Date: Sun, 08 Jul 2001 11:42:10 -0400
From: lesli 99 <lesli99@hotmail.com>
Subject: Operation Queer Bait Pt 13

There's not much I could do, bound and gagged as I was in the car trunk, so
I settled down to a game of trying to figure out just where we were headed
by paying particular attention to the sounds around me.  I don't know why,
because if I wasn't being tailed by my handlers, I was in deep shit.
Unable to make much sense out of what I heard, I drifted off into
speculation about the mission.  It helped fill my mind and calm me a bit.

Since I hadn't been taken to a jail, I wondered if I had been snatched by
the same thugs as Anthony had.  The fact that the one with the gun
mentioned breaking their law made me think that they were one and the same.
I guess they really didn't know Anthony was queer til his time in jail.
And me, well, I had fairly radiated my sexual preference and availability
for the past few days, which must have set me up for a more direct route to
wherever it was I was being taken.

And had I been handed off to the others already.  From the size of the
trunk I guessed this to be a different car than the two prevous ones I had
bee in, so I speculated that maybe maybe I had.  And from the sounds I had
been able to identify, I guessed that we had headed across the causeway
toward Saudi Arabia from Bahrain.  The real unknown to me was if I was
being spirited away to the same group that had Anthony.  That really
worried me.  If I wasn't, this whole exercise was a waste of time.  And the
bad thing was that I had no idea how long it would take to find this out.
I was, in a nut shell, not the master of this situation.

I don't know how long I had been in the trunk when the car pulled off the
hard surface of the highway onto what must have been the most pock marked
track in all of the Middle East.  I was bounced around til it became almost
unbearable before the car came to a stop and I was pulled out of the trunk
and led into what sounded like a building.
  Once inside, the blindfold was removed and for the first time since
leaving Bahrain I was able to see again.  My eyes adjusted slowly to the
dim outline of the room as my captor shoved me til I sprawled across a heap
of blankets in the floor.  While I lay there, helpless, he undid the gag.

"No tricks.  You stay."  He said simply and reached behind me and unlocked
the handcuffs.  I rubbed my wrists to get the circulation going again.  The
long ride in captivity had taken its toll, and I felt weary as I lay there,
looking up at him.  He was Arab, no doubt about that, about six feet tall
and slim.  He wore jeans, a sport shirt, and Nike running shoes.  That's
about all I took in, but it was enough to know that he wasn't one of the
two who had trailed and snatched me in Bahrain.

"Where.....am I?"  I studdered.

"Quiet" he barked.  I gave up the line of questioning and did as I was
told, not wanting to present any challenge to him.  I didn't need to
provoke any hostility here.  I rolled onto my side and curled in a ball,
looking I'm sure like a whipped puppy.

Although I didn't know it at the time, I was in a 'way house', a temporary
stop on my trek to slavery.  There were two Arabs guarding me until my new
'owners' came to fetch me.  They were being paid to transport me across the
border from Bahrain and make sure I stayed there.  They were also being
paid to make sure nothing happened to me.  I didn't realize what a prize I
was, or the price that was being paid for me and my safety.  I would come
to understand my worth later as I was put to use, lining my new owners
pockets with money and favoritism generated from renting and loaning my
talents out to others.

I would also find out later that I was taking the same route as Anthony had
taken.

I spent the night on that pile of blankets, falling into a fitful sleep and
sleeping thru til being jostled awake by one of the guards in the pitch
black of early morning.  As I sat up, rubbing my eyes, I had the first
glimpse of my new owners.  Two Arabs, both in flowing white robes stood
looking down at me before the guard pulled me upright.  As I stood there,
still a bit dazed and confused by it all, one of them reached out and
lifted my tee shirt by the waist and indicated that I should take it off.
I pulled it over my head and let it drop to the floor.  He then pointed to
my shorts, indicating that I should take them off.  Slowly I pulled them
down and stepped out of them, leaving them crumpled beside my tee shirt.  I
stood still, completely nude as he slowly circled behind me, taking the
sight of me in from head to foot before placing his hand between my
shoulder blades and forcing me to bend over.  I jackknifed at the waist as
his foot came between mine and forced my legs apart.  As I tried to keep my
balance in this awkward position he ran his hand along my back, pausing
briefly at my butt before forcing my cheeks apart and probing my anus with
a cold finger.  His hands moved down my legs, then back to my hips.  He
pulled me upright and frisked my armpits.  It occurred to me that he was
checking for a wire, a homing device, anything out of the ordinary.
Satisfied that I was clean, he motioned to one of the guards who handed me
a robe, which I slipped over my head.  Only then did he speak.

"You are now in my custody" he spoke softly, his mouth near my ear as I
stood perfectly still "you will do what I say.  Nothing more, nothing less.
Do you understand?"

"Yes" I answered.  It was almost a whisper.

"Excellent" he replied "now, we will leave.  You will sit in the back of
the car."  And with that he walked from the room.  I followed.  He opened
the back door of the Mercedes sedan and I got in.  The two of them got in
the front, started the engine, and we drove off into the black night.

I sat quietly as we drove along the dirt track and finally turned onto the
highway.  The lights ahead signaled the approach to a city, and within
minutes we were driving thru the brightly lit streets.  From the license
tags I observed I guessed us to be in Saudi Arabia, but I had no idea
where.  We turned this way and that before pulling into an underground
parking garage where I was helped out of the car and led to an elevator in
the far corner.  After a short elevator ride, we exited on what appeared to
be the third floor and I was led down a corridor to an unmarked door that
opened to a very impressive suite.  It would be my 'home' for the next few
days.

I would learn later that this was all part of my 'processing', an intricate
set of experiences all designed to break down any defiance that I may have
felt and to deepen my feelings of dependence on my new owners.  While the
word was never used in those first few weeks, it became increasingly
apparent that I was owned.  Over the next few days, I would be
interrogated, albeit subtle, in an effort to tear down my feelings of self
worth, or independence, and begin to mold their framework of authority over
everything I did.  They would control what I ate, what I saw, experienced,
everything.  It was a subtle brainwashing to remove any ideas I might have
about escaping their custody.

My psychological training had prepared me for just about every hostage
situation possible, and I recognized the various techniques they were using
on me.  I had also been trained in passive resistance, the art of 'going
along', giving the outward appearances of cooperation, even submission,
while inwardly remaining immune to it all.  As a contest, I was trained to
win in this type of situation.

Arab theory on manipulation of homosexuals is virtually consistent with
other societies views.  That is thru the exploitation of the inherent
weakness created by our sexual orientation and desire.  That weakness is
perceived as a major shortcoming that places us in a definitely inferior
position to be used.  Subjugation, in their minds, is the logical outcome
of the relative disparity in our moral and physical positions.  In the Arab
world, long a male dominated society, homosexuals are to be used in much
the same way as dumb animals.  Or women.  Used, taken advantage of, and
discarded at will.  What made this situation different was the economic
value that could be derived from preying on moral shortcomings of those who
would pay to use us.  And they would pay dearly, either money or the
tangible benefit of influence, to my owners.  It was a classic example of
providing for the perverted needs of 'normal' society, and the rewards were
worth the risk.  By a long shot.

But mine wasn't to think about these things.  In the mind of my captors, my
moral weakness made me want to be used in this way.  It was the natural
selection process in which some were destined to dominate and some were
destined to submit.  If I was inferior, they were certainly superior.  It
was the way things were, with no middle ground for discussion or dissent.

But they had learned that westerners, even homosexuals, sometimes viewed
the world in a different light.  Our decadent, open society had filled our
minds with illusions of equality that simply didn't exist here.  My
'adjustment' period was designed to alter, as much as possible, my frame of
mind until it was more in line with their theory.  I wondered what happened
to those less malleable than me.  In time, I would come to accept many of
their beliefs about homosexuals.  In the situation I was in, in their
society, it all seemed to hold together.

I had come to realize that I needed to be wanted, and submission came easy
to me as long as that filled the need.  I had no illusions about my sexual
preferences and, more importantly, I derived a sense of satisfaction in
filling the sexual needs of the men who came thru my life.  While I didn't
view it in terms of weakness, I could certainly understand it from their
perspective.  I could, and did, accept my role with a confidence and
enthusiasm devoid of guilt or shame.  I had, in a word, turned.  Long ago.

The psychological preparation was comical at times and I must say that the
next few days provided me with a certain degree of entertainment.  The
'good cop' seemed to be a character I would later come to realize as my
pimp, a nice looking, somewhat older Arab character who seemed more akin to
a streetwise American than that of his country.  He visited me the first
day and laid out the realities of my new life, complete with the benefits
of being 'kept', as he put it.

"But why am I being held against my will?"  I questioned at the first
opportunity.

"Held?"  he said "No.  You are being kept.  Protected. You see, your life
has been saved.  Those Bahrainian pigs would kill you in a second.  They
have no understanding of your feelings.  They don't, they can't accept you
as you are.  Your life has been saved in the only way possible.  By paying
them money we have saved your life."

"Well, thank you" I said, somewhat sarcastically.  It was a mistake,
really, as it showed a lack of appreciation for the situation.  Over the
next days I would take a different tact as I came to understand how they
wanted me to think.  "Now how about letting me get back to Canada and put
this whole thing behind me?"

"Um...well, you see it's not quite that simple.  Those who paid the money,
and it was quite a substantial sum, expect....well, you see they must be
repaid.  While they have done this good deed, saving your life from those
pigs, it must not go unpaid.  I'm sure you understand."  I understood
completely.  However he chose to rationalize it, I was an investment.  And
my new owners expected to recoup that investment many times over.

"Well, let me go home and I'll send the money back here to repay them."  I
knew how to play along with this.

"Oh, no" he laughed at the idea "you don't understand, it was substantial.
  And they require repayment before you can go."

"Well, how can I repay them in my current situation?  I mean, I only had
the clothes on my back when they took me.  Let me go home and send a
check."

"No.  That is impossible.  Repayment must be made before you will be
allowed to return home.  But they are not unreasonable.  You can earn the
repayment.  Yes, that is possible.  You can stay here and earn the
repayment.  And then you will be taken care of."

"Well, then I suppose I'll work, huh?  I mean, I'm a student, but I can
work.  Like in a resturant?"

"Um......no, that could be a problem.  Work restrictions, you know."

"Well" I said, trying to sound as exasperated as possible "how am I
supposed to earn this payback if I can't work?"  I knew it was the opening
he was looking for.

"Hummm.  Well, there are ways.  I mean, you have a certain, shall we say,
proclivity, that may be somewhat of value.  If, of course, you agree."

"Proclivity?  What do you mean?"

"Well, your expulsion from Bahrain, as I understand, was due to certain
overt actions.  Was it not?"

"You mean...?"  I tried to sound confused.

"Yes.  I mean.  Exactly."  There it was.

"You want me to hook?  To sell my....uh, to sell myself.  Prostitute myself
for money?"

"No no no no no" he blustered.  "That is strictly forbidden.  You would
suffer a terrible fate for that."

"Then what?"

"Certain arrangements can be made.  In our custody certain arrangements can
be made for you to....shall we say, provide a degree of entertainment.  In
our custody you will be safe.  Nothing to worry about."

"Entertainment?"  I asked "sex?"

"Precisely"

"What kind of sex?"

"I'm sure it will be the kind and quality that you...uh, that you enjoy."

"With men."  I said, looking straight into his eyes.  The moment of truth
had come.  At least the moment for him to admit the truth.  I already knew
the answer.

"That can be arranged.  Yes.  If you want.  I believe that can be arranged
for you to sufficiently pay your debt."

"How long?  How many times I mean?"  I knew the answer to this as well.

"Uh, well, that remains to be seen.  But I'm sure it will be something
acceptable to you.  If you agree, I mean."

"What choice do I have?"

"Truthfully?"

"Yes.  I value your opinion."  I was staring straight into his eyes again
with the little lost sheep look that told him I was completely at his
mercy.  Turned.  He knew he had me.

"I think it in your best interest to agree."  I dropped my eyes, and
counted to ten to make this seem as dramatic as possible.  Bringing my eyes
back up to meet his stare, I tried to look as sincere as possible before I
spoke.

"OK" I said softly.

Bingo.  He had me.  The little faggot would do his bidding.  The bidding of
his masters.  He knew all along that he would be successful at this.  I was
inferior.  My perversion dictated it.  I had no choice.  I wanted it.  The
slow smile that crept over his face told the story in a way that words
could never express.  His male arrogance was skin deep.  And a mile wide.

"OK" he said simply and patted me on the shoulder.

It wasn't an elegant arrangement.  It wasn't about me, at least not in the
sense of my feelings or will.  It was about service.  Availability.  Of
being used whenever and wherever they needed me.

I stayed in the apartment for the next week, 'entertaining', as he so aptly
described it, a seemingly endless stream of men.  Exclusively Arab.  It was
a simple drill, I stayed in the apartment, night and day, answering the
knock at the door when it came.  Ushering my 'visitors' in and submitting
to them.  Not much conversation.  It wasn't necessary.  I knew what they
were there for and they knew that I knew.  And they knew what I was there
for.  To please them, either by sucking them off, or letting them fuck me.
I silently knelt before them or lay on my stomach and spread my legs to let
them have fill their needs with me.  I was the perfect whore for them,
enthusiastically giving them what they wanted without the slightest
resistance.

And, by the end of that first week, I was into it.  The mission was fading
from my thoughts as I settled into the life of a whore.  I looked forward
to the knock.  The men.  The experience.  Somehow I found a balance in it
all that appealed to me like no other mission I had been on.  I was used,
that's true, but I felt a certain degree of fulfillment in giving them what
they wanted.  Maybe they were right about me.  Maybe my lot in life was
being used by men.  As the days and nights wore on, I found myself thinking
more and more about my role.  I was good at it.  I enjoyed it.  I gave them
pleasure, and I derived pleasure from it as well.  Was there anything wrong
with that?

At that point, I would have said no.  I had stepped over some unseen line
in the sand from being focused on my mission to being immersed in this new
lifesyle.  As each day passed, I the mission seemed farther and farther
from the here and now, and more and more like some vague dream.  The
reality of it was my life in the apartment, my attentive and supportive
pimp, and the endless sex.  I realize now that I fit the profile of a slave
like a glove.  Gone was any rational thought, replaced by hunger and need,
and that hunger and need was satisfied by the men who came to the
apartment.  I no longer focused on anything but sex and I seemed to exist
for nothing but it.  Hedonism in its most basic form.

I would learn later that this was helped along by the drugs they were
feeding me.  Small doses at first, then stronger and stronger, administered
in almost everything I ate or drank, combined with my natural instincts to
produce these feelings.  I was hooked and I didn't even realize what a
victim I had become.  It didn't matter, in my mind.  As far as I was
concerned, it was heaven.  I gave myself gladly to anyone who knocked at my
door, safe and secure in my role as a giver and receiver of pleasure.

And any thoughts of Anthony, or his plight, safely removed from my mind.

This apartment, and my stay here the past week, were both designed to
provide a buffer - a transition of sorts - between my previous life and the
life they had in mind.  A period of increasing dependency on them, and
decreasing independance.  They were slowly weaning me of western tendencies
towards self worth and attempting to replace that with near total
submission and subservience.  The drugs were making their job easier and
easier and, looking back on it now, they suceeded.  After nearly a week of
drugs and sex, I was, literally, putty in their hands.  They were free to
do anything to me without fear of my resisting.  I was like a little dog
now, depending on them for survival.

The second and third weeks of captivity held the same, only the drug dosage
changed, and I slipped further and further away from my mission and into
the life of a whore.  Bought and paid for, I became nothing more than
chattel.  But my cooperation built trust, and sometime during the third
week my keeper, by now I knew him as Hassad, actually took me out of the
apartment for a day in town.
  I still didn't know where we were, but by this time I had stopped even
wondering about it.  We rode in a black Mercedes, Hassad driving and me
sitting in the front passenger's seat.  I was dressed in the same shorts,
sandals, and tee shirt I had been wearing when I was abducted, but they
were laundered and fresh now, the first western clothes I had worn since
being in the apartment.  I suppose I looked less odd in western clothes
than the robe I had worn for the past two weeks, but to be honest, it felt
strange to be dressed like this.

Most of the day was wasted on me, a meaningless stroll thru the market, a
visit to the gold souk, some leasurely window shopping.  I followed
Hassad's lead, sticking close to him out of a strange misgiving, as if I
would surely lose my way without him.  And finally it was over, I was back
in the apartment where I could strip off the shorts and shirt and slip into
the comfort of the long white cotton robe, sit on the couch, and await the
inevitable knock at the door which signified another 'visitor'.  I felt a
sense of relief at knowing where I was, and what I was to do.  Unlike the
confusion of the market place, this was home.

Safe and sound where I belonged.

To be continued
lesli99@hotmail.com