Date: Sat, 20 Jan 2018 13:36:03 -0500 From: Whipped Subject: Have you fucked him yet? chapter 3 Category: incest/authoritarian This story is fiction and not based on any real events or people. Everyone portrayed is over eighteen. Sorry for any errors regarding culture or whatever. I didn't use a specific country so I wouldn't offend anyone. Story is kind of long, I guess. I like setting things up. You must be at least eighteen to read this story. Never do this stuff in real life. I switched perspective some in this chapter and incorporated reader feedback. Hope it worked ok. Let me know if it was no good and I might go back to only one perspective. If you enjoy nifty, donate. Chapter 3 Ahmed was a godsend. He had royal rank and that opened a lot of doors. Before that first week was out, we had co-founded an exploration company and he had helped take Yakub in hand. My current boss said the new company was fine as long as we funneled any pipeline business his way and stayed out of pipeline sales. I even negotiated an increase in my commission. Ahmed's countrymen enjoyed my house for the booze and the exotic nature of the food and other goods I had shipped in. Public and private cinemas were illegal for citizens there, but I had a projector, surround sound, and a massive theatre room with virtually every decent film ever made. I was sort of like a living loophole provider. I still couldn't get porn here, but regular movies and whiskey went a long way. They also seemed to think Mexican beer was particularly exotic for some reason. That gave our company a huge advantage. I made handshake deals watching starships get blown up. Deals that would wind up netting millions for my old boss. I made double my annual salary in the first two months. Ahmed set out to westernize Yakub at the same time he made him more formally my property. Not slave in name, there were global laws against that, but it was a matter of semantics. At Ahmed's urging, I hired tutors to teach Yakub English and basic skills. All that money was listed as his debt to me and he had to serve me until it was repaid. When it got to more than most Arabs there make in their lifetime, they put a GPS chip in him and I was legally free to keep and punish him however I wanted. In an effort to recoup my money, of course. If he tried to escape, it meant twenty lashes. By the time I returned from Christmas, Yakub had become Jimmy. His English was not completely native level, but pretty fucking good. If I didn't know better, I could imagine he grew up speaking English in some weird country where the English was a little fucked up. I also brought him a ton of clothes. Most were castoffs from my boys. I brought him their baseball uniforms, soccer jerseys, lacrosse outfits, football uniforms, school uniforms, jocks, everything they didn't really wear anymore I thought might fit. I also bought him a bunch of generic American boy clothes. Designer jeans, tennis shoes, band t-shirts, khaki pants, a couple of suits, button up shirts, sweaters, cardigans, pretty much everything. Under Ahmed's urging, I even went to one of those weird stores in the mall and got him a "punk emo wardrobe." I just bought one of everything they had in his size and the whole weird jewelry and makeup cabinet. They threw in a "Raven Black Bob Wig" for free. Sounds like a ton of stuff and money, but cost me less than my wife's last purse even having it all shipped over. And to be clear, this wasn't out of the kindness of my heart. Ahmed said the more exotic and American we made him, the better for business it was. My boss from America came to visit shortly after it all arrived. Roddy Williams was exactly what you expect the boss of a Texas founded oil company to look like. He wore cowboy hats and boots with blue jeans and suit coats. He also had that football star aged hard look. He was 65 years old, but 280 or so of equal parts muscle and fat. Probably 6'2. He could quip easy and fun, but then fire an orphan from their first job for being a minute late. He knew money and expected things done right. He was also always prepping for that Senate run he never seemed to get to. When he watched Jimmy serve us dinner, his eyes got real wide. Jimmy had decided to wear a full on baseball uniform for some reason. He really did look like one of my kids, but his actions were anything but all American free boy. He knelt before Mr. Williams and removed his boots and socks before washing and kissing his feet. Then he brought a basin and washed my bosse's hands. After he served dinner, he knelt and awaited every command. Once given, he jumped to obey. Now, I don't think Mr. Williams is anymore a faggot than I am. But I could tell he was intrigued. I explained the boy was my bastard, property under Islamic law, and fulfilled all the duties of a wife. Since pussy wasn't available. We could do anything we wanted to him. Jimmy/Yakub's Perspective I couldn't understand much of what my master and his guest were saying, but after dinner they both came over to me. My father yanked my head back by the hair and spit on my face. The older man, Mr. Williams, laughed. The next thing I knew was pain. Mr. Williams backhanded me hard enough I felt my head snap back and I fell from my knees back to the floor. A few seconds later I felt myself turned over, belly to the floor. I didn't see my father but I begged in English, "Please no, master, let me use my mouth." Mr. Williams only said, "Your daddy said I get to cornhole you, faggot." The next thing I knew my pants were being pulled down. Once my ass was exposed to the air, I knew there was no way to escape. Mr. Williams didn't bother to remove the jock I was wearing under the pants or the baseball shirt. He just pushed the shirt up and spit on my ass. I could hear his zipper come down and hear him undress. I tried to get up and he shoved me back down. Then I felt his weight on top of me. It felt like I was being crushed. His dick was between my buns at first, then he shoved it in with just a little spit on it. I passed out. When I came to, I was completely naked. So was he. His legs were wrapped tight around mine. One of his arms was locked around my throat and the other was around my chest holding me still. His face was pressed close to me and sweat was dripping from it onto my cheeks. Sweat from his body covered mine. The smell of cigar smoke, alchohol, and sweat was overwhelming. He wasn't fucking me like anyone else had. He would pull out almost all the way, then slam his dick balls deep in one thrust. My whole body would shake and an almost animal sound of pain would come out of me. Then he'd hold his dick in my ass and wiggle it around and try to smash it deeper. Then he'd repeat the whole thing. At one point, I felt something new. It started to feel like his dick was rubbing mine from the inside. It still hurt, it was still intense, but my dick was leaking. My dick became hard. I hated it, it hurt, but my dick was hard. He started breathing heavier in my ear and then slamming harder and faster. I came. When I did, it was like my asshole spasmed on his dick and he started shooting his load in me. My ass was so raw it burned. His whole body lay on top as he came down from the fuck. I tried to get away, but he held me still. After a few minutes, he pulled away. I started to get dressed and had my baseball pants back on when he noticed my cum on the floor. Still naked, he reached his hand into my cum on the floor and then shoved his fingers in my mouth. He said, "Eat it, queer." I sucked his fingers dry and then he shoved my head down to the floor. I knew what he wanted. I started licking the floor and sucking my cum up. Afterwards, I brought the rag and basin and washed him clean.