Date: Fri, 26 Mar 2004 19:13:10 -0800 (PST)
From: Flyboy <jetjockboy@yahoo.com>
Subject: Dont get caught chapter X

Here is chapter 10, thanks again for all the great
letters, I really appreciate them. Emails are always
welcome: jetjockboy@yahoo.com

Don't Get Caught - Chapter 10

Rick closed his eyes and relaxed. The combined warmth
of the hot tub's bubbly water, the strong sun, and the
Emir's lap enveloped him in a sense of calm and
serenity he'd not felt in a long time.

He sat in the Emir's lap, head resting on his
shoulder, gasping and moaning quietly in response to
the Emir's caresses, while the sun warmed his face. It
was the first time Rick could remember being outside
in so long. It felt so good; Rick had no desire to
move, to worry, to think.

The Emir watched his slave's face and was content. It
had been a week since their first intimate encounter,
the Emir and his slave, and although the Emir was
still uncertain what actually turned the boy, he was
quite convinced that the boy was indeed his. Still,
the restraints remained in place, the slave conceding
that if he were in the Emir's place, he'd do the same.

The Emir continued to stroke his slave's body, both
men getting more and more aroused. He watched the
slave's face and listened to the soft moans, cuffed
hands relaxed in front, and marveled at how
fantastically excited this slave made him. The Emir
marveled at how this slave was one he never had to
break, at how he just seemed to move in the right
direction naturally, and how since he'd never
completely been `broken' in traditional Emirate style,
he'd retained an edge, one that kept his intellect and
wit intact and one the Emir found very sexy. Every
once in a while a shadow of doubt crept in, a shadow
prodded on by his friend Nigel, that the slave was
just pretending, a very good actor, waiting for the
opportunity to complete his mission, motivated by a
sense of duty. But, as he watched his boy, radiating
serenity, yielding all control, he found it hard to
believe. He didn't want to believe, he couldn't
believe.

One of the Emir's hands ran its way down to his
slave's hard cock while the other gently rubbed his
balls. The slave moaned, stiffened for a second, and
relaxed again.

As for Rick, his mind was empty, open, free of
thoughts. The thoughts that usually ran at warp speed,
the ones that constantly put him in conflict with
himself, the cynicism, mistrust, and constant analysis
he'd grown so accustomed to. He remembered that first
time they were intimate, the Emir's words, "let me
play you like you played that piano." He focused
solely on his master's hands.

Rick felt the Emir's hands go down to his cock and
balls and jumped slightly at the pleasant sensation,
the gentle caresses becoming more focused, more
steady, and Rick's heart began to speed up as he
pushed his head back further on the Emir's shoulder
and moaned softly. The hand, which had been caressing
his balls, trailed up his chest and began to work
first one nipple, then the other, pinching and
rolling, pinching and rolling. He felt the Emir's
breath on his neck and the kisses, soft bites
really...each one causing Rick to lose his breath
momentarily. He was rock hard, heart racing, with
ragged breath, all the while with eyes closed.

He felt the Emir's breath in his ear before he heard
the words, "You may come now, slave", whispered. The
combination of the words and the sensation of the
whisper sent goose bumps up his legs, his ass, his
arms, as it was all his body needed to hear, and sure
enough, as it had worked every single time since he'd
met the Emir, the words did it. Again, this orgasm was
powerful and uncontrollable and started from someplace
he'd never tapped before the two met, through the
whole of his body. He lay there at peace in the hot
tub, spasm after spasm, while the Emir whispered to
him, "Good slave... good boy, yes... yes... my god I am
going to eat you whole."

And when it was over, he lost all muscle control. The
Emir held him up by the armpit to keep his head from
going under water while he caught his breath and came
back to reality. The Emir held Rick's chin and turned
his head so they faced. Once done, they kissed
passionately, while time ceased to exist and the rest
of the world disappeared.

The Emir smiled, "My turn." He positioned Rick at the
other end of the hot tub, facing the side with his
cuffed hands over the edge, knees on the bench, legs
spread. At the first touch of his hole, Rick groaned
and laid his head down on the hot tub's side, the
bubbles of the hot tub, the warm sun on his back, the
touch of the Emir again overwhelmed him, he was just a
mass of sensation.

He felt the Emir's finger enter his hole and waves of
pleasure shot through him, his cock shooting back to
full attention. The finger wiggled and teased his
prostate and then was motionless. A minute passed like
this.

"Well?" It was the Emir's voice, and the tone was
stern.

"I am sorry Master."

"That just earned you a demerit."

"Yes Master, I deserve it, for fucking up."

"Fucking up what?"

"When you stop like that I am supposed to talk.... to
tell you what I feel...that I want it. Because it turns
you on...because it makes me humble to beg for you to
fill my ass...to fuck me. And I do feel humble, and I do
beg you master, to fuck me because I truly like it,
because it's you doing it."

"Good comeback, but you still get the demerit."

Rick nodded his head in agreement, the motionless
finger in his ass distracting him.

"Demerit number two." The Emir's voice again was
stern, "You know I hate that nodding shit.  It's YES
MASTER."

Rick turned and looked the Emir in the eye, by the
look on his face; the Emir could tell that Rick was
angry with himself. Rick gritted his teeth for a
second and then spoke, "You are right, Master. You
told me that already and already I didn't do it a few
times. I am angry with myself but I know I deserve it,
and for what it's worth...I am sorry, Master."

The Emir had explained the system of merits and
demerits to Rick after the first time they were
together. Every action that broke one of the Emir's
rules was given an appropriate amount of demerits, for
every action by which the Emir was pleased a demerit
would be removed. Three times a week, the demerits
would be tallied and every one counted as fifteen
minutes in a session with Nigel. Thus four demerits
equaled an hour. An hour in which Nigel could do as he
saw fit...with the exception that he could not fuck the
Emir's slave.

"You must enjoy your time with Nigel is all I can say.
Now turn over and help me recapture the mood."

Rick turned around, sat on the bench, and began to
massage the Emir's cock and balls, the Emir, standing
over him began to kiss his lips, and they kissed long
and passionate. The Emir gave Rick a couple of pats on
the chest to indicate he was ready, and Rick returned
to his previous position, ass to the Emir.

This time, instead of the slow fingers, the Emir began
to press his cock against Rick's hole. Rick lost no
time this time.

"Yes Master, I want it...I am nervous because before
always you put the fingers, but I want it, please....
please give me your cock."

And with that, the Emir, using all his weight, gave
one giant shove into his slave. Rick screamed, the
Emir was motionless.

"Master", Rick exclaimed between breaths,
"Master...I....Master I know why you did that, and yes it
hurt me but now you are in and I want it. Please."

"Please what?"

"Please fuck the shit out of me. Always before you
were gentle but if you like this I know I will like
it, too. Hard, soft, whatever, I am addicted to you
Master."

"You're what?" The Emir was incredulous.

"I am addicted to you Master." The reply came in a
soft slow tone, the reality of it hitting the slave as
he spoke the words.

That was all the Emir needed to hear. He rammed his
slave like there was no tomorrow and the slave took it
all, sometimes screaming, sometimes moaning, all the
while bucking in rhythm. The Emir knew he wouldn't
last long, his slave was making him crazy with lust,
and not too much later he rammed himself in hard and
stayed there while he shot load after load. Rick was
moaning and shaking, the Emir realized his slave was
cumming too, and the sensation was incredible.

The Emir put his arms around Rick's waist and laid his
head down on Rick's back, and lay there, catching his
breath.

"God, I can't stand up any longer." He held tight to
Rick's stomach, pulling him, and flopped down on the
other side of the hot tub, sitting, still inside the
slave, the slave now on his lap. He pulled out so that
Rick could sit more comfortably and both men just laid
there, in a semi trance, recovering.

Rick's state of relaxation was interrupted by a sound
he knew well, he heard it from a distance and barely
needed to look up to confirm what his ears told him.
An American fighter jet was screaming across the sky,
barely overhead. The sound of this plane was one with
which Rick was intimately familiar; it was the one in
which he himself had flown so many missions.

He sat immobile, waiting for the Emir's reaction, but
there was none. He turned, straddled the Emir and
looked him in the eye. The Emir returned the look but
said nothing. Rick raised his cuffed hands over the
Emir's head and onto his back, he moved in to kiss,
but the Emir's hand caught his chin.

"Ask." The Emir said.

Rick bit his lip and hesitated before he replied, "I
am not sure I want to know, Master." He began to
massage the Emir's shoulders.

"Yes, you do, Rick, you can't help it. You and I both
know that you know exactly what that was."

Rick looked down for a moment, sighed, and looked back
into the Emir's eyes, "We are no where near the
capital. We are in the north country, aren't we,
Master?"

"Yes."

"And no one knows  that you...that this, " he gestured
at his surroundings with his head, "is all here."

"Well, I would venture to guess that there are those
who do know that we are here...or I should say, that I
am here, but you didn't, nor does your former
government."

"If they do, then they never told me."

"And what do you make of that?"

Rick kissed the Emir's nipples, the Emir groaned, and
Rick answered, "I am trying not to care."

"I don't know whether to believe you or not, but I am
going to take you at your word, slave." And the two
men kissed again.

**************************************************************************************

The Emir sat at a grand chair in front of the enormous
large desk that stood in the center of his massive and
impressive office, the slave sitting on the floor in
front of him cross-legged, dressed only in a pair of
loose drawstring pair of white cotton pants, his hands
cuffed in front.

The large wooden double doors opened and Waleed Khalil
entered, followed by three naked slaves shaved from
head to toe, wearing nothing except black leather
collars and the cuffs keeping their hands behind their
backs. Waleed motioned to the slaves to stand by the
wall next to the door as he proceeded to the Emir. He
took the Emir's hand in both of his, smiled, and
spoke, "Emir, you are looking quite well." He looked
at the slave seated at the Emir's legs, "And I see you
are making good of your last purchase."

The Emir patted Rick on the head. Although he did not
let on, he noticed his slave's attention focused on
the new slaves, and the familiar biting of the lip and
narrowing of the eyes that he had come to recognize
when his slave's mental gears were working overtime.
He addressed the slave trader, "And you look good as
well. Business must be treating you well, Waleed.
Please --", the Emir gestured to a chair a few feet
away, "Please do have a seat."

Waleed sat down and partook of the coffee that was
offered by one of the palace slaves, "Thank you very
much, Emir."

"Tell me, Waleed, what brings you here?"

"A gift, Emir." Waleed pointed to the slaves, who were
standing at attention, legs slightly apart, heads
bowed. "Americans, special forces. The older one, he
was a colonel."

The Emir shifted his gaze to the slaves,
"Magnificent."

"And, although I know you enjoy breaking them, as part
of your gift I took the liberty of having them broken
for you. They are ready to serve. Very ready. It's
been a good year for me, Emir, thanks mostly to you,
and I wanted to show my appreciation."

The Emir glanced at his slave. Rick's hands had left
his lap, and the side of his left index finger was
moving across his lips as looked back and forth
between the new arrivals and Waleed, his eyes still
narrow.

"That is very kind, Waleed. What can they do?"

"Anything. Anything and everything you ask. I assure
you, completely ready to serve."

The Emir played with his mustache as he thought for a
moment, "hmmm interesting. Do they have names?"

"No, Emir. I have been calling them pussy 1, pussy 2
and pussy 3, in the order you see them standing,
starting with the former colonel. But they will answer
to anything."

The Emir looked down at Rick, "Slave?"

Rick looked up, "Yes Master?"

"Take off those pants, and lay on the floor, legs
spread."

Rick's eyes darted around the room for a split second,
"Yes Master." Still sitting, he began to obey.

The Emir looked across the room, "You, Pussy 1 over
there. Come here." He pointed to a spot a couple of
feet in front of him.

Wordlessly, Andre Menendez approached the Emir. Upon
reaching the Emir's throne, he got down on his knees
and resumed his gaze at the floor.

The Emir glanced at Rick, lying naked on the rug,
staring up at the ceiling, poker faced, "Hands over
your head, slave."

Rick's hands moved immediately, "Yes Master."

The Emir got up from his chair, Waleed began to rise
as well and stopped in response to a motion of the
Emir's hand. The Emir placed a foot on Rick's
handcuffs and spoke, "Ok pussy one, show me what
you've learned. Get my slave off. You have five
minutes."

Rick remained motionless as his old teacher and mentor
crawled over to him, licked his lips, and began
complying with the Emir's orders. At first Rick had no
response, but the Emir squatted and began twisting his
slave's nipples, and it was not long before Rick's
body took over. The Colonel was licking and sucking
all the right places and Rick moaned as he looked
directly into the Emir's eyes. Rick and the Emir
kissed and Rick could feel the buildup starting. The
Emir leaned over and Rick knew what was coming next,
"You may cum now slave" was whispered in his ear, and
as usual the words had the desired effect. Rick spewed
into his former mentor's mouth over and over until he
lay exhausted and panting.

The Emir got up, returned to his chair, and looked
over at `Pussy 1', "Now clean him." He demanded, while
watching Rick jump at the feel of the new slave's
tongue on his now sensitive cock.

Upon completion of his task, the colonel sat back up
on his knees, eyes to the floor.

Waleed spoke, "You may speak, pussy."

"Thank you Master for allowing me to suck such a
wonderful cock."

The Emir cocked his head, "Pussy slave, where are you
from?'

"Puerto Rico, Master."

"Ah, that explains the accent." The Emir was speaking
to Waleed, who nodded. "Now get up and bend over that
desk."

The Colonel did as he was told, all the while with
eyes downcast, and a look on his face that was best
described as numb. The Emir looked over at Rick. His
slave had not moved; laying on the floor, hands
overhead, legs spread, and his eyes were closed. The
Emir took off his robe and began to fuck his new
slave. The slave for his part remained motionless. The
Emir was starting to enjoy himself, ramming the
colonel harder and faster, trying to illicit a
response. Finally, he heard the slave grunt. The Emir
yelled, "Rick, you better be watching this. If I look
at you and your eyes are still closed you will have 8
demerits."

"Yes Master." Rick complied.

The Emir pounded his new slave, who began grunting and
sweating with every thrust. Harder and harder, faster
and faster. He turned to make sure Rick was watching
and noticed an odd expression on the slave's face,
"What is that?" More thrusts, "What"... thrust... "is"...
thrust... "that"... thrust... "look"... thrust... "on"... thrust...
"your"... thrust ..."face"... thrust `..."slave?"

The response was fast. "Jealousy, Master."

As the Emir's voice had an effect on Rick, the same
was the case for the Emir. Upon hearing Rick's answer,
he slammed one last time into his new willing slave,
"Ohhhh my god, god damn", and spasmed for five minutes
before stopping.

The Emir caught his breath. Two servant slaves came
over with a washcloth and cleaned the Emir up and
helped him on with his robe. The Emir walked over to
Waleed, "I accept your generous gift, Waleed. You are
a good man, thank you."

Waleed stood up and took a small bow, "It is indeed my
pleasure, Emir. May you enjoy them in good health, and
may we work together for many more happy years to
come." The two men shook hands, Waleed continued, "I
will show myself out, Emir, thanks once again."

"Good day, Waleed."


@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Coty Michaels, president of the United States of
America, sat in the top-secret conference room, one of
the many rooms hidden below the Executive Offices. He
watched, amused, as his cabinet members jockeyed for
the best position relative to him at the large
conference table. He watched as the technicians fooled
with the camera, the microphone and the screen,
testing, correcting and perfecting the picture and
voice that was to come momentarily from the scrambled
broadcast.

Michaels reached into his suit pocket and took out a
pack of Marlboros. He placed a cigarette in his mouth,
and was fumbling for his lighter when he was
interrupted by the sound of Craig Cannon, his national
security advisor, bursting through the door.

In terms of physical appearance and demeanor, Michaels
and Cannon could not have been more different. The
President, a handsome 52, full head of dark hair
graying at the temples, olive skin, dark eyes, a
physique that showed everyone what many years of
faithful attendance at the gym could do, a passionate
man, who usually wore his heart on his sleeve, and his
advisor, 72 5'4", bald, very conservative, and very
quiet. But they shared the same core beliefs, a strong
sense of morality and a strong belief that their
country proactively defend itself. Unlike his
predecessor, this president chose to defend covertly,
relying on intelligence and secret operations to get
the business done.

"Mr. President, the UN, the media, the American
public. You can't keep secrets in this day and age."
Cannon had told him.

"Mr. Cannon, crap, crap, crap. Let them all live in
ignorant bliss. In fifty years, the historians can
figure out we rid the world of terrorists. For now,
let's just get the job done. Quickly, quietly,
surgically." And those last words had become the
mantra of the Michaels administration...quickly,
quietly, surgically.

"Really, Coty, you don't need that." Cannon was
pointing to the cigarette hanging from the president's
mouth.

Michaels held out his hands, palms up and lifted them
one at a time, as if physically weighing his options,
"hmmm, need it, want it, need it, want it." He lit the
cigarette, "Guess I want it, Craig."

Craig Cannon shook his bald head, "Childish, Coty. 30
years out of college and still the silly frat boy."

Coty smiled and shook his head, "30 years out of
college and you still think you're my professor."

"I think that because it's true." Cannon smiled. He
couldn't help it, his former student, now his boss,
was charming. Even when he was being a sarcastic
juvenile.

Michaels turned his attention to the entire room,
"Gentleman....ladies", he held his hands in the air,
"What's the problem? Let's get this going already."

"Yes, Mr. President", was the group response.

"Mr. President?" A young technician standing next to
the large computer screen addressed him.

Michaels smiled to himself and wondered if all
technical people looked like Bill Gates or just the
ones employed in the white house, "Yes, son?"

"We are ready, Sir."

"Ok, let's rip."

The black screen faded and Waleed Khalil's face
appeared.

"Good morning, Waleed." Cannon began the conversation.

"Thank you Mr. Cannon, it's evening here, but thank
you just the same."

"Waleed, I'd like to thank you for joining us today,
you and I have spoken before, but I'd like you to
update the President personally on the latest
developments."

The President spoke, "Good Evening Sir."

"Good evening Mr. President. I am going to assume that
Mr. Cannon and CIA director Herman have briefed you as
to who I am, and the part I play in this mission."

"Yes, they have. And may I say you are doing a great
service to your nation and all nations of the free non
terrorist world."

"I don't know about that Mr. President, but anyway, I
have managed to penetrate the special forces team into
the brother's palace. Unfortunately there were
casualties, but they are in."

"Shit." The president paused while he dragged on his
cigarette. "How many?"

"Three are left. I am sorry, Sir."

The president looked like he had been punched in the
face, "Shit" He banged the table with his fist,
"Goddamit." He paused before he spoke again. "And the
Israeli?"

"I am not sure what is going on with that."

"What do you mean?"

"He's been in there longer, two week head start and
he's not attempted to carry out the mission. He may be
compromised. He may have to be killed."

"No, I don't want him killed. I know him, he's a good
man. He'd never turn."

"It's too late, Mr. President, it's out of my hands."

The president sighed, "I understand. Waleed, thank
you."

"Have a good day, Mr. President. I will update my
contact here as I have news."

The screen went black again.

The President of the United States pushed his
cigarette into the large glass ashtray, extinguishing
it, "Sometimes I hate this job", he said.