Date: Fri, 25 Jul 2003 11:21:50 -0700 (PDT)
From: Flyboy <jetjockboy@yahoo.com>
Subject: Dont get caught part IV

Rick opened his eyes to daylight and closed them again a split second
later, as the pain returned. If it was actually possible, he was in more
pain today than last night. His head felt like a drill was going through it
and every joint and muscle was pounding in pain to the rhythm of his
heartbeat. His breaths were short, due to a pain coming from inside his
chest and shooting in every direction. It was so difficult to breathe; he'd
begun to do it through his mouth. He put his chained hands to his face to
shield his eyes from the light his eyelids let in and to rub his aching
head.

The little voice in his head told him to think, plan, devise. But he
couldn't concentrate long enough through the pain to do anything. He tried
to move, reasoning that his aches and pains would subside as a result, but
he didn't have the strength. The guards threw a bowl of food at him, but he
just left it there. Rick heard the familiar shuffling noise of the doctor's
sandals as his tormentor entered the cell.

"Not hungry today, I see. That's a first." The doctor entered the room. He
looked over his prisoner, who was breathing rapidly through the mouth, eyes
closed, motionless. "Trouble breathing? Hmmm." He bent down to examine the
bruises.

Now is your chance, Rick thought. As he heard the doctor bend down and get
closer, he rolled over and tried to strike him. But, due to his injuries,
his reflexes were slow and the doctor jumped back before the blow hit. Rick
just lay on the floor, and groaned a little, still trying to take in a good
breath.

The Doctor spoke. "I don't know why you insist on putting on that kind of
display. I was trying to help you."

Rick spoke in a hoarse, but angry voice. "Help me? You've helped me
enough."

"No, obviously I haven't. Now get up."

Rick opened his eyes and looked at him incredulously.

The Doctor continued. "Get up on your feet. I mean it, or I will have the
guards do it for you, and I can assure you, it will be much more unpleasant
that way."

Slowly, between the pain and his shackles, Rick got to his feet. The doctor
watched, allowing him as much time as he needed.

"Now", the doctor said, "We will go to the examination room, where I will
look you over."

Rick shuffled slowly and painfully behind the doctor, two guards in
tow. When they arrived at the exam room the doctor instructed him to sit on
the exam table. "Now, do I have your word you will be a good boy, or do I
need to tie you down? You wont get away with anything, you know. There are
two guards here to protect me and more waiting on the other side of the
door. And, if you manage to actually hurt me in any way, the repercussions
will be more severe than you can imagine."

Wordlessly, Rick allowed the doctor to check his injuries. He expected the
doctor to be rough with him, but instead was all business. Rick winced and
jumped when the doctor began to examine his ribs.

"Hurts a lot, yes? I am going to but a bandage on, but I am afraid that
with broken ribs, there's not a great deal I can do. You will be reminded
of yesterday's punishment for several weeks. But hopefully, I wont have to
do it again."

Rick spoke calmly. "You didn't have to do it in the first place."

The doctor wound a bandage around Rick's ribs, leaving an opening where his
nipples were. "Look, I am not paid to hurt you, even though I enjoy it.  I
am paid to get answers. So just answer my questions, and you don't have to
go through that again."

Rick looked into the doctor's eyes and said with sincerity, "I wish I
could. I can hurt, I can cry, I can suffer, I can be killed, but I can't
talk. I just cant."

The doctor considered that to be an interesting response. It was different
from the 'you can't make me talk' he was accustomed to hearing and, which
he always considered to be a challenge. Instead, a simple 'I can't.  Not a
challenge, more a statement of fact.

"And why not?", the doctor asked.

Rick reflected for a minute before responding and spoke softly and slowly
as he verbalized his realization. "Because I would be putting myself
first."

Inwardly, the doctor was impressed by his prisoner's response, his resolve,
his commitment. In contrast, the doctor had sucked up to every superior,
had friends and members of his family arrested, married the ugly daughter
of the president's cousin, amongst other things, all in an attempt to
further himself. Only knowing his own country's dictatorship, he wondered
what it was like to love one's country, one's people, so much a man would
suffer the worst for it. The doctor had read various historical accounts of
men like Scotland's William Wallace, America's Nathan Hale ("I only regret
that I have but one life to lose for my country"), Nelson Mandela, even
Moses. But he always thought that people like this, in reality, did not
exist. They were just propaganda used to inspire loyalty.  And yet, here
was this man before him. The genuine article. But, it was the doctor's job
to break this man, and break him he would.

The doctor spoke, "I am sorry you feel that way. You don't get points here
for nobility.  Now lay down."

Rick complied as the doctor began to unchain him and fasten the straps that
would hold him down. The doctor began to hum.

Rick spoke. "So, today is the day?"

The doctor was confused. "The day of what?"

Rick looked down towards the doctor's groin area and gave a nod. "The day
of...you know", again he looked at the doctor's groin. "That." He paused
and spoke again. "I know you want to, already you almost did it two days
ago."

"I see. No, today is not the day."

"What? You don't want me anymore?"

The doctor paused for a minute annoyed with himself. His prisoner knew his
weakness and was playing with him, flirting. In all the years he had been
at this job, not one of his prisoners had tried that game. But HE was in
control here, not his prisoner, and he would remain in control. "Be quiet
now, save your talking for my questions."

Rick knew he was getting somewhere. He looked down at the doctor's groin
area again. "What if I...er..." He cocked his head a little. "You know."

"You have done that before."

"No."

"But you would do it now, to me."

"Yes."

"Are you that afraid of my machines and toys?"

Rick hated the word `afraid', "I am not afraid. I am tired. I am hurting. I
see what goes on under your robe every day. You want it; I will give it to
you. Come on, you can tell me what you like, I will do it."

The doctor stopped what he was doing. He was torn. He wanted this man's
mouth on his cock in the worst way. To feel its warmth, its caress. To run
his hands through his prisoner's beautiful curly black hair while he was
sucked and licked into ecstasy...He started to sport a huge hard on.

The doctor hoped that the general was too busy to be watching or listening
right now through one of his secret listening devices, and removed his
robe. He took it off slowly, in front of his prisoner, so that Rick could
see.

Rick watched, bit his lower lip and then licked the upper lip quickly,
subconsciously revealing his apprehension regarding the event about to take
place, taking in the size of the object that would soon be in his mouth,
and gratefully remembering that the doctor's member, while not tiny, was
not overly huge.

The doctor climbed on the table and started to sit on his prisoner's
chest. He stopped abruptly as Rick screamed in pain.

"Oh right, sorry." said the doctor as he got off his prisoner. "I will
unstrap you, put the chains back on, and put you on your knees. Can you do
that?"

Rick nodded yes, unable to answer verbally while still gasping for air.

The doctor put the legs chains on, took the straps off, helped the prisoner
off the table and on to his knees, and cuffed his hands behind his back He
then went over to one of the medicine cabinets and retrieved some wire,
which he looped around each of Rick's balls as he held the other end.

"What is that for?" asked Rick.

"To ensure no funny stuff. One false move, inappropriate use of your teeth
or your jaw and I will pull this wire and castrate you. Understand?"

"Yes," Rick paused, "I had no intention of doing anything other than
promised."

"I believe you. Now, just start by licking the tip, then the shaft, and my
balls. I will help you with the rest. Ready?" The doctor was so excited he
could hardly stand it. He'd jerked off thinking about this every night
since he'd met his prisoner and now it was for real.

Rick began to lick the tip of the doctor's cock. Thank God he's clean and
cut and not huge, he thought, as the slightly salty taste of precum and the
scent of antibacterial soap hit his senses. Upon feeling the sensations of
Rick's tongue, the doctor moaned and Rick took that as a good sign. He felt
like a robot, a machine; his tongue directed by his head and disconnected
from the rest of his body, except for the pain and the headache. Just do
your job, he kept thinking, just do your job, over and over again in his
mind.

After a few minutes of licking the tip and piss slit, which the doctor
seemed to really enjoy, Rick's tongue shifted and proceeded up and down the
doctor's shaft, all over. The doctor quivered and moaned with every change
of direction. As he began to lick the doctor's balls, the doctor reached
down and tweaked Rick's nipples. Rick jumped a bit, and as the attention to
his nipples continued, combined with the sensations from the butt plug, he
felt his cock begin to twitch in spite of his pain.

The doctor spoke. "Oh yes my boy, good job. And it's so much nicer when
both men are turned on. Now take my balls in your mouth and
suck...ooooooohh yessss...perfect.  Rick took the shaven balls in his
mouth, paused a moment to take as deep a breath as he could and began to
suck while moving his tongue.

Ohhh yes!!" said the doctor in obvious ecstasy. After a few minutes if
this, he said, "Now take my cock your mouth and go up and down
slowly. Yesssss oohh yes, good boy."

The doctor grabbed Rick's head and started to control the pace. Thrust
after thrust rammed the back of his throat as Rick fought with himself to
not pull away. It was not from a sense of revulsion, that part of his mind
was not functioning, it was that his lungs were aching, he needed to
breathe. The doctor thrust harder and harder as Rick fought off the
blackness, the unconsciousness that was trying to take over.

The doctor thrust even harder and faster as Rick closed his eyes to stop
the room from spinning. Help yourself, he thought, as he moved his tongue
all around, caressing the doctor's shaft and tip with every thrust. And
then, with one big yelp and a lot of subsequent twitching, the doctor
came. Rick forced himself not to pull away at the sensation of the fluid
jetting into his mouth and down his throat. Finally, the twitching and
moaning stopped and the doctor pulled out.  Rick fell to the floor, groaned
as the impact on his ribs sent a wave of pain over him, and tried as best
he could to take in air.

The doctor walked over to the exam table and lay down, catching his breath.

"Oh, that was fantastic. I waited a long time for that, and it was worth
it." Then, the doctor got up, wet a towel, and wiped Rick's face with
it. "There, all clean. Now how did you feel about that?"

"How did I... feel? Rick repeated.

"Yes, how do you feel? Do you need help from my devices to answer the
question?"

"I feel like a robot, like a machine. I feel nothing."

"I believe you. But don't worry; I will help you connect with your
feelings. Would you like to lay down on the table now?"

"Are you asking me? Or telling me to?"

"Get up on the table. You need to rest before I can continue. Come on, I
will take off the cuffs and I will give you something to help you sleep."

Rick was having trouble getting to his feet. The doctor helped him over to
the exam table and laid him down. Rick felt the prick of the needle in his
arm, and seconds later drifted into a drugged sleep.

The doctor looked at his watch and realized he was late for his meeting
with the general. He motioned to the guards. "Let him sleep here, but when
he wakes up, cuff his hands in front, shower him, take him back to the cell
and make sure he's fed." And the doctor ran out of his exam room, towards
the General's office.




As he stood at the door to the General's office, the doctor was grateful to
see that the General was occupied with other matters; too busy to notice he
was late.

The General, sitting behind a massive mahogany desk, motioned for the
doctor to enter, while continuing his telephone conversation.

The doctor entered and sat on a dark leather chair, facing the General's
desk. He tried to figure out to whom the General was speaking. Must be some
one important, the doctor thought. The General was not doing any of the
talking, just responding. All the responses were generally the same; yes
sir, no sir, we can do that for you, no problem.

The doctor watched as the General concluded the telephone conversation,
"Right...ok... No, as I said, no trouble at all. What time, then?" The
general glanced at his watch, the Breitling he had taken from an American
pilot a few years ago, "Ok, yes, we will be ready for you...ok...thank
you."

The General hung up the phone, placed his elbows on the desk, and rested
his chin in his hands. It was quite some time before he spoke.

He stood up, still behind the massive desk, and looked at the doctor. "That
was Waleed."

Waleed was a regular slave buyer, a broker who had a good eye for slaves
and was contracted as a purchaser for some of the most successful men in
this country and around the world.

The general continued. "He's coming to find a slave for the
Emir. Apparently, it's a priority. The Emir is not known for patience as
you know. Tell me the condition of the Americans."

The doctor thought of the `Emir" and a sensation of dread came over
him. Not really an Emir in the traditional sense, he was the brother of the
president, a particularly ruthless man, henchman for his brother, feared by
everyone. At 6'3" and 210 pounds, in a country where most men were
considerably smaller, his stance alone was menacing. One day, about twenty
years ago he decided he wanted the title `Emir' and his brother gave it to
him in a public ceremony with a big parade. And that was that. Instant
royalty.

The doctor responded. "Well, as you know, one is dead. We thought about
saving him but we let him die in front of the other two as a lesson. And
their leader has been in total darkness and isolation since the escape. In
a day or two he will be ready to crack."

The general make a face of disapproval. "Well we don't have a day or
two. Waleed will be here in a few hours. I am going to personally see to it
that the Americans are cleaned up and put in separate viewing cells." He
pointed to the doctor. "And you, I want you to take the American Colonel,
and after reminding him of his new place in life, clean him up and put him
in isolation cell with very bright lights. Oh...I almost forgot to
ask. What is going on with the Israeli?"

"Not much" said the doctor, "he's tough, that one. He does not seem to feel
humiliation, no matter what I make him do. He has two basic emotions, anger
and nothing. He's informed me that no matter what I do to him, no matter
what he does, he's not going to give up anything to compromise his country
or family. And frankly I am starting to believe him."

"What about drugs?"

"I administer them and he has difficulty speaking, difficulty making
coherent sentences. In both Arabic and Hebrew. I even tried English but it
was worse. Sometimes a particular brain chemistry does not mix well with
drugs.I am still playing around, trying to see what dose will work."

"Well, everyone breaks, doctor. You must keep trying", said the general,
"Maybe you have grown to like him too much, maybe you are too soft. I can
always reassign his case."

"No General, that won't be necessary. I will figure out how to break him. I
promise."

The General gestured towards the door. "You are excused, doctor. Please
return to my office no later than 3 hours from now. That is when I expect
Waleed."

"Yes, General." And the doctor left so that he could complete his assigned
task.

Precisely two hours and forty-five minutes later, the doctor returned to
the General's office. The General was busy directing two of his soldiers,
one rolling a teacart and the other holding a tray of sandwiches and
sweets.

"Over there", the General motioned his men towards the corner of the room,
the sitting area with a large rug, the kind his country was famous for
making, an oversized dark leather sectional, and a dark mahogany coffee
table that matched the desk and end tables.

Once the General's office was properly prepared, and he and the doctor sat
at the couch and waited. At precisely the time he was expected, Waleed
arrived. A very dark man with a smaller frame, whose hair, eyes, and facial
features were indicative of his Pakistani origin. He was dressed in a very
conservative dark suit and looked more like a banker or lawyer than a slave
trader.

The three men shook hands warmly.

"General", Waleed began, "You look as good as ever. I wish I had the luxury
of time, so I could go to the gym and keep myself more fit."

The General smiled, "Please, you flatter me. You look wonderful, Waleed. Do
sit down. Tea? Something to eat?"

As his guest was given a cup of tea, the General continued, "What can we
help you with today? We happen to have some very nice Americans right now,
your timing is perfect. Special Forces. Young, smart, fantastic bodies. And
their leader, if that's what you are looking for."

Waleed furrowed his brow, "Well, that is not what I am looking
for. Frankly, I've been to a lot of slavers before I came here. No one has
what I want. They are looking for it, but the Emir wants this slave
yesterday. And he does not want to settle. If I don't find what he wants
soon, I am afraid I will lose him as a client. Or worse..." His sentence
trailed off, since no one needed an explanation of what `or worse' meant.

"What are you looking for?" The General asked.

"A lap slave."

The General and the doctor looked at each other confused. It was the doctor
who spoke. "I am sorry Waleed, I don't understand, what is a lap slave?"

"The Emir wants a slave, very nice looking, from the west, not broken,
since you know the Emir prefers to break his own slaves. He wants a quiet
type, a man not a boy. Late 20's maybe, early 30's. Disciplined. To share
his bed, of course. Eventually after training, to perform secretarial
duties. But mostly to be seen in the Emir's lap. And, one more thing."

"What is that?" Asked the general.

"He does not want a tall one. A smaller, but well built slave on his lap
will serve to enhance the Emir's posture, making him look even larger than
he his. Larger, and of course, more intimidating."

The doctor looked at the General with an `are you thinking what I am
thinking' expression on his face. With a nod, the General acknowledged he
was.

"Tell me, Waleed," the general said, "Does the Emir realize that what he
seeks is not typical?"

"Yes", was the response, "He has indicated to me that whoever should
produce the perfect slave will be well compensated, both financially and in
terms of job security."

The General smiled. That was all that he and the doctor needed to hear,
"Well, Waleed, I think we have what you seek. An American, a
pilot. Smaller, but very nice to look at."

"Blonde? Uncut?" Waleed asked.

"No, sorry, dark hair. Tanned. Big brown eyes with curled
lashes. Dimples. Great physique, good cock size, more for a man taller than
he is, and cut. Definitely not broken yet. Oh, and he seems to know some
Arabic, a result of his military training. Is that ok?"

"Yes the Emir prefers dark hair and eyes. And the Arabic is a big
plus. Saves a great deal of time. Unfortunately, he likes to cut them
himself, but I am sure it won't matter if everything else is as you say. I
know Americans are mutts from different nationalities. What nationality
would you guess is in his blood?"

The general looked at the doctor for help with the answer and stared to
speak. "Um, he's...probably..."

"Italian", the doctor interrupted.

"Yes, Italian, the General affirmed."

"When can I see him? If he is what you say, I will take him with me
today. I have the cage and the truck outside."

The General looked at the doctor and then at Waleed. "Waleed, please excuse
me. I need to talk to the doctor outside for one moment. Do you mind?"

"No, go ahead." Waleed helped himself to a sandwich and drank some more
tea.

The General steered the doctor out of the room and into the hallway by his
arm.

"How soon can you get him ready?" The General asked.

"Depends, what do want me to do to prepare him?"

"Clean him up, definitely keep him in restraints, and put a robe on him or
something, we'll let Waleed have the pleasure of unveiling. Also, give him
something for the pain, but something that will keep his mind clear, just
enough to keep him for wincing and struggling when Waleed probes him. Do
not explain to him where he is going. Just tell him that there is a buyer
and it's an opportunity for him to get out of here and start his new slave
life. Remind him to speak only when spoken to and to keep his answers
short. I will make sure the conversation is in Arabic. Remember when you
talk to him, less is more. Now I will get in there and entertain Waleed. Be
quick about it and give one ring on the red phone when you are done with
him so I will know you are coming."

Yes General. And the doctor ran off to comply with the General's orders.