New 5/15 Chapter Two: Is it possible that Greg will actually accept the Wazir's offer of his own personal slave?

New 5/22 Chapter Three: This reluctant slave owner gets acquainted with his sexy slave

New 5/29 Chapter Four: Some surprising twists as this story reaches its conclusion

       The sounds of a scuffle caught my attention as I was walking by the alley.  I was alone, in a strange country, at night, in a dangerous part of town and I should have kept walking but something made me stop.  I took two steps into the darkness to see.  A good looking young man in a crisp white linen suit was being pounded by two big guys in turbans.  I had no business interfering and if I’d thought for a second I probably wouldn’t have.  But I didn’t think and so I did.  I stepped further into the alley, picked up a short piece of iron pipe that fortuitously was laying there and applied it to one of the turbans.  He dropped like a stone and, as the other one turned to find out what happened to his friend, the pipe connected with his jaw and he too was out for the count.

       I dropped the pipe, grabbed the arm of the dazed young man and dragged him from the alley.  Hailing a passing cab I shoved him inside, tumbled in behind him and collapsed in the seat.  I used the only phrase of Arabic I knew to get the driver started toward my hotel.  The adrenaline rush that had gotten me this far was gone and my body was shaking so I put my head down and waited for my breathing to return to normal.

       The young man said something in Arabic to the driver and we abruptly swerved.  I looked up to see that we had changed direction away from my hotel and shot a questioning glance to the young man beside me.

       “Don’t worry, my friend,” he said in slightly accented English.  “We are going to my home.  You will be safe, inshallah.”

       I could have asked to be let out but the aftermath had completely drained me.  I put my head back on the seat and closed my eyes.

***

       I woke up when the cab stopped.  I opened my eyes and we were at the gate of a huge estate where the guard clearly knew the young man beside me as he opened the gate, bowed deeply and waved us in.

       We entered a lush oasis.  In my three weeks of poking around Marrakesh and its environs I had never encountered anything like this compound.  I had walked past homes of wealthy Moroccans but they paled in comparison.  This was a palace. 

       When we stopped at the front entrance the cab door was opened by another servant who also bowed deeply to the young man.  He stepped out of the cab and turned to me.

       “Please, come in, sir, and let me thank you properly,” he said.

       I climbed out of the car and followed him inside.  Another servant opened the door into a huge cavern of an entrance foyer with a hallway running to the rear.  The young man strode purposefully toward the back with me following in his wake.  At the end of the hall was a library and seated at a desk on the side of the room was a distinguished man dressed in a jalaba with an embroidered ghutra on his head.  He stood up as we entered.  The young man crossed to him, embraced him and then launched into a long soliloquy in Arabic with gestures towards me.  I waited patiently until the young man ran out of steam.  The older man stepped around the desk to me.

       “Your name, sir?” he asked.

       “It’s Greg,” I said.  “Greg Paulson.”

       “I am in your debt, Mr. Paulson,” he said grabbing my hand and pumping it.

       “Please, call me Greg,” I said, “and I’m sorry but I don’t understand.

       “I am Wazir Achmed Bakam Saadin and this is my son Prince Hakeem,” he said.  “You saved his life tonight and for that I am forever in your debt.”

       “It was really nothing…wazir sir,” I protested.  “I just happened to be there.”

       “First, Greg, you must call me Achmed,” he said.  “And secondly it was not ‘nothing’ as you say.  He is my only son and my heir.  They would have taken his life tonight if you had not saved him.  For this I will always be in your debt.”

       That embarrassed me.  I didn’t want to be in anyone’s debt.  I had acted without thinking and felt uncomfortable with the thought that if I had taken the time to evaluate the situation I probably would have run for my life and Prince Hakeem would be dead.

       “I’ll settle for a cup of tea,” I quipped.

       “No,” Achmed said fiercely, “I will not settle my debt to you with a cup of tea but we shall have one together.”

       He clapped his hands and a servant appeared as if by magic bearing a tray with cups and a pot.  The perverse thought of what might have happened if I had asked for coffee flitted through my head but I figured he would have been able to make that happen somehow.  There was probably a different clap for coffee.

       We sat on cushions at a low table and drank tea.  Over the course of the next two hours we talked and I learned that he was the Wazir of the city and province of Marrakesh, answerable only to the king.   He had four wives.  The first three had given him girls which, while he professed to love them, were not the necessary male heir that he needed to insure that his enemies didn’t take over his sultanate.  His fourth wife had given him Hakeem, the young man I had saved tonight.

       Subtly, but with perseverance during those two hours, he also drew me out and learned quite a lot of things about me that I usually kept private.  I was single because I had never found exactly what or who I was looking for.  I was very well off as a result of selling a software company that I had started and sold for thirty million dollars and I was restless, looking all over the world for something.  What that something might be wasn’t clear to me but I hoped I’d recognize it when I saw it.

       About the time that I thought the evening might be over and I would be escorted back to my hotel and my endless quest to find that elusive ‘something’, he reached out, grabbed my arm and waited until he was sure he had my attention.

       “Greg, are you a man who is shocked easily?” he asked.

       I had no idea what he might be referring to but something about his manner made me realize that I would be very sorry to miss whatever he was leading up to.

       “No,” I said.

       “Are you a man who might be open to pleasures of…a different kind?” he asked.

       That covered a lot of ground and I thought for a moment before answering.  I assumed that he was talking about women but…  It wasn’t my culture and he might have something in mind that would disgust me.  Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained as my grandfather had said many times.  I nodded.

       “I think we are going to be very good friends,” he said clapping his hands.

       I don’t know what I had expected but three beautiful naked female slaves in manacles wouldn’t have ever made my list.  Their hands were cuffed behind them and metal collars circled their necks with chains leading to the three guards who led them in.  Moments later I found myself holding the end of a chain with a delectable beauty at the end of it.

       If someone had asked me prior to this moment how I would react I would have vehemently insisted that I would be disgusted.  Disgust wasn’t even in the equation unless you only use the last four letters of that word and change the g to an l.  Lust overwhelmed me.  A lump of desire had started in my crotch and was threatening to overpower me.  I looked at Achmed and found he was staring at me and smiling.

       “I thought so, Greg,” he laughed.

       It seems he was a better judge of me than I was myself but at this point I didn’t care.  I was ready for the next step.  Now!

       “What now, Achmed?” I asked serenely, as if I wasn’t about to burst inside.

       “Greg,” Achmed laughed, “we have all night.  Bring your girl and follow me.”

       He stood up and walked toward a wall full of books which magically opened before he reached it, revealing a staircase going down.

       The basement was right out of the Marquis de Sade of Arabia.  It had everything I’d ever seen or read about or heard about and a whole host of things I had no idea what they were for.  I was dying to get started but I didn’t have the faintest idea of where to start.  I looked to my host for guidance.

       “Fasten your girl over one of the frames and then watch what my son and I do,” Achmed said.

       I led my exquisite young thing to the frame and fastened her legs and wrists.  That’s when I forgot the next part of Achmed’s last order, the part about watching what they were doing.  She was so lovely and so…available.  I couldn’t resist touching her back, letting my finger tips drift around to find her erect nipples.  I then let them slide softly down her ribcage to her waist and then to her plump, inviting bottom.  On its own volition my right hand crept into her cleft.  She was heart- thumping excited and her arousal had me going crazy.  Her ass just looked so inviting.  I grabbed a paddle from the wall and tapped her ass lightly.  She moaned and stuck her ass out for more.  It was all I needed.  I hit her harder and used my other hand to reach under her to capture her clit and rub it lightly.  She started screaming in pleasure and I was lost in the hedonism of the whole scene.

       “You were supposed to wait for us,” Achmed’s voice intruded.

       That startled me out of the perfectly fabulous fabricated fantasy that I had been moments away from.  I came back to reality and looked at him sheepishly.

       “Sorry.”

       “I’m kidding, my friend,” he laughed.  “I knew you were a natural when I met you.  Enjoy yourself.”

       I turned back to the nubile body and forgot the world.  Over the course of the next few hours I fucked her in every orifice at least twice.  I used many of the whips, quirts, scourges, canes and…well things I didn’t know what their names were and I was shocked at how much I liked it…and how much she did.  It was a symbiosis of two contrasting psyches that created an experience that was way more than the whole.  I felt like I was suspended in a cloud by the time we stopped.  Achmed and Hakeem had finished long before me and were seated nearby sipping tea when I dropped the mini-flogger I had been using on her tits in order to stretch out her last orgasm and came out of my fog.

       “Wow!”

       “Wow indeed, my friend,” Achmed laughed.  “Did you enjoy yourself?”

       Achmed, I have never enjoyed myself more,” I said truthfully.

       “Didn’t you think you were going to?” he smiled.

       “Honestly, no.”

       “And why is that, my friend?”

       “We don’t believe in slavery in my country and whipping someone is…”

       “Twisted?” he asked wryly.

       “Yes.”

       “Even when it’s what they want?” he asked.

       “What?”

       “Greg, all of these girls are slaves because they want to be,” he explained.  “They sell themselves into slavery because they want to be tied up and whipped and used and abused for a man’s pleasure.”

       “They do?”

       “Did your girl enjoy herself?” he asked.

       I thought about that.  She certainly had.  In fact, she probably had more orgasms that I did.

       “Yes.”

       “In fact, I wager that, if you think about it, you’ll realize that some of your actions were directly related to insuring that it was good for her,” Achmed said.

       Of course they were.  It had given me great pleasure to know that I was driving her crazy with some of the things I did.  My final act had been to lash her breasts lightly with the mini-flogger solely to drag out her final orgasm.  I nodded.

       “So perhaps you learned something about yourself tonight, no?”           

       I had indeed but now sleep threatened to overwhelm me.  I needed to get back to my hotel and my bed.

       “Perhaps,” I agreed, “but now I find that my body is telling me that it wants to lie down, so with your permission, sir, I’ll take my leave.”

       “You will be staying with us now, Greg,” Achmed said pleasantly but in a tone that clearly indicated that I didn’t have much choice.

       “But my things.  I’ll need…”       

       “I arranged for all of your things to be brought over from your hotel, Greg.  You are my guest for the rest of your time here,” Achmed said.

       “But how did you know…”

       “Where you were staying?”

       “Yes.”

       “I’m the Wazir, Greg,” he said as if that explained everything, which I guess in his world it did.

       “Oh,” I managed to mumble.

       “I’ve also arranged for your girl to be…installed in your room here in case you have a few more dark desires to slake,” Achmed chuckled.

       Until he said that I was sure I was finished for the night but the thought of that lovely body stretched out on a frame waiting for me breathed fire into my body.  I nodded dumbly.  Hakeem grabbed my arm.

       “Come with me,” Hakeem said.  “Your room is right next to mine.  I’ll show you the way.”

       We were halfway up the stairs when the Wazir spoke.

       “Tomorrow evening I plan to take you to a slave auction, Greg,” Achmed said offhandedly.

       It stopped me cold. 

       “Why?” I thought.

       “Why?” I asked.

       “In case.”

       “In case of what, Acmed?” I asked pointedly.

       “In case you see a slave you want for your own,” he said.

       There was no way but I thought it might insult him if I protested too vehemently.

       “Achmed,” I said politely, “it’s a long way from… having an experience with a girl for one night to… wanting one permanently.”

       “Perhaps one you just can’t resist,” he said softly.

       “In your dreams,” I thought as I turned and continued up the staircase.

Chapter Three

Her reaction to my challenge was dramatic.  I could see the wiggle of pleasure that started at her toes and undulated up her body, tempered with the contrasting fire of defiance that blazed out of her eyes.  On one hand she certainly wasn’t the docile slave she was pretending to be and on the other she was clearly looking forward to whatever I might have in mind to bring her in line.  I tried to hide my reaction but the wave of desire that swept over me threatened to destroy my sanity.  Moments ago I had been an adamant advocate against slavery and now there was no way that I would ever set her free. She was mine and I planned to keep her no matter what.   I tried to change the subject.

       “What’s your name?” I asked.

       “I have no name now, sire,” she said.  “I am your slave.  My name is whatever you call me.”

       “Well, then I wish to call you by your real name,” I said.

       “Sire?”

       “I want to call you by your given name,” I said.

       “But, sire, I…I no longer have a name.”

       “Are you my slave?”

       “Yes, sire,” she answered meekly.

       “Then tell me your name,” I demanded.

       “But, sire, please I…”

       “What was your name before you had no name?” I asked coldly.

       “It was…Fatima, sire.”

       “Then I shall call you Fatima,”

       “Yes, sire,” she said, plainly not liking my choice.

       “And why are you a slave, Fatima?”

       I could see the question bothered her.  She dropped her eyes and a tear slipped out of her right eye and splashed on the table.  I waited.

       “My father sold me, sire,” she whispered.

       “Why?”

       “Sire, please,” she pleaded.

       “Why, Fatima,” I persisted.

       “He needed to repay a great debt to our family,” she said.  “I was…chosen.”

       That brought my mind back to reality.  She wasn’t sitting next to me out of choice but rather because she was a slave.  In fact she was my slave and I didn’t want to waste another minute to begin exploring what that meant.  I stood up.

       “Achmed,” I said, “with your permission I’d like to…”

       “Get to know your new slave better?” he chuckled.

       “If you could have one of your men help me find my way back to your palace I’d…”

       “Actually, Greg, I have one more gift I’d like you to accept,” he interrupted.

       “Achmed, please, you have done enough to repay me,” I protested.

       “Just one last gift, Greg, please,” he said.

       “Only if you promise that this puts an end to your obligation,” I said.

       “That I can’t promise, Greg, as I owe you a debt that can never be repaid, but I give you my word that I will not force further gifts on you.”

       I knew I wasn’t going to get more out of him than that.  Somehow my saving his son had created a lifetime debt in his mind.  I nodded.

       “This section of the medina is called the Casbah,” he said.  “Nearby this house I own a small Riad or what you would call a villa that I wish to give to you as your home here in Marrakesh.”

       “Why?” I asked.

       “I’m trying to repay my debt to you,” he said.

       “Bullshit, Achmed,” I said.  “You did that last night when you opened my eyes to a new world.  Yet now you have given me a slave and a house.  Why?”

       “Let’s just say that I am a quick judge of men and I like what I have seen,” he smiled.  “And I would like you to stick around for a while and I’m thinking that with a…diversion such as she is and a place to stay I you will.”

       “I accept,” I laughed, “but no more gifts.  Agreed?”

       “Agreed, my friend.”

       I pulled Fatima to her feet and looked around for something to cover her near nakedness.  Seeing nothing I turned to Achmed.

       “Does she have clothes?” I asked.

       He looked a bit amused, “No, Greg, she is a slave.”

       “I need something to cover her with,” I said.

       “Greg, she is a slave,” he said.

       “She may be, Achmed, but she is my slave and I wish her covered.”

       I couldn’t imagine why he would care but it appeared to me that he looked pleased by my insistence.  He clapped his hands and a servant appeared with a robe.  If I was going to be staying in this country I seriously had to learn that hand clap trick.  I draped the robe around her and took her hand.

***

       An hour later we were finally alone.  Achmed had insisted on coming with us to show me around my new home.  I should have known that it would be a mini-palace, given that he was the Wazir, but I hadn’t really been prepared for the opulence.  I could get used to living like this.

       I also hadn’t expected it to be so thoroughly outfitted.  It had a full dungeon with stocks, bondage suspension equipment, cages, cells, spreader bars and a vast selection of implements to tame unruly slave-girls.  The real surprise was the master suite which was equipped almost as well as the dungeon.  I was sooo ready when Achmed finally left.

       “Well, my little slave girl,” I said as soon as the door closed.  “I think it’s time we get better acquainted don’t you?”

       “Better acquainted, sire?”

       “A euphemism for sampling my new merchandise,” I said.

       “Is that what I am to you then, sire?  Merchandise?” she asked disappointedly.

       She wasn’t.  Not by any stretch.  She was without a doubt an intelligent, vibrant, sharp witted woman.  She was definitely someone who, in another life, I might have pursued like a sick puppy.  She held an attraction that disturbed me but it seemed like a dangerously slippery slope to let a…slave girl, who didn’t give a whit about me, know that.  I hardened my tone.

       “Aren’t you?” I asked.  “Didn’t I just buy you?  Aren’t you just chattel?  A piece of warm flesh to be used anyway I want to satisfy my dark desires?”

       “Well…technically, sire, the Wazir bought me,” she said defiantly.

       “Tell me, Fatima,” I asked.  “Did your previous master tolerate that smart mouth of yours or is that why you were on the block tonight?”

       She dropped her eyes.  I had hit some kind of a nerve.  I pressed my advantage.

       “Did he have to whip you often?” I pressed.

       “I…no, sire, I…you are my first master,” she said meekly.

       “What?  How can that be?” I thought.  “She…”

       “Your first master?” I asked.

       “Yes, sire.”

       “How long have you been a slave?”

       “I’m sorry, sire, I shouldn’t have…”

       “How long, Fatima?”

       “Three hours, sire,” she said.

       That didn’t make any sense but I pushed it out of my mind.  What stood out for me was that I had a clean slate to draw on.  I was in possession of a jewel.  She was someone who was more a novice than I.  I could mold her as I wanted and…

       “Get rid of that robe,” I demanded.

       She dropped her robe to the ground and it took my breath away.  She had a slight frame with small but firm breasts, narrow waist and a triangle that I wanted to dive into.

       “Here’s how it’s going to work, Fatima,” I said.  “I’m going to let you decide how I’m going to discipline you tonight.  I want you to go up to the bedroom, pick out whatever you think I should use on you to make you understand that I am your master and secure yourself in whatever fashion that you think appropriate.  I will be up in a while to…establish our relationship.”

       She looked at me and smiled.

       “I get to decide how severe my first session with you is going to be?” she asked.

       “Yes.”

       “Well,” she said disdainfully, turning and walking for the stairs, “that’s easy then.”

       “Sort of,” I said to her retreating back.

       She turned and cocked her head.

       “Sort of?”

       “Didn’t you mean ‘Sort of, sire?” I smiled.

       A flicker of uncertainty rippled across her face but the flame of insolence still burned brightly in her eyes.

       “Sort of, sire?” she asked carefully.

       “Yes, sort of, because, if I don’t think that what you picked is harsh enough to make you understand your position as my slave, I intend to put you in one of the cells in the basement and leave you alone for a week,” I said mildly.

       “That’s cruel and inhumane!” she blurted.

       “It is isn’t it?” I reflected.

       “But, sire, I…”

       “You best get started, slave,” I interrupted.

       I was climbing the walls within five minutes in my eagerness to get at my treasure but I forced myself to wait a full twenty before I climbed the stairs to see.  She had exceeded my wildest expectations.  She had an ankle spreader holding her legs wide apart with a ring gag in her mouth.  She had bent herself across the whipping frame and fastened the waist belt and neck strap and then had somehow managed to lock her hands behind her.

       On the bed she had thoughtfully laid out a paddle, a riding crop, a single tail whip, a cane and various other implements which I wasn’t sure of.  I skinned out of my clothes and picked up the paddle.

       “Very nice, Fatima,” I purred, rubbing the paddle lightly on her bottom.

       She moaned and thrust her ass out as far as she could.

       “I like your choices for correcting your behavior and I promise to use every one of them before we are through tonight,” I said, tapping a light tattoo on her cheeks with the paddle.

       She yelled something incoherent and shook her head plainly trying to tell me no. 

       “Yes,” I laughed.

       I reached my left hand under her and let my fingers slide softly along her moist opening.  She wiggled in pleasure and tried to press herself into my hand.

       “When I’m finished you are going to know who your master is, aren’t you, my little slave girl?” I asked, swatting her full force.

       She shrieked into her gag and nodded her head vigorously.   I laughed again and allowed my middle finger slip inside of her.  I picked up the tempo on her rear while holding my finger still.  She began bucking and screaming into the ring gag.  On one hand she wanted to impale herself on my finger and on the other she wanted to push her buns out for the beat of the paddle.

       I varied my pace to bring her to the edge and keep her there.  I kept giving her tantalizing glimpses of heaven but…  When her cries ultimately became one continuous wail of begging, I pushed my middle finger into her cunt all the way and used my index finger and thumb to capture her clitoris.  That pushed her over the edge.  Her body jackknifed into an orgasm that was astounding.  It seemed to go on forever and pushed her whole being into some faraway place.  I left her there. 

       When the peaks finally began diminishing I lightened my strokes and finger stimulation to drag her pleasure out while I basked in the glory of what I had done.  I felt as if I had just created a unique but temporary work of art that could never be repeated, well, never exactly the same way but I sure was going to try!

       When her moans had turned to soft whimpering I removed her ring gag, bent down and kissed her softly on the lips.

       “Thank you, sire,” she whispered.

       “We’ll see if you thank me later,” I chuckled.

       I picked up the riding crop and shoved my cock into her warm, pliant, inviting and tantalizingly tempting mouth.  I snapped the riding crop gently into the crease of her ass which wrapped the flexible end into her cunt.  That produced an involuntary sucking reflex that almost put me over the edge.  I tried to hold back but two more flicks found me screaming and spurting my seed.  I dropped the crop and held on to her head like it was a steering wheel to salvation.  That elusive something I had been searching for was in front of me and god help anyone who tried to take it from me.

       When I recovered my sanity I unstrapped her from the frame, gathered her into my arms and carried her to the bed.  I uncuffed her hands and pulled her face into mine for a deep loving kiss.  She put her hands around me and responded.  We necked like teenagers for a few minutes before she broke the kiss and looked at me.

       “I’m so glad that you bought me, sire,” she said.

       “Are you?” I asked.

       “Yes.”

       “So, you don’t mind being a slave?”

       She dropped her eyes and a hint of something hurtful crossed her face.  She swallowed and raised her eyes back to mine.

       “I would never have chosen to be a slave, sire,” she said earnestly, “but if I must be one then I’m glad I belong to you.”

       “I hope you still can say that in the morning,” I said.

       “Sire?”

       “We’ve only used the paddle and the crop,” I said looking at the array of other items she had laid out for my use.  “I promised you that we would use them all.”

       “Sire,” she said anxiously, “I release you from your promise.”

       “Oh, no, Fatima,” I said solemnly, “a promise is a promise.”