Deceit's Web

It was unclear whether the woman was attractive or not. Jason had a job to do and she was attractive enough for him to do it. It was his job to be up for it, whether with a woman or a man. What was evident was that she had been attractive at one time--and probably more clearly due the term voluptuous--probably some twenty-five years ago and that she once knew what it was like to satisfy and be satisfied, and even now wanted to be satisfied. She was paying to be satisfied. Jason was sought out for this not just because he was a young, blond, god-like American, but because he could get it up almost no matter whether the woman--or man--was attractive or not, he could keep it up for as long as required, and he could use it to the patron's satisfaction.

Jason Jansen was bisexual and he was a male whore in an Amman, Jordan, Tallaini Street male brothel, with the reason that he was here, in this corner of the world, serving women and men alike on a whorehouse bed at the age of twenty-two, changing roles and positions depending on who asked him and when they asked, being that he become trapped here. It wasn't that he had aspired to be here in his dreams a year ago--or even a couple of months ago.

The Arab woman was north of fifty, Jason was sure. He'd assessed her and settled on that while she was ceremoniously stripping off Parisian house clothes and handing them to Jason to fold, while Jason stood by her, in the nude, already fondled, checked out for action, and with the erection that it was his talent to produce and maintain on demand. She was treating him like the servant he'd been reduced to at this moment. She was a bit beyond voluptuous, with pendulous breasts, a thickish waist, a belly bulge that would be welcome on a belly dancer in the smoky rooms on Tallaini Street, broad hips and buttocks, and fat, puckered folds of a cunt crying out for a man's cock--and now in the process of handling Jason's, long, thick shaft. With a coquettish little smile, she lay on her back on the bed and spread her legs.

She had rouged the folds of her cunt; she was ready for the action she--or her husband, wanting to avoid mounting her himself--had paid for.

Saddled between her meaty thighs, Jason kneaded her breasts, nuzzling in closer to her, giving her his version of a lust-filled smile, living the woman's fantasy with her that she was paying for, as she reached down with both hands, grasped his hard cock and pulled him inside her. Hugging his hips with her knees, she immediately began bucking against him. Leaning down, he cupped her head between his hands, lowered his lips to her bouncing jugs, kissed them, and sucked on her nipples as she arched her back and fucked herself on his shaft. All he had to do was hold there for a while. When he took over the thrusting, he pressed his forehead to hers, capturing her eyes with his.

"Kayf turid dhlk?--How do you want it?" he murmured.

"Fi al'ardaf. Fi aleumqa. Alan!--In the ass. Deep inside. Now! Come inside me. No baby, just fuck."

Surely the woman wasn't young enough to get pregnant, Jason thought. Maybe just the thought of what her husband would do if it happened had her in fear of it.

Jason pulled out, turned her over, belly to bed, quickly rolled the condom off his cock and dropped it on the floor at the foot of the bed, grasped and squeezed her breasts, and, as she cried out a "Nem! Nem! Alan!--Yes, yes! Now!" worked his way into her ass.

A dozen thrusting pumps and he came, deep up into her channel. A few minutes of holding there and whispering what she wanted to hear in her ear, a pat on the rump as he pulled out of her, a few minutes with her in the shower with some more fondling as they cleaned off, rubbing her down with a towel, and then she was on her way on what she'd probably told her husband was a shopping trip. Her husband would choose to believe her, relieving him of having to lie that he'd been covering a young woman himself during this time.

Jason had two hours before his next session. He used it smoking a joint, having a beer, and taking a nap. He knew the next one would be rough.

He sometimes was booked for four sessions a day, although he didn't work every day. He was a young, blond American, and he was bisexual and versatile--man, woman, top, bottom, he could get hard for it and do it all. He was much in demand, but the brothel was smart. They didn't own him like they did some of the others. He was premium meat that had just shown up, offering himself because he'd run out of money. As such they didn't overuse him and they charged hefty fees to use him. He was for the private, well-heeled and high-placed patrons solely.

This wasn't Jason's own room. He had a small bedroom, with a bath, he could go to. And he could take any meals he wanted in the kitchen and employees' lounge. He had free time. He'd been here for two months now, coming from here or there, a different place, depending what he wanted to tell whoever asked. He didn't reveal much. It was unlikely this was his goal, but no one knew where he came from or where he'd been heading.

It's a good thing Jason got some rest. It also was a good thing he was a bit high when the next patron arrived. He was a tall, Arabic man, in the sparkling white robe, known as a thawb, that men traditionally wore in the Middle East. He was perhaps in his early fifties, military of bearing, gaunt but hard muscled of body. He was a scowler, all business, demanding. He brought his own riding crop, and he used and rode Jason to the limit of what was permitted at the brothel, which, for a Westerner like Jason, was far short of what would be permitted of another Arab. Arab whores, male or female, were expendable, and it was just patrons like this one who were prone to use them up.

The bed in the room assigned to Jason in which to receive patrons was a sturdy four poster--for a reason. Restraints could be attached anywhere along the four posts and would put whore or patron in a variety of bondage positions. Activity on the bed could become so vigorous that a standard bed wouldn't hold up to it. Nothing could be more of a cock deflator than the bed collapsing under you at the moment of climax.

The position the commanding Arab patron chose for Jason was spread-eagled, standing at the foot of the bed, naked, and stretched out, wrists bound high on the corner posts at the foot of the bed and his ankles bound low on the posts. Enough give was provided in the bindings to allow Jason to writhe--and writhe Jason did--as, stripped down himself, the mature, gaunt, hard-bodied Arab whipped--without a great deal of power behind the strikes because of the house rules he was given--the young American on the back, buttocks, and thighs. The patron used the whip until he had gone erect, which didn't take that long and didn't do much more than redden the young man's skin, and when he was hard, he saddled up behind Jason, mounted and penetrated him, and fucked him. The fuck lasted longer than the whipping had. The patron was on his best behavior with this delectable young, Western blond.

Strangely, the man had said he wouldn't lay on with the whip as long as Jason could make him believe Jason was suffering--that he required that to go hard. Jason must have done well on the acting, as the man certainly went hard.

After the man was gone, the house manager visited Jason to tell him who that had been--Mohammad al-Kasasbeh, a major regional arms merchant.

"He has bought your contract for two nights. It was your roleplaying that impressed him, and he is paying well if you can agree to roleplay with him."

When Jason heard how much was involved, he said he certainly could play whatever role Al-Kasasbeh wanted from him. He'd rather enjoyed the whipping, as long as it didn't get too painful. It had gotten him hard too. There wasn't anything about Al-Kasasbeh that would prevent him going hard. In contrast to most of his Arab patrons, Al-Kasasbeh was a handsome, fit, and experienced man. Jason would not have chosen this way to replenish his resources if he didn't enjoy being used by handsome, fit, and experienced men. He had even discovered that the rough sex propelled him into the heights of arousal.

* * * *

"You want me to do what?" Jason asked when Al-Kasasbeh had him in his compound in the wealthy Amman residential section of Dabouq, northwest of the city center. Al-Kasasbeh was briefing Jason on the visit of a man he called Hamid, who Al-Kasasbeh needed to sell his wares to. The man hadn't said what his wares were--he hadn't even given Jason his real name--but the brothel manager had revealed who he was and that he was an arms merchant. Jason, of course, hadn't given his real name either. He was Jerry and Canadian for this outing. He had no interest in actually being outed.

"I want you to be a virgin--each time he takes you. That's how he likes it."

"But he will know. After the first time, it will be evident."

"If you are good, he won't know until the second time. He wants to believe while he's fucking that it's the guy's first time. I'm sure he doesn't really expect it to be true. He wants the sensation of taking a virgin each time. We will give you to him as someone we have captured just for him--just to please him and encourage him to deal with me. So, you should act like you're frightened and cowed by it. After the first time, you should show that you have succumbed to his mastery and that he owns you. I chose you not only because he likes young, Western blonds, but also because you roleplayed well with me and the whipping. You must know that he won't be playing, though."

It was true. "Hamid" didn't play around. Jason also recognized him immediately, as Jason was well-read on current events and was one to try to keep ahead of whatever was pursuing him. The man, large of body, but powerful and muscular in addition to being heavy-bodied, ugly as sin but commanding of presence, dressed in the traditional sparkling white thawb robe with Arab headdress, wasn't really named Hamid. He was a Saudi prince, Suliman bin Saud, responsible for arming his fabulously wealthy country. It wasn't as big a deal as it sounded; there are a whole gaggle of Saudi princes. Jason could understand why Al-Kasasbeh was prepared to do anything to get his business, though, because all Saudi princes had power and money.

The man was cruel the first time. Jason was dumped, naked, and hands bound behind his back, in a pile of pillows in a luxuriously appointed bed chamber. The prince stood over him as Jason trembled there, pretending to be a complete innocent and a confused captive, as the prince unbuttoned his thawb from neck to hem and flared it to reveal a meaty but powerful body and a throbbing erection. Jason tried to rise, and, laughing, enjoying the game, the man beat him down. Jason rose again, with the same result. Bin Saud slapped the young man into submission. He then took a whip as Jason rolled over onto his belly, and laid into the young whore's back and buttocks and thighs with a much more powerful snap than Al-Kasasbeh had done in the brothel.

Jason was genuinely whimpering and sobbing and totally docile as Bin Saud put an arm under his waist and raised him to his knees, with his cheek and chest pressed into the pillows. The prince nuzzled his face into the young man's crack and ate him out, with Jason panting and whimpering, until the man had the urge to rise, cover Jason on top and from behind, mount him, penetrate him, work into him to the quick. Then, as it seemed from the response of the cowed virgin, Bin Saud took the young, subdued captive for his first supposed journey to anal deflowering.

During the night, the prince took him again and again, with, as bidden to do, Jason becoming more accommodating and yielding to it each time. Each time attendants took Jason away for an hour or more to clean him up and to allow the prince to rest and recover his virility. The last time, with the day dawning outside, Jason arrived in a thawb and knelt beside the mountain of a man, reclining in the pillows. Bin Saud's thawb was unbuttoned and flared. He stroked his erection with one hand while unbuttoning and flaring Jason's thawb with the other. The young man, no longer bound and on his own, gave the prince a dreamy "I am yours" look and took the prince's erection in hand as Bin Saud took his. Each stroked the other, their eyes locked in a gaze of mutual lust. On his own, Jason moved over into the prince's lap, facing him, held the man's hard cock in place while he descended on it, and rose and descended on the shaft in one last giving and taking of the day, Jason surrendering totally, and now quite willingly in the game, to the mastery of the Saudi prince.

"Yes, yes, yes, you are a bull," Jason murmured as he rose and fell on the shaft.

Al-Kasasbeh was pleased with Jason's performance, most likely because he was pleased with whatever deal was struck with Prince Suliman bin Saud, and he sent Jason back to the brothel on nearby Tallaini Street in the Jabaiha quarter well compensated for the whip welts on the young man's back and buttocks. Jason had rather hoped he'd done well enough to join Al-Kasasbeh's luxurious establishment more permanently, but that didn't come to pass.

He left relieved, though, that the prince did not expose the deceit--not to mention that the Saudi prince hadn't whipped and fucked him to death.

"I know you were not a virgin," Bin Saud whispered in parting, "but pretending to be helped me enjoy you immensely. Here, here is a note with an address. If you are in need, come to me there. But only come to me if you are willing to please me as you just have done."

So, no moving up to the household of Al-Kasasbeh for Jason, but a backdoor insurance policy from a prince should he need it. The address was for a side street off Tallaini Street. Jason could easily escape to there from the brothel. Not bad wages for an act of deceit.

* * * *

They met in front of an exhibit in the Jordanian archeological museum in the Ras Al-Ein district of Amman, where Jason exhibited an interest in and more than a slight knowledge of archeology and the other man showed an equal interest and much greater knowledge of archeology. He, a mid-thirties redhead, with good facile features and a tanned, fit body, also showed an interest in Jason that went beyond the museum's subject matter.

In response to the awe Jason exhibited in the man's knowledge, the man identified himself as Avery Bradfield, an American and a professor at the University of Jordan in archeology. Jason chose to say he was Jordie James, also an American and a student--in archeology--at the University of Maryland, College Park. He wanted to keep the conversation going, so he feigned the archeology connection. He did, in fact, have an interest in the subject--but no real knowledge beyond his general good grasp of history. In addition, he said his father was a commercial attaché at the American embassy in Amman, and "Jordie" was visiting on a semester break and interested in volunteering on an archeological dig for extra college credits--again, anything to keep the conversation going. The professor intrigued him and activated his arousal. Jason was in the mood to hunt on his own rather than to take anyone who came through the brothel door and wanted to lay him.

When Bradfield moved on to another exhibit, Jason followed him, smoothly asking the other man questions about what was on display in the new exhibit. This way, the two went through the museum together, companionably sharing bits and pieces about the exhibits and about themselves. Bradfield gave Jason that special look, which was returned, with a smile. Jason was thrilled to be courted outside of the confines of the brothel. Bradfield touched Jason a couple of times on the arm, first to direct the younger man's attention to something, later, when he sensed Jason wouldn't recoil, just for the connection. Jason never pulled back. Bradfield touched Jason on the buttocks and the younger man just smiled at him. The man was taking his time. This was a seduction.

Bradfield invited Jason to go to dinner with him, and Jason readily agreed. Over dinner Bradfield discussed a university course archeological dig he was directing in the nearby town of Madaba, between Amman and the Dead Sea. Jason expressed interest.

"We're expanding the excavation of the Roman baths there," Bradfield said.

"Fascinating. I'd love to be involved in that," Jason answered.

Bradfield invited Jason back to his apartment to look at timed photographs of the dig at Madaba. Jason agreed, with a smile, knowing that this wasn't really about seeing the man's photographs, a take on "come up and see my etchings." Bradfield's eyes twinkled when he made the proposition, knowing that they both knew the connotation to what was on offer.

As if by accident, an art book on male nudes lay beside the album of Madaba dig photographs on the coffee table where Jason was seated while Bradfield went off for drinks. The art book wasn't just nudes; it included art shots of older men fucking younger ones. Of course Jason looked through this before looking at the Madaba dig album and was just changing over when Bradfield returned with the drinks. Bradfield obviously saw what Jason had given priority interest to.

They spent maybe seven minutes looking at the Madaba photographs before Bradfield picked up the other album and they went through that one together. Afterward Bradfield extended a hand, Jason gave himself over to it, and Bradfield walked the young man to his fate. Jason made no effort to demur. They both knew he wouldn't. Bradfield fucked Jason first on the sofa in his living room, a gay porn movie running on the TV screen and a couple of marijuana joints smoked, and Jason, naked, and body beautiful, bent over the arm of the sofa, knees pressed into the sofa cushions, and Bradfield crouched on top of him, fucking him in a doggy position.

Later, still with no hint of opposition or the need for negotiation, they moved to the bed in Bradfield's bedroom to go through several athletic positions of the fuck during the evening and early night. Bradfield was impressed how professional and athletic Jason was. Jason was just glad to being fucked by a young, in shape, good-looking American.

At breakfast, Bradfield asked Jason if he would be interested in working on the Madaba dig. He mentioned a stipend. They both knew it was for the fucking not the archeological dig work. Jason happily agreed.

A week later, after Jason had worked on the dig in Madaba a couple of times, Bradfield praised him for how fast he'd learned the procedures. He wasn't pretending. Jason had, in fact, picked up on what to do quickly, which was a surprise to Bradfield. He knew that the University of Maryland didn't offer courses in archeology. He also knew that there was no commercial attaché at the American embassy by the name of James. The commercial attaché was a fat woman older than Bradfield was.

The lad had been deceitful with him about his past--and his current status. Bradfield had immediately identified him as an attainable rent-boy. But Jason hadn't been deceitful about being of use on the dig at Madaba. And the way he moved around just in shorts and sandals and looking like sex on a stick--and as long as "Jordie," or whoever, laid down for him, opened his legs for him, and let Bradfield screw him, the man didn't give a shit what the young man's game was. He just watched what they were digging up carefully to ensure the young man wasn't walking off with any of it.

* * * *

"Avery's my cousin. He wrote that he was shorthanded at the dig here this year and didn't I need a break from my graduate studies?" Jason, who had already introduced himself around as Jordan, although he would prefer being called by his nickname, James, had looked down to see that Jasmine was reading a Jane Austen book during her break. Pride and Prejudice. Jasmine was sitting under a canvas awning, where the diggers at the Roman baths excavation at Madaba went for relief from the sun. She wasn't wearing much more than Jason was, who was in short shorts and sandals. Of course she didn't go bare-chested on the dig as he often did, but even when where a top, she was ogled as much as he was. His tan was magnificent. Hers wasn't bad either. The two of them had been eyeing each other for a couple of days. Earlier today was the first time they spoke.