Date: Sun, 21 Apr 2019 20:14:04 -0700
From: Emri S. <tarzanacide@gmail.com>
Subject: Ahmed's Cub- Ch. 06

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++++


Story Recap: Ahmed, a fit, Egyptian man of 24 years meets the boy of his
dreams in Dylan who is newly 18. Dylan was in a deep depression over the
tragic loss of his parents in a car accident. Dr. Colton Takada administers
a procedure that relieves Dylan of his illness but also instills in him a
deep desire and obedience for Ahmed.

-----------------

Ahmed's Cub

Ch.6 - The Criminal

By Emri

-----------------

"Your son has my boy! Where is he?" I yelled as I ran towards the Korean
man who started to stand.

"He said he wanted to play his game. He is likely in our room," he offered.
He knew the shitty son he'd raised, and didn't seem surprised that he would
be implicated in this.

"Take me now!" I demanded. I didn't care about the presentation anymore or
the fact that everyone was staring at us. Dylan was in danger and I didn't
know what Shion was capable of.

Everyone followed us as the man led me to his bungalow. The clients, the
security, and Dr. Takada moved like a herd of angry buffalo behind me.
Sheikh Zayed came at us from the other direction. He mirrored my anger.

"My security team has alerted me to the trouble. They are searching the
property for him. This does not happen in my home!" he boomed. I nodded and
thanked him. He put his hand on my shoulder as we followed the now shaking
man to his bungalow.

They had one of the standard units closer to the main building. The man
pointed to the one that was his and stopped.

"You stay here, Mr. . Ahmed and I will handle this," the sheikh said to the
man with anger. He waved for his security team and I followed them as they
moved in on the door. Sheikh Zayed came behind me and put his hand on my
back to show solidarity. They swiped a keycard and the door unlocked. They
opened it but everything was dark and quiet.

"Ahhh looo!" The front security guy called out and then they moved in. They
did a quick sweep of the place, but my boy was not inside and neither was
his likely captor.

They cleared the place and then the lights came on and Sheikh Zayed stepped
in behind me. The security team moved out to search the property while
everyone filed into the small bungalow like it was a museum tour. The
Korean man, who introduced himself as Mr. Jung looked as if he'd been
kicked in the stomach.

"I am so sorry. He is such a shame. When you find him..." he started, but
then Sheikh Zayed cut him off.

"We will find him and deal with him as a criminal. This does not happen in
my home!" The Sheikh insisted.

"Of course. Do with him what you will. I am done," the man sighed in
defeat. I pushed past him and went out to look for Dylan. This damned
resort was a maze. The crowd of clients split up to search for him too. I
could feel my heart pounding in my ear as I called his name at every turn.

"Dylan! Dylan!" echoed throughout the resort with everyone's voice joining
together. I checked our bungalow first. I even looked in the closet as if
he'd be tied up or something. He wasn't there. I headed for the recreation
center and just as I was coming towards the gates I heard the guards
yelling excitedly.

"Here! Here!" The shouted in Arabic. I followed their voices to a dead end
in a court of bungalows then retraced to get back around them.

"Doctor! Found! Safe! Get the medic!" They shouted excitedly. I ducked
under a low branch and hopped over a hedge through a dimly lit path through
the back of the complex. I found myself behind the bungalows along the
coast. I raced under the piers of their balconies until my feet hit the
sand.

I was following their voices and the shining flashlights until I ran smack
into a solid body.

I looked him dead in the eye. Under the dim light of the moon I could see
his right eye was puffy and his cheek was bruised. There was a small cut on
his cheek. He froze when he saw me.

"You fucker!" I screamed and punched him square on the jaw. Shion fell with
a thud.

"You got him?" A guard yelled from around the bend in the cliff. I hopped
over Shion's body and ran around to see a group of guards kneeling around
my Dylan perched happily on a rock.

"Daddy!" He yelled excitedly. He hopped up and ran towards me. I threw my
arms around him and lifted him up. His chest hit mine. His arms hung around
my neck. His legs wrapped around my waist. I couldn't talk. I just held
onto him. He pushed his face into my neck and laid his head against my
shoulder.

"So shook!" he mumbled. "So shook, daddy!"

"You are ok, my baby angel?" I asked. My voice broke. I felt like crying.
All my anxiety turned into a mix of relief and anger. "What did he do to
you?"

"I hurt him. Dude was gay! Did you know that?" he laughed. I set him down
and looked him over. He was fine but a little wobbly on his feet.

"Why did you leave the conference waiting room? I tell you to stay put!" I
said.

"No, but yeah! Like dude. He comes in there all cool and he offers me some
gummy bears. They were mad tasty. Like this really strawberry cream flavor.
Oh they were lit!" Dylan started. Something was off with him. He was
incoherent and started to ramble. The medic arrived and gave him a look
over.

"Something is wrong. He is not himself," I said to the medic in Arabic.
Dylan chuckled.

"Looks like he is high, but otherwise fine. We do not permit drugs here,"
the medic said.

"He gave you drugs!" I said.

"Oh, yeah maybe. He did seem weird when I downed a handful of them." Dylan
said then paused and put a finger to his temple like he was trying to
remember.

"Yeah anyways he said he had a game setup in his bungalow and I told him I
shouldn't go off, but he said you said it was chill if I went so I was like
Oh ok cool! But then he said he wanted to show me something on the beach he
found earlier so we came down here and he was chill and stuff for a little
while. He told me had this bodyboard and we could take it out tomorrow with
a boat! I was like wow! Yes! Boat me!" Dylan started to ramble again.

"How do you end up to hurt him?" I asked, wishing I could just take Dylan
back to our room. The clients started to come down. The medic had bandaged
up Shion and the security team had him in handcuffs.

"No! Oh well yeah, so like we sit down on the big rock here and then he
starts to touch me! Like woah! He grabbed for my jock and I was like No
thank you! I'm cool with guys who like guys but well you know... I like you
and stuff but it feels different. I didn't want it. I said Bruh! No!"
Dylan's face fell like he was worried he did something wrong.

"Then what happened?" I asked. Sheikh Zayed had joined us.

"Dude came at me! I pushed him off and he fell then he like lunged for me
and I blocked him like YEEET! Oof! So I caught him on the cheek with my
right hook and he stumbled back and then started telling me I had to do
what he said like he is a man and I am a sub boy. Da fuck does that even
mean? He got all cringy on me and I said Bruh just chill I'm not into that...
am I in trouble?" Dylan looked like he was unsure.

"No, my love. You defend yourself. You shouldn't have to defend yourself,
not here," I sighed.

"That's right. You did good. We are proud of you," Shekh Zayed said.

"Thank you, sir... I did my best," Dylan said with humility then flashed
those angel eyes to elicit sympathy from everyone. The crowd reacted with
sounds of adoration.

"Poor kid," said one man. "Sweet little guy," said another. Dylan nodded at
their sympathy but kept his eyes on me, hoping for my approval. I wanted to
laugh at his cuteness, but he was high and I was pissed and ready to beat
Shion.

"Take your boy to the room. I will be there shortly to discuss this,"
Sheikh Zayed said. He squeezed my shoulder to assure me things would be
handled properly. I wanted to tear Shion limb from limb but I knew the
sheikh would be able to do worse.

I carried Dylan the whole way back. He was getting heavier with his hard
workouts, but I wasn't about to set him down. I took him back to our
bungalow suite and set him down on the couch. He looked at me with a
thoughtful expression and with the lighting in the room I could see his
glazed over eyes.

"You know what? I haven't been on a skateboard in like weeks, bruh! We
should get one here!" Dylan said this like it was important news.

"Ok, my love. We will get you this," I assured him and kissed his forehead.
I slipped off his shoes and socks then laid him down on the couch. He
rolled onto his side and stared at me as he sucked his thumb like a small
child. He was unbearably cute. I knelt on the carpet beside him and pushed
my nose against his. I rubbed them together and he giggled. It made my
heart flutter. There's nothing I wouldn't do for that smile.

I got Dylan a water bottle and some crackers. I turned on the television to
a nature show. He sat up and sipped it then noticed how interesting his
fingers were. I listened to him comment on how magically they moved until
the sheikh arrived. He came in with his security team and a man who looked
vaguely familiar.

"Sir. I can not thank you enough for your concern!" I said in Arabic with
respect as he came in.

"I am sorry that this happened, especially on my property. How is he?"
Sheikh Zayed asked.

"Oh he should be ok. He is very silly right now. I will put him to bed
soon." I turned to look at Dylan who was eating his crackers very slowly
and watching the lions on the nature show as if they were the craziest
thing he'd ever seen.

"I wanted to introduce you to the guest staying next to you. This is Ali
Hamad, the Emir of Satra. He wanted to check in on your boy as well,"
Sheikh Zayed said and waved towards the man who was with him. I had heard
the name and many stories of his great wealth, but he was quite elusive
from public eye.

"Mr. Hamad? The ruler of Satra?" My mouth dropped open as I took him in. He
nodded and offered a handshake.

"Dylan, come!" I said as I shook Mr. Hamad's hand a little too excitedly.
While Sheikh Zayed was wealthy beyond reason, Ali Hamad was legendary. He
never allowed his family in the public eye. He was the money behind the
money.

Dylan hopped up and then ambled over towards us. He was a little shaky but
otherwise happy.

"Heyyyy, Bruh! Sweet beard!" Dylan chirped with a wild grin. He reached to
touch Mr. Hamad's beard but I pulled his hand back.

"Hello, little one. I heard you met with an unfortunate boy tonight. Are
you well?" Mr. Hamad asked with concern. He started to look Dylan over.

"This dude is foreign." Dylan tried to whisper to me but he was talking in
his regular voice. He did cover his mouth with his hand as if that would
help. He had lost his sense of volume control.

"I am from this region. You are the foreign one here," Mr. Hamad laughed.
He took no offense at my boy. "Come, let me look at you." He took Dylan
closer to the light and observed his eyes.

"Woah! He's right! I am foreign... fooooor. Innn. Yah!" Dylan chuckled at his
words. I whispered to him to close his mouth immediately.

"Ali is well trained in medicine and has raised two boys of his own,"
Sheikh Zayed told me.

"Yes! Twin sons. Right, sir?" I asked. Mr. Hamad nodded. He put his hands
on Dylan's cheeks. Dylan stared up at him and pursed his lips like he was
expecting a kiss. I was surprised at how readily he allowed Mr. Hamad to
explore him. But Ali Hamad is no normal man. He is a fierce lion in his own
right. He knew how to handle a boy.

"His eyes... It looks like... hmmm." Mr. Hamad leaned in and put his nose close
to Dylan's lips. "Probably just Marijuana. We confiscated the candy he ate.
The wayward boy says Dylan ate a handful of it. He will likely have a
stomach ache but he will be fine. He should get to bed."

"Yes, Dylan go and put on your pajamas and brush your teeth," I told him.
Dylan paused, enjoying the way Mr. Hamad rubbed his cheeks and scratched
under his chin like a kitten. Dylan purred at his touch, maybe from the
drugs.

"Yes, sir. I am," he said with reluctance. He seemed strangely entranced by
Mr. Hamad.

"Sir. It is an honor to have you here!" I said when Dylan left. I was
starstruck.

"I came to learn about the procedure. It could be helpful with prisoner
reform efforts. May I sit?" he asked.

"Of course! I have forgotten my manners!" I apologized and cursed myself
inside. I needed to get it together and act like I belonged in the presence
of two of the world's most powerful men.

I sat on the couch while the sheikh and Mr. Hamad took the two large
chairs. A worker brought in a tray and set it on the low table between us.
He took off the cover to reveal a bottle of fine scotch, glasses, and a
tray of fruit. The sheikh poured three glasses while Mr. Hamad asked about
the procedure.

"And the boy. His attachment to you is clear. That was intentional?" he
asked.

"Yes, sir. He needs someone to monitor him and the procedure requires
maintenance though over time the effects become deeply ingrained on their
own. Also, as you will see, his natural self requires direction and a
fatherly hand. He was spinning out of control without his parents. They
hovered over him and sheltered him. He isn't made for life on his own." I
took a sip of the scotch and coughed.

"Yes. I am hoping it could turn our young men around and make productive
citizens out of the ones who have gone off course. They could be used for
policing and security services." Mr. Hamad held up his glass as he spoke.

"Yes, sir! It certainly could. Dylan's obedience is absolute," I assured.

"I have seen the documentary. It is adorable how he follows your every
whim! My husband was concerned about changing their sexuality or putting
them in situations they normally would not choose, but our inmates
forfeited their freedom and this would greatly reduce cost while allowing
them back into the general population. Attaching them to our security force
or a wealthy patron would give them a better life. On that we do agree," he
noted. I hadn't heard much about Mr. Hamad's husband, only that he existed
and was very loved.

"It would most certainly be a better life. I'm sure they would choose it as
an alternative, and they could produce money to repay their societal debts
by working for wealthy families or in public service." If I could sell this
procedure to a kingdom, Dylan and I would be set for life.

"You will come with me to Satra when your business here has concluded? I
have spoken to Dr. Takada about this, but having an Arab perspective would
convince my brothers and partners." He said this like it was a command
rather than an invitation. I readily agreed.

"And this boy who has wronged your boy. He is being confined for now. The
medic is with him. Your boy did a lot of damage to him. His father has
agreed to a fine. That will go to you, naturally. If the boy requires care
or counseling then the father will pay for it. Would $200,000 American be
acceptable to you? We can demand more. Whatever you think is fair. I'm
sorry for what happened to your boy. He is very beautiful and innocent,"
Mr. Hamad said.

"That would be a fair settlement," I said. Inside I was doing flips. I
could pay for Dylan's education and care. "He will be shaken up by what
happened, but he has his daddy here."

"Naturally. You and Dylan will be my guests. We have the finest medical and
mental health services. They will give him whatever he needs. As for the
other boy, Shion. His father has asked that we reform him. He does not wish
to take him back to Korea. If you don't feel it would damage Dylan further,
I'd like to take Shion with us to Satra and perform his procedure there for
observers. He is a very attractive boy and his tattoos can be removed," Mr.
Hamad explained.

"That would be a great way to show the implications for prisoner reform!
Dylan is a very sweet and gentle boy. He would not want us to leave Shion
with no help." I finished saying this then noticed Mr. Hamad's eyes turn up
and look behind me. I turned to see Dylan standing there wearing pajama
pants and a tank top. It showed off his pale but developing chest and arms.
He was a sleepy, dreamy All-American boy no one would resist taking to bed.

"What troubles my angel?" I asked. I reached for him. He still had that
glazed but happy look in his eyes.

"There's still people here. Are you coming to bed? It's scary in here," he
whispered too loudly.

"Come and sit with your daddy, little one. Let him calm you from your
trauma," Mr. Hamad told him. Dylan smiled with relief and came to me. I
reached my arms out to help him sit beside me, but instead he settled into
my lap. I turned him sideways and cradled him against my chest. Dylan gave
a wide yawn and put his head against my shoulder.

"Bring him a blanket," Sheikh Zayed said. A worker scurried over to a
closet and brought back a light woven blanket. I thanked them and covered
Dylan with it. He settled in against my chest.

"He is a very good boy." Mr. Hamad smiled warmly. "He will enjoy my
estate."

"We would be honored, sir!" I said with a little too much excitement.

"Dr. Takada has already agreed. He wishes to return to California but says
he can assist remotely. My research team will be there to learn as well. If
we can develop this and my brothers agree, we would be purchasing the
procedure. I would want you to help oversee it, of course. I'm impressed by
what I have seen so far. I hope that it can deliver on a larger scale," he
said.

I rocked Dylan lightly. He's not that short, but he just seemed to fit in
my arms. He stared up at me happily like I was doing something highly
entertaining.

"Close your eyes, boy." I kissed his forehead and he squeezed his eyes
closed comically hard.

"Normally," I laughed. "Try to sleep."

"They are too cute at that age. My Emi was 18 when I got him. He was small
and submissive like yours. I never wanted him to leave my bed," Mr. Hamad
said in Arabic. We stayed in that language so Dylan wouldn't be disturbed
trying to listen in. We talked about my college studies and what I could do
for the Hamads. Sheikh Zayed was pleased he could bring us together.

We talked for hours until Mr. Hamad called it a night. He said his husband
would come find him if he didn't get back soon. Mr. Hamad told me to dial
his private extension on our room phone if Dylan had any troubles and he
would come to check on him.

I thanked them for their concern with my Dylan and then carried my boy off
to bed. I was too excited to fall asleep right away. The things I could do,
the empire I could build from this would be a life change. I'd have
security to keep my boy safe and be closer to my family in Egypt. They
would be proud of me for making something of myself and being able to send
money to them.

+++

Dylan woke me in the morning. I opened my eyes to see him holding his
stomach and shaking my chest. I sat up and saw his troubled face. I dialed
Mr. Hamad and he came over to check up on him. He brought a bag of medical
supplies and a smaller, blonde man who I guessed must have been his
husband. The smaller man was thin, but toned with a warm smile.

"Hello, little one. Your tummy hurts you?" he asked Dylan as he came into
our room. I had gotten up and put on shorts and a t-shirt, but Dylan was
sprawled out in his pajamas looking weak. He sat up and nodded.

"Hi, sir.  I am Ahmed," I said to Mr. Hamad's husband. He smiled and
nodded, but didn't reply.

"He is deaf." Mr Hamad turned to look at us. He signed to his husband and
then told me about him while he got Dylan to sit up. Mr. Hamad pulled Dylan
over to his lap and pulled out a stethoscope to listen to my boy's stomach.

He told me about his husband, Emerson Hamad. He told me had come to the
kingdom 25 years ago when he was just 18. He told me about their twin sons
Ali-raza and Amir. Emerson began to sign and Mr. Hamad translated between
us. It was amazing to watch.

"I ate bad bears," Dylan said as Mr. Hamad listened to his stomach and
chest.

"You did. That was not a good decision, was it?" he asked.

"No, sir. It was not." Dylan shook his head. Emerson, or "Emi" as Mr. Hamad
called him, came and sat beside them on the bed. He felt Dylan's forehead
and then gave it a gentle kiss and rubbed his hair.

"We raised two boys who would eat almost anything," Mr. Hamad laughed then
started to sign with his husband back and forth. They must have been
telling a story. Dylan was fascinated watching their hands fly around him.
I was too. The two were so beautiful together. I knew Dylan and I would be
that someday.

Mr. Hamad gave Dylan something to calm his stomach and his husband helped
ease Dylan back to lie down.

"He will be ok. I suspect you have meetings today, correct? We can take
care of your boy for the day. The sooner you conclude business here, the
sooner we can head home and bring you two with us," he said. I wanted to
forget about the business here. Nothing we could do here could match what
was waiting for us in his kingdom, but I didn't want to look like someone
who dodged his responsibilities. I thanked them and told them I would get
Dylan dressed and ready.

"You will be on your best behavior! Whatever Mr. Hamad tells you is same if
I say it myself, yes?" I asked Dylan when the two men had left.

"Yes, sir. Good boy will be good," Dylan groaned and rubbed his stomach.

"You are ill, my angel. Will you be ok without me?" I realized I was
getting caught up and forgetting my first priority. My boy was sick.

"Yeah, they're chill. It's starting to feel a little better," he said then
let out a loud burp.

"You will need a lot more of those," I laughed. I helped him change into a
pair of comfy sweatpants and a t-shirt. He sat on the bed while I packed up
his backpack with his phone, earpods, and a change of clothes.

"Bruh! Feels like I'm going to daycare," he laughed while watching me pack.

"I want to make sure you have everything for comfort," I said. I added the
sweatshirt of mine he had clung to when going through the procedure. It was
his favorite thing. He smiled.

He watched me get into a suit and then I walked him over to Mr. Hamad's
suite next door. From the outside, their suite looked the same as ours, but
when the guards let us in I could see it extended out much farther and had
levels that went down the cliffside. It was a mini mansion and they had at
least five workers inside preparing food, straightening up, and putting out
fresh flowers on the various tables.

"Welcome! My Emi is doing his yoga. Dylan can stay with him. Breakfast will
be served soon. I ordered a special stomach remedy for him," Mr. Hamad
said. Dylan came in behind me wearing his backpack and clutching my old
sweatshirt like it was a pillow.

"Thank you so much! I know he will be better off here instead of sitting
through meetings with me. I am grateful for your kindness," I told him in
Arabic.

"Thank you, sir," Dylan said and stifled another burp. He looked pitiful. I
hated to leave him, but I knew he was in good hands.

The day was excruciating. I was half-present for the presentations. Dr.
Takada made up for my disinterest, but I could tell he was annoyed at my
lack of enthusiasm. All I could think of was my boy lying sick in the
Hamad's suite. I wanted to be with him, and talk more with Mr. Hamad. When
we took a break for lunch I rushed back to check on him.

"He is feeling much better. My Emi is a natural with childcare. How were
your meetings?" Mr. Hamad asked when I came in.

I told him about the potential clients as he led me back to a sunroom where
Dylan was doing yoga poses with Mr. Hamad's husband. Dylan had changed into
shorts and a tank top that likely belonged to Emerson. He was standing on
one leg with the sole of the other wedged up against his thigh. He had his
arms up over his head like he was praying. He was doing his best to mimic
the older man's poses.

"I hope he hasn't been any trouble," I said to see if Dylan had said
anything inappropriate.

"Oh no. He is a fine boy. My Emi has enjoyed playing with him all morning.
Your boy has even learned some sign language. He is very well behaved," he
told me. I sighed in relief.

"Good! He should nap soon. He has been sleeping at least ten hours since
the procedure. If you want, I can take him back to our room and put him
down," I offered.

"No need. We have extra rooms here and Emi will sit with him. You will come
for dinner tonight. Emi gave him some herbs to help him sleep. He will be
well rested when you return," Mr. Hamad assured. He had his staff make me a
sandwich to eat on the way back to my meetings.

I returned to Dr. Takada in the conference area where he was dining with
our next client. It was a psychiatrist from South Africa. They had a
variety of appetizers and beer. Dr. Takada introduced him as Jordan
Pienaar. He had light hair and bright green eyes with sun-kissed skin. He
looked young for a doctor, maybe just a few years older than me.

"Jordan was telling me his story. It is similar to yours," Dr. Takada said.

"Is it? My love, Rex, he was healthy and strong when I met him. We dated
through college then he went to work for a business firm in Cape Town. He
was moving forward. We even bought a condo while I was doing my residency.
Everything was going so well until he was attacked. Four men jumped him as
he was walking back to his car after a business dinner." Jordan looked away
from us, deep in thought.

"I was supposed to be with him that night. Instead I stayed home, exhausted
from exams. I fell asleep and didn't wake up until the police banged on our
door. They took me to the hospital. He stayed there a month recovering from
his injuries, but mentally he never came back. A month after that his firm
offered him a year's salary to resign. He didn't want to go back anyways.
He hasn't left the house alone since then. It's been a year and he still
cowers behind me anytime a group of men approaches. I just want my husband
back." Jordan sniffed back a tear as Dr. Takada nodded and squeezed his
shoulder.

"We can do that! We can certainly do that," he assured the man.

The next meeting annoyed me. An older Greek man who'd let himself go was
looking to replace his current trophy boy who had hit age 30 and wasn't
keeping up his tight body anymore. He told us the boy was spoiled and he
was ready to kick him out. He wanted us to make sure the procedure would
ensure that whatever boy he got would always keep himself in shape.

"You take a break," Dr. Takada told me after we wrapped up with the Greek.
"Go and be with your boy and the Hamads. You lock down that contract for us
and it'll be worth ten of these conferences! He's quite taken with you and
Dylan. I hope you'll consider his offer."

"What offer?" I asked. Dr. Takada seemed to know more than I did.

"To stay in Satra. I assured him I could monitor things from California.
You'd be able to help them get it all set up. I'd be able to retire once it
got running and I was sure you could monitor it all. It's a huge change,
but Dylan doesn't have much family left and you're all he needs." Dr.
Takada put his hand on my shoulder and looked at me with hopefulness.

"I'd have to talk it over with Dylan. He still has a brain in there and he
has to agree to it," I said. I knew Dylan would go wherever I did. As long
as he had his games and my body, he would be happy. I would see how he felt
when Mr. Hamad asked us.

When I got back to the Hamad's suite, Dylan was napping peacefully on the
couch under a heavy comforter. Emerson was curled up in an armchair with
his tablet, and Mr. Hamad was on a business call at the dining table. He
waved me in with a smile and I sat across from him until he finished.

Since Dylan was still asleep, we decided to go check in on Shion, the
Korean boy who had attacked him. He was confined to his bungalow. His
father had taken a room elsewhere. Sheikh Zayed had assigned a security
team to keep an eye on the boy.

"Let me check in on Dylan first," I said. I missed my boy. With all the
excitement of what was going on, I could never forget my primary purpose
for all of this.

"He sleeps so peacefully. My Emi has been watching over him," Mr. Hamad
said as he followed me over to the couch.

I knelt beside my boy. He was on his back with the blanket pulled up over
his chest. I pushed back his hair and took in his handsome little face. He
was so beautiful, so perfect. I put my hand over the blanket where it
covered his stomach and felt something squishy. I pulled back the cover to
see he was holding on to a small stuffed camel.

"We brought it for him from Satra. Emi was curious to meet the boy we saw
in the preview videos. He thought he would like something from our
country," Mr. Hamad said. It had a little heart on the side of it with
"Satra" stitched in Arabic script. He looked so cute holding it.

I was just about to cover him up again when I realized it had been almost
24 hours since Dylan had my essence inside him. The boy needed a dose of
me; sweat, sperm, tears, anything that I could give. It put his body at
peace. He would be cranky when he woke up if he had to wait through dinner
to get me.

I put my finger in my mouth and collected the spit that I could. The two
men watched me curiously as I put my spit-soaked finger to my boy's lips.
Instinctively, his nose twitched. His eyes blinked open and his lips curled
into a sleepy smile. He opened his mouth and I put my tongue inside. He
sucked it eagerly, like a baby with his pacifier. His blue eyes opened
fully and looked at me with gratitude.

Dylan sucked on it for a minute while he watched me. Finally, his eyes
closed and he drifted off back to sleep. His lips kept pulsing around my
finger. I waited until they went still and then took it back. I pulled the
covers up over his chest again and kissed his forehead before getting to my
feet. Both men looked at me with wide-eyed alarm.

"It's my essence. He needs something from me. It calms him down, regulates
his mood. It's a fail-safe of the procedure. It overcomes whatever emotion
he may experience and sets his world right again." I wasn't sure how to
finish or if this was going to freak them out.

Mr. Hamad translated to sign for his husband who turned his head like he
couldn't quite understand, but then nodded knowingly and smiled at me.

"Very intriguing!" Mr. Hamad said thoughtfully. "I am impressed. This could
do wonders for our inmates! Let's go see this boy now."

+++

We found Shion splayed out on the couch wearing black sweatpants and
reading a book. He looked up at us when we walked in, then scooted up the
couch in fear.

"You are reading. That is good," Mr.Hamad said.

"They took my phone and tablet. The TV doesn't work either," the boy
grumbled.

"Inmates need time to reflect. You'd have much live entertainment in the
Saudi prison system if you prefer!" Mr. Hamad warned.

"No, sir. This is better. When can I go home?" He asked. He set down his
book and sat up on the couch. His face looked better. They'd cleaned him up
nicely. With his shirt off I could see he had decent muscle development,
but an ugly set of tattoos on his chest.

"Your family has dismissed you. You can't even afford legal representation.
You brought drugs into this country, used them to seduce a young boy, and
physically assaulted him. In this kingdom that brings the death penalty.
Sheikh Zayed is ready to turn you over. The boy will testify and things
should wrap up within the month." Mr. Hamad explained as he sat in the
armchair next to the couch.

"That's not right! The embassy will send an attorney! I'm only 20. They
won't kill me!" Shion's words sounded unconvinced as his voice cracked and
his body shook. His feeble attempts to put up a brave front were met by a
cold, amused look from Mr. Hamad.

"You might be right. The judge is a fair man. He stays here as Shekh
Zayed's personal guest quite often. In fact his son is interning at one of
Zayed's corporations. We could call him to get a preview if your case.
Would you like that? Knowledge is power. Of course if we inform him of your
crime then it is out of our hands. The media will surely cover it and the
people will demand justice. But knowledge is power," Mr. Hamad was enjoying
seeing the boy squirm. I enjoyed it as well.

The smug confidence I'd seen in the boy last night had vanished. He lowered
his head, whispered "fuck," and started to weep.

"Please don't," he said with a shaky voice. Tears rolled down onto his
chest and he covered his face with his hands.

"You can be saved. Your father is done with you but he begged for our help.
He's returning home tonight. We told him this country has no tolerance for
that behavior. You cannot buy your way out of this. You are done." Mr.
Hamad spoke with ice.

"Please!" Shion went to the floor. He fell on his knees and crawled towards
us. "Please! Dylan will forgive me. I'll beg him. Let me talk to him. I'm
sorry."

"You drugged my boy. You tried to steal his innocence, his safety, his
peace. You had no mercy for him but beg it from me?" I spat.

"I'll do anything. You can't let them kill me. I can't go to prison.
Please," Shion cried.

"Sit up, boy. There is no mercy here, but there might be a way to salvage
you," Mr. Hamad began.

"Anything! Anything!" Shion looked at him with hopeful, tear-streaked eyes.

"You paid attention during the presentation? You understand what the
procedure does?" Mr. Hamad asked.

"Yes. I did. My dad wanted it for me." Shion wiped his eyes with the back
of his hand.

"It may be a way to rehabilitate you. We'd take you back to my home and try
it for my research team to observe. Sheikh Zayed would come in a month to
see results. If he is convinced you are a changed boy then it might be
enough for him to not pursue charges. If we fail then he would extradite
you back to Saudi Arabia for the trial. But at least you'd get an extra
month to live. You'd have to commit to this fully. Any disobedience would
be grounds for sending you back here." Mr. Hamad has thought this through.

"Yes! I'll do it. Please, sir. Thank you!" Shion groveled.

"Stand up. Let's have a look at your physical fitness. You work out, yes?
Sweatpants off. Display for us," Mr. Hamad ordered.

"Back home I live at the gym!" Shion was eager to prove his worth. He
scrambled to his feet and pulled off his sweatpants. He stood in a pair of
black briefs cut high in the back to show his ass. He flexed for us. It
wasn't peak fitness but he had more muscle than my boy who'd beat him.

"The tattoos will go. I have a dermatologist who will clear those up in a
week. Turn for me... yes. Your body is not bad. Any scars or blemishes?" Mr.
Hamad appraised him. The boy had flawless almond skin and perky little
brown nipples crowning his budding pecs.

"No sir! Well. Just one. I had a fall when I was nine. It's right here."
Shion slid down the waistband on his briefs to show a small crescent scar
on his right hip.

"We'll take care of that as well. Briefs off. Let's see what else we are
working with," Mr. Hamad directed as he leaned back in his chair. He looked
over at me and nodded towards the couch to say I should sit and enjoy the
show.

"Yes, sir," Shion smirked. He didn't mind showing off. His eyes sparked. He
started to slide down his briefs slowly and sway a little like he was
putting on a show. He was desperate to entice us and the front of his
briefs started to bulge.

"What are you doing? We aren't shopping for a stripper! Get on with it!"
Mr. Hamad wasn't about to allow Shion any control here. The boy looked
worried again. He stopped dancing and quickly shucked his briefs.

"Sorry, sir," Shion said as his cock poked out. He had a good size for a
boy his age. He had neatly trimmed black hair in a small patch above it and
a healthy set of smooth boy balls hung below.

"Interesting. Turn. Spread your cheeks." Mr. Hamad kept his icy tone but
his eyes showed his enjoyment of the boy's body.

Shion turned to present his ass. He spread his cheeks to show a perfect
little rosebud. He poked his finger at it without being prompted.

"Don't play with it. Did I tell you to do that? You really are an insolent
little fuck. Is it worth investing in you? You seem to be auditioning for a
fuck boy. That's something you'd get plenty of use out of in a Saudi
prison. Can you do as you're told or not?" Mr. Hamad feigned outrage. Shion
shivered and looked back over his shoulder at us with fear.

"I can, sir. I will do whatever you want. Please," Shion whispered with a
defeated tone. He understood he would not be able to charm Mr. Hamad. His
bubble burst.

"You will prove it. We leave tomorrow for my kingdom. The medics will check
you over once more and then you'll spend tonight in a cage Zayed is loaning
me. You'll be brought to the airfield tomorrow. Any problems and we'll
leave you here." Mr. Hamad stood and started to walk away. I rose and
followed him. We left a stunned Shion naked and trembling.

I went back to my room after that and changed for dinner. I put on a pair
of khaki pants and a fresh button-up. I saw that maid service had come
through. They had put our room back to its original, clean state, but also
they had done our laundry. The clothes we'd worn were folded and put into
drawers. Our clothes from the presentation dinner had been cleaned,
pressed, and put on hangers in the closet. It truly was a first-class
resort.

I went to the Hamads and found Dylan awake and playing a board game with
Emerson. He was laughing and signing the few, clumsy things he had learned.
Emerson was patient with him and showed him several times. I kissed my boy
and found Mr. Hamad working in an office he'd had set up.

He waved me inside while he spoke with someone on speakerphone. I listened
in as they discussed an oil development in Russia. He was having trouble
getting permits, but the man on the phone assured him it would be taken
care of within the week. Mr. Hamad was a harsh businessman and made it
clear he expected to not be bothered with this again.

He spent an hour with me talking about the new developments in his country.
He loved his people and was busy bringing in new investments. They had
taken in a tribe from the Sinai peninsula that was devastated after a
recent war. He showed me the plans to integrate them and give them a farm
to develop within the safety of their kingdom.

For dinner, we ate on the back patio. The sun was setting and a cool breeze
blew in from the sea. We had the most amazing grilled fish I had ever
tried. Dylan ate it up eagerly along with the side dishes. Emerson showed
him signs for everything and Dylan repeated them.

We were just having dessert when talk turned to our trip to Satra.

"Mr. Hamad has invited us to come home with them. We would be staying for a
long time." I told him delicately. I looked at him and hoped he would
welcome the news.

"I saw pictures of the house! It's legit fire! Hundo P! They even have a
skatepark!" Dylan said excitedly. He showed me the sign for skateboarding
he'd learned.

"We would be very happy for you to stay with us. It could be several months
or more. You would have your own quarters with Ahmed. Would you like that,
little one?" Mr. Hamad asked.

"Yes, sir! It looks like a resort!" Dylan was taking this well.

"Will you miss California? Your friends?" Mr. Hamad translated for Emerson.

"No... I... don't have those," Dylan looked down as if remembering the bad
times.

"You will have plenty in my home. I have two boys just a little older than
Ahmed. One has a boy who is also from California." Mr. Hamad explained.

"Kasper, right? Mr. E showed me pics. And his brother? Kyle, right? What's
his story?" Dylan asked. He had been paying attention. I was proud of him.

"Kyle works for us. He was troubled when we took him in. He took a lot of
work. This was before we knew of the procedure that could have helped him.
Now he is a wonderful boy who works in one of my offices. He lives in our
home as well. There are younger boys closer to your age. My brother and his
husband have two. They will all love you," Mr. Hamad assured. Dylan nodded
happily.

"Yes, sir. I would like to go there." Dylan put his head against my
shoulder. I knew he needed time with me and soon.

"Good. We will see that your schooling is finished in our home. We have
excellent teachers who will come and work with you. We will leave tomorrow.
Perhaps it is time for you two to get to bed." Mr. Hamad knew we'd been
apart for too long.

We hugged them and headed back to our room. It was a good day and the next
one would be even better. I held my boy that night as he slept. It felt
different. I felt like a real man. I could provide for him, give him safety
and whatever he desired. Dylan would have family, community, friends, and
love. Life was good. My boy was safe in my arms.
--
My Blog: https://emriwrites.blogspot.com/