The Invisible Man

"But Yunes," I said.

"Now," the general repeated.

The general's special room was in the basement of his villa. I was strapped into a black leather sling suspended from the ceiling, with my arms and legs running up the four corner chains and bound there, which I didn't much like, and a choke collar on a leash that the general tugged on with each of his thrusts, which I liked even less, and a riding crop flicking at my flanks, which I didn't like at all. But I didn't mind the cocking. And the general was pleased enough to schedule a return visit—and then another.

On my third visit, I only got as far as his foyer.

"We are not going downstairs tonight, Guy," the general said. His two goons were standing close to me on each side.

"Then perhaps—" I started to say, wanting to make this sound good, but hoping that it was ultimate show time at last.

"Doctor, if you would," the general muttered, and from out of the shadows a figure emerged in a well-cut suit and goatee—and with a syringe in his hand.

I started to back away, but the two goons held me fast as the doctor inserted the needle into a vein in my arm and I began to black out.

* * * *

I came to in darkness. The darkness of being blindfolded in a darkened room. I was encased in billowing softness, which I took to be a mass of pillows. And I was uncomfortable from being trussed up. I was on my back. There was pressure on the back of my neck, and I feared it would ride up to my hairline and that something awful would transpire. Whatever was wrapped around my neck was connected to why my legs were being held spread and my wrists were bound close to my spread calves. When I tried to move my legs, the pressure increased on the back of my neck.

Hands were gliding all over my body, flesh on flesh, and it struck me then, for the first time, that I was naked. The hands centered on my cock, and I was being stroked and greased fingers were working inside my hole. I stifled moans, not wanting whoever was working me to realize that I was conscious.

I came fully conscious, however, as the bulb of a cock was presented at my hole and started working itself inside me. I moaned then and groaned, and begged for mercy, not being able to gauge yet what would be the most arousing for the invader—when I cried out for mercy with the general, he took it as an invitation to be more cruel, which was all the more arousing for him. I hoped this was the fulfillment of the plan and this was a crucial point.

The cock, having entered only a few inches at that point was withdrawn and the hands were working my cock again and caressing my torso and there were lips on my nipples.

The mercy had been shown. The taking was tentative. I realized I'd used the wrong technique.

So, I begin to moan and groan and tell whoever was doing this of the pleasure I was being given. And then, after this had been going on for a while, I started to whine for the fuck.

"Please, please," I murmured. "Please take me. I can't take any more teasing. Please, someone fuck me. I need someone inside me."

When the slide of the cock came, I was well open for it, and it just went deeper and deeper and deeper. He wasn't thick, but he was extra long.

I cried out that what he was doing was exactly what I wanted, and when he was completely embedded and started to slowly pump me, he gasped as I started to roll my hips within the limited freedom I had, going with the fuck, and causing my channel muscles to make love to his cock.

I told him how much I loved having him inside me and begged him to do this and that, and he responded.

"Please, though, not like this," I murmured. "I want to make love to you too. Free me so that I can make love to you too."

A command was voiced, several pairs of hands worked at my bindings, and I was free. The blindfold came off, and whoever had freed me slinked into the shadows of the room. I was looking up into the face of the Lieutenant—Mezian al-Masmud, the president of Bulla Regia. Exactly as planned.

I was on my back in a mountain of pillows. We were in a large tent of some sort, and there was a soft glow beyond the tent walls. But it was still very dark inside the tent. Mezian was crouched between my spread legs, leaning over my torso, loosely embracing my chest in his arms. He had come out of me during the untrussing.

He was a handsome fellow. Early forties perhaps, with a delicate, sensual face, milk-chocolate eyes, and black, curly head hair. He had a long, lean body covered with a matting of curly black hair. The cock jutting out of his bush was also long and lean.

"Please, please kiss me," I murmured. And he leaned down and took my lips in his and gasped as I reached down and took his cock in both of my hands and guided him back inside me.

We fucked slowly, sensually, completely, for hours, in the end with him on his back on the pillows and me riding his cock in slow, deep-penetrating rolling of my hips, like a ship riding the waves.

At dawn, men in flowing, sparkling white dishdasha Arabic robes came into the tent, Mezian disengaged from his full-body embrace of me and left with a few of them. The remaining men washed my body with tubs of water and sponges and dried me and put a white dishdasha over my head. Then they bound and blindfolded me as the tent was being struck around me.

We traveled for hours in vehicles. I knew there was more than one, because I could hear more than one motor around me. Sometime during the trip I was seized and inspected closely by someone they called "doctor," and a sample of blood was taken from my arm.

When we reached wherever we were going, I once more was deposited in a pile of pillows. But this time I was inside a mud brick room. The windows were barred, but we seemed to be in a town of some size. I was taken to a primitive privy in a small room off the larger one I was in, and then I was fed a simple but nourishing meal and then bathed and massaged and rubbed with ointment by a masseur whose massive hard on told me that he wanted me too, but that he dare not take me—although when I moved his hand to my cock, he enjoyed stroking—and then sucking—me to an ejaculation. I needed to cultivate the need for any man here for me. I could not discount any help I might get from someone I'd pleased.

I was clothed in a clean, white dishdasha, and I sat in the pillows, demurely, until Mezian appeared. He was in a dishdasha as well, and looked magnificent.

He came down into the pillows and embraced and kissed me and ran his hands under the hem of my dishdasha and all over my body as I sighed and moaned. I was stretched out beside him, when he took a sharp knife, giving me a moment of panic, and slit the side of my dishdasha. He barked a command and an attendant came in and took away the knife. Then he ran his hand into the slit and took possession of my cock and, while holding me close in his embrace and kissing me whenever I turned my lips to his, slowly stroked me to completion, ignoring all of my entreaties for him to fuck me.

I thought he would take me then, but he didn't. He lowered his hand to my balls and fondled those as I sighed and moaned for him, and then he went even lower and entered me with his fingers. My hole had been well greased, and he finger fucked me as I became hard again and writhed and moaned for him to exchange the fingers for his long cock. Then he took my cock in his hand and stroked me to a second ejaculation.

I was exhausted and worn out, but that's when he told me to stand, and he pulled the slit dishdasha over my head and pushed me over to a wall with my back to the cool mud bricks. He didn't take his dishdasha off but merely hiked it up around his waist and crouched down as he spread my thighs with his hands and moved the head of his cock up to my open hole. I settled my channel on his cock and then grunted and lifted my legs to encircle his waist as I groaned and groaned and groaned with his cock pushing my back up and down on the coarse mud-brick wall as his cock moved inside my channel. He wore no condom this time—bringing to mind the visit I'd had by a doctor while en route to here—and I cried out in a passion that pleased him as he set forth his flow deep inside me.

The ritual was repeated the third day when we were in yet another town, this time near the sea. We didn't fuck that night. That night I made love to Mezian's body, playing his body like a violin with my caressing hands and my lips, giving his curly body hair a sensual bath and taking his cock in my mouth and draining him three times so that he drifted off to sleep before making any more use of it.

The fourth night, in a tent again, out on the desert, I lay on my belly as Mezian rode my ass in reverse, reaching down into my channel in angles that had me howling my lust and passion. And the next night, still in a tent, but miles away from the previous encampment, I was laid on my shoulders and the back of my neck, with my torso raised, while Mezian crouched over my hips and held my legs spread with his hands and fucked down into me deeper than he ever had before.

All the time I was with Mezian in those days before the end, he never fucked me the same way twice. He told me that he was besotted with me and that there were a thousand and one ways he wanted to take me. And I told him that no one had satisfied me sexually as he did or made me as happy—and I was telling the truth.

On that last night, after sex that entailed me riding his lap, we lay there and kissed and cooed to each other.

"What sort of literature do you read, sire?" I asked.

"Romance, nineteenth-century European Romance," he said.

I laughed, said I was happy to hear that, and gave him a kiss.

At nearly that precise moment, all hell broke out, and after a short firefight outside the tent, commandos streamed into the tent and seized Mezian. He stood and turned his face to the tent flap and spat out a "You!"

I looked in that direction, and there was a twin of Mezian standing at the entrance. And behind him was Sam Winterberry.

Mezian was bustled out of the tent, and Sam Winterberry handed me a dishdasha, and waited until I was covered, to speak.

"You did very well, Guy. The homing device we had implanted at the back of your head worked a charm. We've been tracking you for days. I hope we've arrived soon enough."

I said nothing.

"Oh, and let me introduce Mezwar al-Masmud, Mezian's brother. I think the people have seen Mezian so rarely now that his brother will be able to pose as him. They might be surprised, however, at the slow, but relentless improvement in Bulla Regia's relationship with Western nations and oil companies."

There was a swirl of activity, but then I was alone in the tent with Winterberry.

"The Lieutenant?" I asked.

"Oh, don't worry, he'll be treated like a prince. He'll live better than he has here. He'll just be a bit restricted in his movements—well, more than a bit. We have very nice, out-of-the way places to accommodate men like him. We won't kill him. Never know when he might become useful. Now he can become the invisible man he always wanted to be."

"Sam," I said. "About that favor. I think I earned it now."

"Want to retire, do you?"

"Not just that, Sam. I want to go wherever you send Mezian. I want to be with him."

Winterberry raised his eyebrows, but he didn't tell me no.