game to a café as a gesture of good sportsmanship between our schools. I will, instead, take you to a house on Tallaini Street in Amman. He is willing to pay. You can start earning some of the ransom money back."

"Yes, fine," Paul answered. "He doesn't have to use threats. I will go to him willingly and give him anything he wants from me. This house on Tallaini Street--is it where I've been before?"

"I wouldn't know anything about that," Rafik said, giving Paul a wary look. He couldn't be sure yet that the young man would forgive the role he'd taken in the abduction. Rafik had taken a chance on that. He had a story prepared of being overpowered, though, and that he didn't report it because he didn't think Paul would want to be connected with him in public in sexual activity in the hills of Al-Faysallya. Rafik was a soccer star; the news would splash.

"But could it be the same place I was held?" Paul persisted.

"It could be. Tallaini is the street of brothels. You could have been held in one."

"I was taken by many men there, not just the old man--and my keepers. Do you suppose... do you suppose this brothel might be hiring Westerners like me--on an occasional service basis?"

"You enjoyed having many men on top of you, one after the other?"

"It was exciting."

Rafik gave Paul a pointed look, broke out into a grin, laughed, and said, "I'm quite sure they would love to hire you."

And indeed, the male brothel on Tallaini Street was quite pleased to add Paul to their roster of prostitutes willing to take the whip.