Date: Tue, 18 Jun 2019 17:09:35 -0700
From: Emri S. <tarzanacide@gmail.com>
Subject: Ahmed's Cub- Ch. 07

~~  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.7 - The Kingdom

By Emri

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

"Trust me, as soon as we take off, Dylan will fall asleep." I told Mr.
Hamad. He had just finished showing me the area they had set up for Dylan
on his jet. Emerson had put games, snacks, and a comfy blanket in a small
area with two big chairs. Mr. Hamad and I would be closer to the front. I
had a laptop loaded with files and data from Dr. Takada. We were eager to
get started on the development of the procedure for his country.

"My Emi was looking forward to having a playmate on the journey. But he
does have three charities demanding his attention at the moment. I'm glad
your boy is so accommodating with mine. Emi loves taking care of others and
can be a bit too much," Mr. Hamad laughed.

"Dylan loves the attention. He lights up with your husband. He lost his
parents and he told me this morning how much Emerson reminds him of them.
His mother liked yoga and he practiced some with her. He's still very
awkward with it, but it makes him feel at home." I noted.

Dylan and I had finished a long day. I had a few more one-on-one meetings
with clients that morning, and then there was a lunch for the group where
they got to meet Dylan. I shuttled him around from table to table. He said
hello, but not much more. He was painfully shy in the group setting,
something he abandoned around Emerson and Mr. Hamad.

After the lunch, we were given some time to go back to the room and rest.
Dylan was yawning before I got him to the bed, but he quickly perked up
when I laid him down and stripped him down to his briefs. He had on blue
ones with spaceships flying across the fabric. They stretched across his
bubbled boy-butt. I was eager to get back in there.

I stripped down to my boxer briefs then spooned him from behind. I started
to kiss on the back of his neck and slide my hands up his chest. My bulge
pressed into his ass and he wiggled it against me. He had me fully hard by
the second rub.

I slowly rubbed his smooth boy-tummy. It was sensitive to my touch and made
him laugh as his cock sprang to life. He started to get playful with me and
turned in my arms to face me. He pushed on my chest like he wanted to
tussle.

"You try to wrestle me? You wish to subdue your Baba?" I laughed. He was
pushing against me trying to get me to roll onto my back. I knew what he
wanted, my cock inside him.

"I'm getting stronger. I'll pin you some day," Dylan laughed and tried to
press his lips and narrow his eyes into a toughboy look. It was hard to
suppress my grin.

He tried to push against my chest, but he was still a weak boy and it was
futile. I rolled onto my back to let him win. He cheered then climbed up
over me. He straddled my chest with his knees and looked down at me
victoriously. His hard tent poked against my abs. He was unbearably cute
with those shiny blue eyes and clever grin.

"You have me, my love. I am your prisoner. Now what do you do?" I asked. I
stared up at him while he thought. I let him push my arms up against the
pillows. He held my wrists crossed above my head with one hand and leaned
down to claim his kiss.

"You're not even trying! That's not right. You have to fight back," he said
when he broke the kiss. His handsome face hovered over me. He had more
power than he knew. I'd do anything to see that smile.

"I wanted to see what you will do. You are so beautiful. I am powerless to
resist my boy... and why will I fight my little lover?" I leaned up, kissed
him again. He blushed.

"What will I do...." He thought for a moment but came up empty.

"You want to ride me, yes?" I offered a hint.

"Yes! I mean... sure. I mean... If you want... whatever is cool," Dylan tried to
cover his excitement. I knew he couldn't help it though. He needed it. He
needed me inside him, my seed in his stream. It pulsed through him like a
drug each time I gave it. It was a shot of euphoria that made his world
perfectly at peace.

He hadn't had me in a bit and his body was edgy and desperate, especially
with the added anxiety of having been the show boy for the men to see at
lunch. He needed the centering only his master's offering could bring. My
seed inside him would set his world to right.

"I always want to be inside my boy. I will always want to claim what is
mine," I assured him.

His eyes lit up at that and his lips curved into a smile. He leaned forward
and I slid my arms around his back. I pulled him down against my chest and
his lips fell onto mine. His soft blonde hair fell forward and tickled my
forehead as we kissed. I pushed my tongue past his lips and tasted his
sweet, minty breath.

My cock was tenting the boxer briefs to full capacity. I pressed my bulge
up between his cheeks and bumped it over his tender hole. My boy moaned,
breaking our kiss, as his head arched up. His eyes looked down at me with
that needy, lust-filled begging. I reached down and freed my cock then
smacked it against his ass then used it to poke the fabric of his briefs
into his boy pussy. He groaned again, whimpering for what he knew was
coming.

"Please, daddy, breed my hole," he begged. "Please, baba." He used the
Persian word for daddy knowing the growl it produced in my chest every time
I heard it from his full, pink lips.

"You need daddy in that boy pussy?" I tugged the waistband of his briefs.
He raised up off of me and got to his feet to push them off. His cock swung
between his thighs as he hurriedly kicked off his briefs. He squatted down
over my cock, but I pulled it away.

"Let daddy lube it first. My boy gets ahead of himself," I chuckled. He was
so desperate for me that he would have taken it raw just to get what he
craved.

"Yes, sir," Dylan said. He got to his feet again and hopped off the bed. He
went to the side table and got the lube. He fumbled with the cap but then
stopped when I reached for it. He handed it to me with a blushing grin.

"This is daddy work. I don't want my boy playing around with his pussy. It
needs its owner to open it properly." I sat up and patted the bed for him
to lie down beside me.

"Yes, daddy," Dylan said obediently. He lay down next to me and looked up
at me expectantly. I reached between his thighs and he spread them for me.
I touched his hole and he let out a whimper. It was adorable how quickly he
reacted to my touch. It made my chest swell with pride that I could so
easily put my boy into a state of happy lust.

I took my finger back and poured lube over it then put it back against his
hole. I wiggled into him and his body stretched out with a low groan. I
pushed in deep then slowly slid in the second finger next to it. His hole
opened for me as his lips fell open and his eyes screwed up. He pulled his
legs back against his chest and held them open to offer his hole to me. I
wiggled my fingers inside him to rub that prostate and make him moan. His
cock was full hard and it rocked back and forth in time with my fingers.
Dylan whimpered like a needy boy getting his fill.

"You feel me, boy? Feel what only daddy can give you? Your boy pussy opens
for its owner so nicely. My little flower blooms." I strummed his hole as
his body twisted and his back arched. He tried to suck in more of my thick,
wet fingers. My cock was aching, so desperate to claim its prize.

"Fuck me, daddy. Fuck your boy. Please, Baba. I need it," Dylan cried. He
looked up at me with eyes that said he knew who owned him and loved it.

"That's my boy. Daddy's good little pussy begs so nicely. You want daddy to
pound this hole like a real man?" His ass was ready for me. He couldn't
take a rough breeding yet. I didn't want to damage him. I'd fuck him gently
and pretend he was getting the pounding of his life.

I'd always be gentle with him. He was my love, my beautiful innocent. I'd
never rut him like I did my clients. With them I would flip them over and
take them from behind. I'd shove their faces into the mattress and put my
foot on their neck while I took out my agressions on those holes.

They needed to be put in their place. They paid good money to be used and
treated like shit. They gave whatever I demanded to be owned and seeded.
I'd never want that for Dylan. I got off on his sweet kisses, the adoring
looks from those wide blue eyes, the shy but insistent begging for the seed
he needed.

Dylan was perfection. If he had been gay, if I hadn't adjusted his brain,
he could have had his choice of men. Every client that weekend had shown
the same lecherous smile when they met him. He was all-American youth. He
could have owned a kingdom and charmed his way to whatever he wanted... but
he wouldn't. He was just a sweet kid who wanted my seed.

"Yes, sir. Please fuck me," he begged. Those blue eyes twinkled and I did
what they told me.

I slid my fingers out of his hole and used them to lube up my cock. It was
ready to breed him. I got up on my knees and lined my cock up with his
hole. I leaned over him as I pushed into that perfect pussy. I took his
right nipple between my teeth and sucked on it. He has small pink boy
nipples that puff up when I work them. He giggled then gasped as I pushed
into him.

"Ohhhhhh," Dylan squealed. I kissed up his chest then rubbed my teeth along
his jaw as I inched into his hole. That tight, pink pleasure gripped my
cock. When the head of my dick found his prostate, his pussy erupted in
waves that massaged my tool in a rhythmic dance. Dylan wrapped his arms and
legs around me as his body convulsed in ecstasy.

"Huhhhh! Daddy! Fuck! Please! Good! Boy! Yours!" Dylan panted with nonsense
as I pushed into him deeper.

"That's my baby. Daddy's good little pussy," I whispered as my lips found
his right ear. I bit and sucked at the lobe as I started to fuck him
gently. I only got half of me inside him then slid it out and pushed right
back in. His body jerked in pleasure as I gave him what he needed. I felt
the hot juice of his precum as his cock rubbed against my abs. He was in
perpetual orgasm from the moment I entered him.

He whined and begged, panted and moaned. His sweaty chest rubbed against
mine and I could feel his heat, his pounding heartbeat. I lifted him up off
the bed and kept my cock in his pussy while I sat back on my heels. He kept
his arms and legs wrapped against me as I slid him down then pulled him up
on my cock. I put my hands on his ass, held him by the cheeks, and bounced
him on my thick, Persian meat. My boy put his head on my shoulder, sucked
at my skin, and whimpered thanks and praise for what his owner was giving
him.

"Fuhhh," he cried as his lips sucked on my shoulder.

"My pretty boy, you feel so good," I praised him. He went limp against my
chest, overcome by the pleasure his ass was feeling. I bounced him on my
cock, careful to not give him more than he could handle. I kissed his neck,
squeezed his bottom, and growled in pleasure.

His hole was made for me. Every time I pushed in it rippled and squeezed in
response. It was eager to please. I kissed my boy and sped up on him. He
let out a feeble whine and tried to push down on my cock.

"I'm so close," he finally said. I knew he had been fighting it. We both
came so quickly when we fucked. It felt too good and the need was too
strong.

"It's ok, boy. Cum for your daddy. Your pussy grips me so tight when you
cum. It's so fucking..." I stopped because Dylan started to shoot and his
hole clamped down on my cock in tight pulses. He shot his boy seed all over
my chest and convulsed in my hold. He moaned loudly as his chest crashed
against me.

"Fuck, daddy! Fuck! Oh fuck!" He gasped for breath and coated me with his
seed while I pounded his pussy. It felt so good and had me on the edge.
Dylan tossed a few more times in my hold. I tried my best to hold him. I
gripped his cheeks and pounded that pussy so he wouldn't fall off. I'd
never drop my boy.

He finished with a shiver then collapsed against me in a sleepy heap. I had
just a few more strokes. I fucked him slowly. I could feel myself ready to
shoot. I kissed his neck, pushed up inside him and then felt myself
explode. Dylan awakened to that and arched his back again. He let out a
deep groan as my cock started to shake and pulse inside him. My seed shot
up deep into his hole and his eyes widened at the taste of the juice he
craved.

"Oh fuck me," Dylan begged while I growled and filled his pussy.

"Fuck baby, so fucking good!" I buried my cock up in him and filled him
with what he needed. He panted excitedly, the instant rush to his brain had
his cock bone up again.

"Yes, daddy! Fuck! Yes!" Dylan put his lips to my shoulder and sucked hard
as his body buzzed with my spunk. "Fuhhhh," he mumbled against my skin.

I pounded him a few more times then gave up the last of my juice. My boy
murmured sweet nonsense and held me tightly. I pushed in one last time and
felt his pussy slurp up the final drops of my cream. His body sucked me
dry.

"So good," I said. I held him against my chest and laid back on the bed. He
collapsed on top of me as the initial wave of pleasure subsided. He quickly
laid at peace, his mouth agape against my left pec. He fell asleep on his
daddy's heartbeat. My boy was safe at rest in daddy's arms.

"I love you so much," I whispered and kissed his hair, but he was out.

***

Dylan boarded the plane with Emerson and a valet who carried their
carry-ons. Emerson showed him their area. Dylan was already yawning. He
hadn't been able to finish his nap from earlier. He sleepily followed the
man until he got to his oversized chair. It swallowed him as he sat down.
He slipped off his shoes and pulled his legs up into a cross-legged
position. Emerson started to show him the games and snacks, but then Dylan
yawned and he could see it was not of interest at the moment.

Dylan was out before we left the tarmac. Emerson gave him a neck pillow
then covered him with a thick blanket. Dylan disappeared under it and
burrowed in until we were out of Saudi airspace. Emerson kept himself busy
with his tablet. Mr. Hamad assured me that his husband had a lot of work to
do with his charities and we needn't worry about him.

I spent most of the flight going over data with Mr. Hamad. He was deeply
interested in the trials and patient files. He was eager to learn as much
as he could before bringing this to his people. He wanted to make sure it
was safe. I hoped that it wouldn't disappoint him.

Half an hour before we landed, we joined Emerson in his area and had a
light dinner. I woke Dylan and insisted he eat some. I shared his oversized
chair and a plate of pasta with roasted chicken. Mr. Hamad did the same
with Emerson. The man looked so natural sitting in his Arab husband's hold
and sharing a plate. I hoped Dylan and I were still like that when we
reached their age. They had a closeness developed over decades together.
Mr. Hamad was still so loving and eager to keep his boy happy.

We landed at a small airstrip that pierced the dark of night like a saber.
A limousine was waiting just down the steps of the airplane and the valet
re-appeared to carry the things we'd brought on the plane. A driver helped
unpack our belongings from under the plane while we slid into the
comfortable leather seats. Dylan settled in under my arm and was about to
go back to sleep but I kept him awake. It would be bedtime when we arrived
at the Hamad compound and he would have a long night burrowed in against my
chest.

The compound was a short drive from the airfield. We drove up to huge steel
gates and a guard came out to inspect the limo. Mr. Hamad spoke to him
cheerfully. He valued all of his workers. We cruised up a long driveway and
around a sprawling mansion to a portico on the side of the house.

Mr. Hamad was the first to step out. He offered a hand to his boy then we
followed. Dylan was groggy and half asleep. He stumbled getting out of the
car ahead of me and Mr. Hamad turned to catch him.

"There we go, little one," he said and helped Dylan to his feet. "Someone
is ready for bed."

"This place is lit, sir," Dylan yawned with half excitement.

I shook my head and smiled as I got out behind him, but inside I was
worried. Dr. Takada had said the sleepiness would wear off eventually as he
gained strength and adjusted to the procedure. I knew he was getting
better, but it was slow progress and part of me worried that he'd continue
like this. There was always the nagging thought in the back of my mind that
I'd damaged this perfect boy with what he had done.

"You should carry your boy. He can meet everyone tomorrow. I'll have a
worker show you to your room," Mr. Hamad told me in Arabic.

"Yes, sir. Thank you," I answered in his language. I turned to Dylan and
lifted him up against my chest. I felt like an animal handler showing him
off at the zoo. He cradled right into my chest and his legs lazily slid
around my waist. I held his ass and bounced it lightly.

A worker who had stepped out from the doorway went to collect my bag and
another went to unpack the trunk. I followed the worker through the doorway
that led into a small foyer. It wasn't the grand entrance. Mr. Hamad was
showing that he planned for us to be residents here.

We went down a hallway then up a stairway then down another hall. I hugged
Dylan against me. He'd wrapped his legs around my waist and held on
tightly. His head hit my shoulder and soon I heard his quiet, steady
breathing. I had one arm under his ass and the other held his back.

The worker silently stopped in front of a door near the end of the hallway.
There was a larger set of double doors beyond it, but the worker opened
this one and led us into a private suite. It was a large room with a huge
bed made of intricately carved dark wooden posts that looked like african
tribal signs.

There were huge windows next to it that showed a pitch black night. The
worker set down my bag and then moved to close the drapes. It covered the
entire wall of the room. We had a large private bathroom with a huge tub
and separate shower made of glass and stone.

Another worker brought in our luggage and moved to the closet. He unpacked
our luggage and sorted out the bags of clothes that needed laundry. He hung
up our clean clothes and then left with the laundry. The first worker
brought out bathroom supplies and arranged them for us then a third worker
came in with a rolling set of hanging clothes. He went through to the
closet.

"My husband ordered a few things he thought you and the boy might need for
different events here. Please excuse him if it is not your style. He loves
to dress the boys," Mr. Hamad chuckled as he came in behind the worker.

"It's not a problem. Thank you for your hospitality. It is truly generous,"
I said with a humble nod.

"Are you going to set the boy down?" he asked. I realized I was still
holding Dylan against my chest. I hadn't even thought about laying him
down. I lightly rocked him as he slept in my arms.

"Soon. I'm afraid to wake him before they are finished setting up the room.
I'll need to get him in the shower and into pajamas. If I wake him before
it's time then he will just fall asleep in the water," I laughed. Dylan was
light, but his arms and legs fumbled around when I tried to dress him and
keep him balanced on the countertop. It was like putting a wet noodle into
a straw.

"Of course. They are finished. There are water bottles in the bedside
drawer and some protein bars in case you are hungry in the night. Let me
know if there is anything special Dylan would like in here. I want this to
be a comfortable home so you will stay long enough to finish the project,"
Mr. Hamad said.

"It is an honor to be here. I can't wait to get working on this. I know we
will both be very happy here." I rubbed Dylan's back and felt his breath
against my neck. Mr. Hamad barked something to the workers that must have
been the local Arabic dialect. They quickly moved and finished.

He bid us good night and leaned over Dylan to kiss his cheek. I felt a
small growl in my chest, but I knew his intentions with my boy were good.
The workers left then and Mr. Hamad followed them and closed our door. I
carried Dylan off to the shower and then got him to bed.

+++

I opened my eyes the next morning with my arms empty. I looked up with a
sharp panic, but then saw Dylan sitting beside me with his knees pulled up
into his chest. He had his earphones in and was watching a baseball game on
his phone. I rolled onto my side and watched his eyes study the screen.
There was a small, printed notecard next to him with the wifi code, the
Hamads thought of everything.

I laid there just watching him. His sudden jerks when a ball was hit, his
deflated little sigh when it didn't work out, the way his eyes tensed and
crinkled then danced and shimmered, the little "o" his pink lips formed;
 it all fascinated me.

He set the phone on the bed then leaned forward, crossing his thin but
budding arms over his knees and resting his squared, delicate chin on them.
He watched for a few minutes then raised up to stretch his back. My boy
could never sit still for long. I grabbed a few more minutes of sleep, my
Dylan was all right.

I woke again to feel Dylan pressing into my chest. I was still on my side
with an arm shoved up under the pillow. Boy poked his nose into my armpit
and took a hit of my night-sweat. I felt his warm, wet tongue lap at it. I
put my other arm around him and rubbed his back. I slid my hand up to the
back of his head and pushed him deeper into my armpit. My boy groaned,
happily sucking at my skin for his morning dose.

"You feel so good, boy, worshipping your daddy while he sleeps," I told
him.

"Meh, mir," came his muffled reply. He cleaned out one armpit then kissed
my chest and gave me a grateful smile.

"You want the other one?" I offered and rolled onto my back. The boy
readily crawled over to my other side. He had slept in a tight tank top and
briefs. I admired his budding muscles as he moved across my chest. His pecs
flexed as he pole-vaulted over me. A few of his ribs showed, but the
centerline of his abs was coming in nicely. My boy was the edge of manhood
interrupted by tragedy but quickly rebuilding to where he'd been before.

We finished our morning fun and I realized we couldn't just stay there
forever. This whole thing felt like a dream. We had been whisked away on a
private jet to a billionaire's compound in a closed off kingdom on the
Persian Gulf.

I was closer to home, the culture and language that coursed through my DNA,
yet so far from the boy who'd left Egypt just two years ago. I was lying in
sheets that likely cost more than my first car. I had the world's most
perfect golden boy under my arm and eager to please me. This was a dream
I'd kill to never wake from.

+++

We dressed for the day. I found suits in my size had been pressed and hung
in the closet. On the other side was a rack and shelves filled with
appropriate clothes for Dylan. Emerson had ordered a complete wardrobe for
him; two formal suits, a few dinner outfits, and a ton of teenage boy gear.
Dylan eyed it with alarm. He isn't a fashion hungry boy. He likes t-shirts
and jeans or sports uniforms. I pick out a pair of long pants and a simple,
blue, long-sleeve shirt.

"It's got to be BIG hot outside," Dylan says as he looks out the window.
"Shouldn't I be in shorts and stuff?"

"No. We are new here and the Arab culture does not show so much skin. We
will be cautious until we know more," I warn him. He sulks but doesn't
press it. I don't tell him that from what I have learned from Mr. Hamad,
the culture here very much prizes having a boy like Dylan to protect. I do
not want him on display.

I put my hand on his back as we leave the room. We wander down a long
corridor until I spot a worker. He tells me in Arabic that the family
gathers throughout the morning in the kitchen. He takes us there and then
disappears down a side hall as we get a peak of the morning Hamad routine.

Emerson is adjusting the heat on a pan of eggs to keep them warm. Mr. Hamad
sits at the counter staring at his phone and sipping a coffee. At the table
there are three guys about my age. They're talking about a new car I
haven't heard of and shoveling in their breakfast.

I instantly recognize his twins; Ali and Amir. They are smaller versions of
their father with the chiseled Arab features and spines that stand up
straight as if nothing has ever stood in their paths. The other boy hangs
beside them, listening but not interacting. He takes slower bites as if
afraid not much will fit in his rail thin frame.

He must be Kasper. He had beautiful eyes and softer features stuck
somewhere between boy and man. He looked just a few years older than my
boy, pretty like Emerson but not the athletic tone of Dylan.

One of the twins, it had to be Amir, turned to him and pet his blonde hair
until he caught sight of us. Dylan's hand slid into mine and I gripped his
fingers. He needed daddy's support. The dawn of our arrival spread across
the room and everyone's attention turned to us.

"Breakfast. Come and sit. Emerson will bring plates," Mr. Hamad welcomed.
He introduced us to the boys. Each of them nodded to Dylan who stayed
quietly tucked behind my left arm. I loved this side of him. His normal,
happy banter was frozen around new people. He needed his daddy.

We ate with Dylan and Kasper side by side giving each other silent nods and
awkward glances. They had grown up just miles apart from each other, but
went to different high schools and shared none of the same friends or
experiences.

"You played sports? We used to play all the teams out in Ventco," Dylan
asked, warming up to the table and starting easy by talking with the only
guy near his age.

"Nah. I um..." Kasper trailed off in thought. "We did go to that mall by your
area. The one on Tampa? I think?"

Dylan perks up, "Bruh! The skate shop there is lit! My dad used to take me
to the batting cages near there and then when I got above 400 he would let
me pick out a new piece for my board. One summer we built a whole new one
piece by piece! I was hitting everything that machine could pitch!"

This got a smile from Amir who paused to listen in as his own boy bonded.
It must have been rare for Kasper to find boys like him in this part of the
world.

"That's rad," Kasper's eyes light up and they begin to speak in kid slang
about skateboarding.

Even though I'm trying to answer Amir's questions I just can't tune my boy
out. Dylan gets back to his quick happy banter using annoying new words his
generation invented. The boys became fast friends.

I got a barrage of questions from Amir about the new technology. Ali seemed
disinterested and played on his phone. Amir was more serious. He was hungry
to jump in to whatever interested his father. He was the heir apparent to
all of this and eager to dive in.

"If you boys are finished, we should get to the office," Mr. Hamad said. I
had just finished my last piece of toast. Ali slipped his phone in his
pocket and took that as his permission to be excused.

"Emerson will entertain the boys today. We have business to get to and a
certain boy to deal with," Mr. Hamad told us as we followed him out to the
garage.

Shion. I'd nearly forgotten about him. Just the mention tightened my chest.
I thought my boy was secure. I thought I could protect him, but this Shion
had slithered in and tried to take advantage of him. Luckily Dylan was able
to fight him off, surprising given his smaller size. And now the boy was
somewhere in Satra awaiting his punishment. Mr. Hamad had brought him over
on a separate plane with armed security.

Just to give you an idea of how big the Hamad Center is, it has its own
ramps from the freeway. Mr. Hamad cruised into a parking garage and then
veered off to a small gate. He hit a button and it slid open then the ramp
spiraled down a few levels to a small, private parking area.

"We have our own elevator here. This is just for family," he explained as
he pulled into a spot. As soon as we stepped out of the car, the elevator
doors slid open and a worker stepped out. He took Mr. Hamad's leather
workcase and followed us into the elevator.

Their family office was the entire top floor. I could tell this because
above us was a huge glass spire opening to clear blue sky. Amir went
straight to his father's office. This was his second home. I followed Mr.
Hamad after him.

His office was one fourth of the floor and lined on two sides with glass
that showed the city crawling up the coast of the Persian Gulf. He had an
open spiral staircase near the door that led up to an open platform near
the center of the spire.

"At night it has the best star gazing," he told me when he saw me looking
up.

"I bet it does!" I said and wondered if he had purchased any of the stars
up there. His office was a futuristic design dripping with leather, gold,
and glass. It was the throne room of his empire.

"Let's check in on the boy," he said and tapped his phone. The wall near
the door glowed to life and I could see the lab his researchers were
setting up.

"Dr. Takada is supervising things from his computer in California. They
should have the equipment set up soon. They'll be ready to begin on Shion
by this evening," he noted. He touched his phone again and the screen
switched to show Shion sitting in a cage about the size of a small walk-in
closet. He was looking at a book, but kept raising his head to check his
surroundings. He was in a white, windowless room. He was alone, but looked
healthy.

"He looks so helpless there," I said as Mr. Hamad zoomed in on him. Shion's
eyes were heavy and dark like he hadn't had much sleep.

"He's a good boy, I'm sure. He's just been spoiled. He's never been denied
anything or worked for anything. That can ruin a boy. My children have
always worked for the things they want. Chores, grades, they have always
had responsibilities to meet." Mr. Hamad furrowed his brow.

"We certainly did," Amir laughed. "I still never got that bike I wanted in
sixth grade!"

"And whose fault was that? Eighty-nine percent was not the grade we agreed
upon. But you can certainly buy that bike now with your own salary." Mr.
Hamad smiled.

"I'm good. Kasper could use a new one though," Amir replied.

We watched Shion for a while. He didn't do much, but just watching him sit
there, helpless and sad, made me feel pity for him. He'd forced himself on
my boy, my love, my heart. Sure Dylan had fought him off, but what if he
hadn't? What if he had frozen in fear and panic and let Shion do what he
wanted?

Still, he looks scared and fragile. He looks like a boy who has never had
the safety net yanked from under him. He doesn't know what's coming and the
tension grips his shoulders as he tries to read the book. It's his only
source of distraction from the white emptiness around him.

We spend the morning at the office. Mr. Hamad shows me some of the mega
projects they are working on. He has a huge water reclamation plant that
will sip all of Satra's needs from the wide open gulf and make it clean for
drinking and agriculture. Amir shows me his own project, a new shopping
center, the centerpiece of a man-made island being developed.

We go home for lunch and find that the boys have had their own busy
morning. Dylan is out back with Kasper. The two of them are zooming around
a skatepark in a corner of the backyard. I worry as I watch Dylan do a jump
and then land on the board as it rolls down the side of the ramp. He's a
little wobbly and out of practice, but he succeeds and a big smile cracks
his face.

"Don't worry, the concrete is made for skating but built out of a new
texture that cushions any falls. It's a remarkable new product. Boys are
always safe in my home. I never allow them near danger," Mr. Hamad assures.

Dylan lights up when he sees us. He rolls over on his board and lands
directly in my arms. I lift him off the board and hold him tightly. It's
only been a few hours, but my body responds to his touch like he's been to
a far away place.

"Did you see my grind?" Dylan abandoned his board and ran over to me. "Did
you?"

"I did. It was spectacular," I assured him. Dylan heaved his chest with
pride, bit his lower lip, and beamed proudly.

"Kasper's pretty good too. I like hanging with him. He's chill... you smell
good." Dylan nuzzled into my chest. I hugged him and kissed his forehead.
He could be such a little boy when he was happy. Still, I could feel the
budding muscles under his shirt as I held him. He was a solid boy growing
rapidly into a man.

"I have to go back," I told him. I walked him over to a spot in the shade.
His face was growing red from the harsh Arabian sun. He squinted up at me
with those diamond eyes and his lips spread into a wide smile.

"I like it here. Everyone is so chill and they have like EVERYTHING.
There's a movie theater! The gym is hardcore! I tried this weird fruit with
some funky name and it was insanely good!" Dylan rambled on. I thought back
to Shion waiting for us in his cage. He could be just as good and kind as
Dylan if he had the appropriate parents, boundaries, fathering.

"And the butterfly garden! They have a pond with these red fish that will
dance in the water when you toss them a treat! And there's a camel family!
A whole family of camels!" Dylan glowed excitedly. It had been a busy
morning for him.

"He likes it here. I hope this will be a happy home for both of you," Mr.
Hamad cut in.

"It's the most amazing place on earth, sir," Dylan answered. I kept him
under my arm.

"We will be very happy here, sir," I assured him. He liked to hear that.

+++

After lunch we headed to see how the lab was coming. They were ready for
preliminary tests with Shion. He didn't say much when we got to the room
where he was caged. He looked at my shoes as a guard opened the door to it
and snapped for him to crawl out. Shion stood, stretched, and rubbed his
legs which had probably been folded for hours.

"You're going to zombie me?" he asked with deflated resignation.

"You tried to assault a boy, not to mention the list of crimes back home in
South Korea. Your father covered for you again and again. You can not
continue like this." Mr. Hamad rumbled in a fatherly tone that sounded more
caring than his words.

"He wanted it! He totally did! He got nervous when he heard everyone
yelling his name and he just went wild and decked me! I'm not like that!"
Shion lied so easily. His eyes looked genuinely surprised. I believed him
for just a moment then shook my head. Dylan wasn't even into guys and he
certainly wouldn't have sneaked away to have sex, not with Shion.

"And the drugs? You gave the boy drugs," Mr. Hamad was seeing how far Shion
would take this. It's like he wanted to prove to me that Shion needed and
deserved the treatment to correct him.

"Ok so like those were mine. I thought he was cool. I wanted a friend. I
didn't know he'd try to jump me like that and then get all crazy violent,"
Shion was trying hard to peddle this story.

"This is complete bullshit! You try to force yourself on my boy and now you
lie about him." I felt the rage build in me.

"No way, nuh uh, bro. Listen. He's a scammer. He told me he just wanted you
for your money."

I laughed out loud at that. Dylan had never asked me for a dime and I was
far from loaded... at least before I fell in with Dr. Takada and Mr. Hamad. I
didn't even know how much I'd be making and Dylan had never asked. He had
come here to help others get the treatment that saved him from a depressive
spiral. Shion didn't even know basic facts about my boy.

"I've heard enough. Do we gag him? He is a filthy dog." I asked Mr. Hamad
in Arabic.

"No gag. He will have lunch and then lull off to sleep just before we begin
the therapy." Mr. Hamad answered. Shion looked between us, desperately
wishing he spoke our language.

"You gotta believe me!" Shion let out one last plea.

"In time, little one. You must be hungry. Come and let's get you fed while
we check on the lab." Mr. Hamad led Shion out. The boy sighed with relief.
He thought his lie was well-received.

Shion tucked in at a table in a small room with a large window overlooking
the mountains behind the city. He thanked Mr. Hamad and smiled as a worker
brought in a plate with a turkey sandwich and a bowl of soup. He tore into
the food eagerly as Mr. Hamad left him with a guard.

The lab was a work of art. It was built underneath the tower and held the
latest computers and research equipment. There was a team of doctors busily
looking through schematics. Dr. Takada appeared on a screen behind them
with a watchful eye.

He looked sleepy but his eyes lit up when he saw me walk in. We went over
the procedure. He had just woken up and would stay with us throughout the
first 12 hours to monitor things. He alternated between asking me how Dylan
was liking it there and giving instructions to the doctors.

"Dylan is on permanent vacation," I laughed. "He has quickly adapted to the
luxury life!"

"I'm glad to hear it. You can see how much you've helped him with this, and
he has helped us as well. We are booked through next year! Your commission
is going to be huge," he glowed.

"He will have a hefty sum from me as well. I am hoping Ahmed will stay on
here and help us run things." Mr. Hamad and I had discussed this on the
trip. He was going to help me finish school and get Dylan through his high
school diploma.

That made my chest burst with pride. Being able to provide for Dylan was
everything. I knew he was with me because of the treatment. Sure we had a
close friendship before that, but even then he needed me because of his
depression. Now he needed me because he was physically dependent. We'd
gotten so close before the procedure. Maybe he would have chosen me of his
own accord without it... That thought ate at me.

What didn't eat at me was how much happier he was since the procedure.
Dylan had his life back. The aching web that had suffocated every part of
his brain had been removed. He wasn't paralyzed with fear and anxiety
anymore. He was free. I was determined to give him every advantage I could
to make sure he had a happy life ahead.

When the machines was ready, we went to check on Shion. He had curled up on
a couch in the corner and was hugging a pillow. He looked so innocent with
a little line of drool running from his lips to where they rested on his
wrist.

Mr. Hamad reached down for him. He could have had a worker come and move
him, but he preferred to do this himself. He stretched out the boy's legs
then put one arm under his knees and another under his back. He lifted him
up against his chest. Shion let out a happy sigh and wrapped his arms
around Mr. Hamad's shoulders without waking up.

Mr. Hamad carried him easily through the door and down to the elevator.
Shion was just a little bigger than Dylan, but he looked so small in the
Arab man's hold.

We took the elevator down to the lab and Mr. Hamad placed him in the long
leather lounger. The doctors swooped in and began hooking him up to the
sensors. They fitted a cap over his head and Shion let out a little laugh
like in his dream these sensations were being translated comically.

They strapped him in just in case he woke up. It was crucial that things
went perfectly for this first trial. We went over to the monitors and I
started to get things going with the procedure.

"Ahmed," Mr. Hamad called. I was getting Shion started on the initial
sequence, and I turned to look at him. There was a man standing next to him
wearing a nice suit and a smile. I went over to greet him.

"This is Mr. Chandler. He will be Shion's trainer when the procedure is
complete. He's just arrived from the states. He has brought the bonding
tools," Mr. Hamad said.

Mr. Chandler was a built white guy in his 30s with broad shoulders like a
TV news anchor. He had a winning smile and green eyes that made me feel ok
with passing Shion on to him.

"The sweatshirt," he said. "I worked out in it twice and didn't wash it. I
sprayed my cologne on it too." He opened a brown shopping bag and took it
out.

"Perfect. This will begin to program him to your scents. Did we get a sperm
sample?" I asked. One of the doctors gave me a thumbs up.

"Excellent!" I took the sweatshirt and went over to Shion. He was splayed
out on his back, but I turned him onto his side and put the sweatshirt to
his chest. He curled around it as best he could with the leather and rope
restraints limiting his range. He put his head against it and his lips
began to curl into a smile. It would take awhile before his body searched
out for new scents to latch onto, so this was just his natural reaction.

I told Mr. Chandler about that and he lit up with a smile. His boy was
choosing him even before the procedure had gotten going. Mr. Hamad beamed
proudly.

This was going to go well.

"I knew you were a smart bet," Mr. Hamad told me in Arabic. His smile meant
everything to me.

This was going to work out.

+++

email:tarzanacide@gmail.com
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