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“This will let my baby have me when he needs me,” he said when he strapped the square watch to my wrist. “It’s a camera so I can always see and hear what you’re doing.” He slid his phone to active and then hit an app that instantly popped up a camera view from my wrist. I saw my face staring back at me on his phone. I smiled at myself awkwardly.
“Now, if you need me you just hit the side button.” He pointed to the watch face which now displayed the time. On the side was a little button and when I hit it his phone vibrated and a little window popped up saying “Lincoln needs you.” He turned his head and whispered into his phone. It came out through the watch, “Yes, my heart? What do you need?”
“Wow, sir. That’s… wow,” I smiled at him feeling a mix of being ready to strike out on my own a little and already missing him. He leaned over and kissed my smile, bringing his face to my cheek to cup it adoringly.
“I always keep up with my boy. When you need me, I am here. With this, I can see that my boy is focusing in his classes and no one is bothering him,” he beamed proudly and seemed to sense my slight anxiety.
“Thank you, sir,” Something inside me felt special that he cared so much. No one had looked out for me like that before.
We were parked in front of a shiny glass three story building where I would take my classes. It was attached to the university, but it was its own private offering for foreigners taking language classes and houseboys learning to take care of Arab men. He told me all about it on the way there and even gave me a brochure though it was in Arabic. It showed blonde boys like me in navy blue uniforms preparing meals, making beds, sitting in classes with Arab instructors.
The blonde boys always looked so focused, happy to be learning to serve. I wasn’t sure I would get into the houseboy parts, but he explained that it is about learning the lifestyle of the world’s elite. It wasn’t focused on becoming gay. I’m not gay.
He pretended to fix the color of my navy blue polo shirt with the school’s logo on the chest. It was a bit tight and hugged my pecs, so were the blue pants, but it covered me. He gave me one last kiss and I was reassured by the cologne he wore for me as it filled my nose and warmed my chest. We got out and he met me at the sidewalk, pressing a button on his key that made the car chirp securely.
Inside the large glass doors he stopped me for a second and brought me in for a last hug. It felt like he was sending me off for good. With his lips close to my ear, he said, “I know you will be frustrated for the first week, it is ok. They know what they’re doing here. It’s all part of becoming successful, learning our ways. Don’t think about the day to day or the menial tasks you’ll be instructed to do. Think about me and making me proud, becoming my boy I can take around the world and mold into success. Ok, little one? Think before you act. You represent me here. You carry my name.”
“Yes sir,” I nodded uneasily, unsure of what was to come. He slipped my backpack up my arm and over my shoulder with one last squeeze to my bottom.
“Be good and do as you are told. If you need me, for whatever reason, even just to say hi. If you need me, press the button.” He pushed past me then and I followed him to the reception desk. He spoke with the man behind the counter in Arabic and a few seconds later a tall, dark man appeared at my side. He wore an expensive shirt like the one Mr. Hamad had on. He was older, maybe 40, but in awesome shape. He had at least 6-8 inches on my height and his imposing frame made me feel small.
He greeted Mr. Hamad warmly as though I weren’t there and then sent him on his way to work. I turned and watched as he left through the glass doors with one last warm, hopeful look at me. I swallowed hard and instantly felt loss as he slipped out into the sunshine.
“Don’t waste time, boy. There is much to learn here and I don’t want to hear English,” I heard the man say.
“I’m Lincoln, sir,” I said with a smile and offered my hand but he didn’t take it.
He came in uncomfortably close and I was hit with the scent of his natural, unshowered body. He had thick fur on his bulging arms and a look of disdain for me. “No, you are boy and I am sir and your English ends now. If you can’t speak to me in Arabic then it is best to keep silent,” he growled. I felt myself shrink into his shadow and felt my heart pounding in my ears.
“Yes… sir,” I said and that was not the right answer. He roughly grabbed the back of my neck and pushed me forward towards a door. He started walking and pushed me along impatiently.
“Taharruk!” he said several times insistently. I guessed it meant let’s go because he kept pushing me towards a doorway. This wasn’t in the brochure.
He shoved me towards the door and then pushed it open for me. I nearly fell through it, but caught myself on the wall. I went through a hallway and then into a little classroom where two equally scared blonde boys sat in desks.
We looked at each other, each with gaziantep bayan eskort faces of “What the fuck?” The man pushed me down into a desk beside them and roughly slipped off my backpack. He barked something at me in the language I didn’t know and then opened my backpack and took out a notebook and a nice pen. He slapped it down in front of me and said something else and then walked away.
“What’s going on?” I said to the blonde guy to my right when the man had left. He turned to me and said something in another foreign language I didn’t understand. I guessed I was the only American.
“I Anders,” he said, trying English, and offered me his hand lightly.
“Lincoln,” I said back, pointing to my chest as though speaking caveman and then shook his hand. I pumped it firmly and he winced. Maybe I needed to feel bigger than I was with the teacher.
“You very cute,” he said and nodded with twinkling blue eyes as blush spread over his pale cheeks.
“Um thanks,” I muttered and took my hand back. He was ok looking, sickly thin, not beautiful. I imagined the fat, older oaf of a man who must have ended up with him. If he had been anything resembling my Mr. Hamad, this Anders wouldn’t be fawning for my attention.
I found supplies in my backpack. Two beautiful wood pencils sharpened for surgery, a brass pen with Mr. Hamad’s name in script, and a black notebook with thick suede covers and a steel spiral. The front cover had my name scripted in gold print.
It was like someone had gone to a back-to-school sale at a palace. Inside the notebook was a note from Mr. Hamad folded neatly and sealed with a little gold sticker. I was pretty sure it was actual gold with his initials, “S.H.” The note read:
“Sweet one. Make me proud. It will be hard, but you can do this. You are smarter than you think, and loved more than you understand.”
His handwriting was from another time; beautiful, practiced script. I unfolded it completely, split the seal sticker in half and used it to tape the note to the inside back cover of the notebook.
I turned to see Anders checking it out and I closed the notebook quickly and shot him a glare. His lips spread into a thin line with a twinge of guilt in his eyes. This was not for him to see. What Mr. Hamad and I shared wasn’t for anyone else.
The instructor returned then and saw us turned towards each other. He barked angrily then and smacked the top of my desk. I jumped a little in my seat and we both faced the front.
The next few hours were him barking at us in Arabic. Not much made sense. He showed pictures of a kitchen and pointed things out to us and then had us repeat the words for fridge, stove, microwave, “Thalaja, muqid, mojadisugra,” or something like that. Apparently I was doing better than the other two because he yelled at me less. We went through all kinds of household items and I struggled to take notes.
When we broke for lunch, the man led us like a chain gang into the university campus. He got us plates of bland salad and had us sit in different groups of Arab students. Anders sat with what looked like the math club, weak little guys with vests and glasses. The other guy sat with what looked like a club of chunky video gamers. My group was some kind of sports team. I was put directly in the middle of their group and though they had impressive muscles, they smelled like they hadn’t yet discovered deodorant.
I expected them to be freaked out a little by having me plopped down in their midst, but they looked like they were used to this routine. The guy next to me was a little shorter and not as built as I was, but seemed to be the leader of this pack. They talked to me in Arabic until the instructor, “Sir,” walked away.
“That prick is intense,” said the guy next to me in a thick Arab accent with surprisingly good English. “I’m Khalid. Mr. Hamad chose me to lead your practice in the afternoons. I interned with his company the last two semesters. I won’t be like Mr. Bashir, your morning instructor. He’s intense. You play football?”
He had on a grey tank top and blue adidas workout pants with a pricy looking pair of gym shoes. The tank showed off his torso which wasn’t exactly built, but his toned, almond skin showed he must have made it to the gym most days. He had thick black hair across his chest that matched the black swoosh of gelled hair on top of his head. He had a thick silver chain around his neck with a little crescent dangling between his pecs.
“I’m Lincoln, and no, but I did play baseball back in California,” I offered and picked at the lettuce on my plate.
“Yes, I saw that in your file,” Khalid noted as his big brown eyes flashed a smile at me. “Your photo set was most revealing as well!”
“I… uh… Oh god,” I laughed nervously as he winked at me showing Mr. Hamad had likely included the full naked shots he took the day he hired me.
“Don’t worry, it was just for my eyes,” he nodded to the rest of the group. He put a hand on my shoulder and though he was smaller and weaker than me, the power Mr. Hamad had in his touch flowed through his hand.
My new watch interrupted us. Mr. Hamad’s voice in Arabic flowed through it and Khalid grabbed my wrist. He brought it up towards his face and gave a wave, answering Mr. Hamad in Arabic. The two of them laughed. I sat there lost between the exchange. I didn’t know what they were saying, but it attracted the attention of Khalid’s friends at the table and they didn’t look at me respectfully. I looked down at my salad and tried to ignore them.
“I can tell he is going to be a very good boy, right, boy?” Khalid said and brought my wrist back in front of me. I saw Mr. Hamad smiling at me from the watch face.
“You will, little one. I know you will make me proud,” he said and offered me a hopeful smile.
I nodded, feeling like a total ass. I didn’t know what this was all about, but I felt like a pet dog dropped off at the daycamp.
“Use your words, little one,” Mr. Hamad said with a suddenly stern look. “My boy will make me proud.” There wasn’t a question in his tone.
“Yes… sir,” I said feeling my stomach turn. I looked over at Khalid who had a smile like he’d just won a fight. He had plans for me. He was small enough for me to pummel easily. I could wipe that look off his face and show them I wasn’t the hungry little fag they were describing.
But then I looked back at Mr. Hamad from my wrist and I knew this was part of my training. I also knew I really wanted back in his arms tonight to continue what he’d started on last night. I had to trust that this had a purpose. He did want to help me grow. “I will make you proud, sir.”
“I know baby boy. I have a meeting now, but I will be there to check your progress in two hours. I promise. Be good for Khalid,” He said and then tapped something to turn off the video. The watch went back to telling the time. 13:30.
“Eat your boy food, little one,” Khalid said to me with a smug grin to see how far he could push me. He nudged the salad towards me with a raised eyebrow.
“Dude, c’mon. That’s my thing with him. Not with you,” I said tilting my head to the side with pleading smile so I didn’t have to see anyone but him.
“Dude?” he said. His look turned serious and he gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Link, my boy, I pretty much own you for the afternoon, and I have a lot to teach you before he comes. Now eat your salad like a good little boy… or do you want to go back to Mr. Bashir, the morning instructor. He’s not nearly as nice, especially when his lunch is interrupted.”
I turned back to my salad, keeping my eyes down. I hadn’t realized how quiet the table of guys had gotten. I felt their eyes on me, watching to see if Khalid had power over the much larger blonde guy.
And he did. I thought about Mr. Hamad being upset with me if I embarrassed him here. Sometimes you have to sacrifice to get better things later. I knew when I got home he would reward me for letting Khalid be the big dick in front of his friends. I took a few bites of the bland salad and kept my eyes down. Soon the table returned to conversation in Arabic.
I felt Khalid’s hand on my back. We were sitting with the wall behind us so no one could see as he worked his hand around the waist of my uniform pants. He groped at my ass and I flinched, but kept eating without looking up.
“You want a bite, Lincoln?” he asked in a friendly tone and the smell of salty goodness hit my nose. I looked up and saw him holding a thick potato wedge in front of me. I thought it was a peace offering so I reached for it.
“Thanks,” I said, but he pulled it back.
“When an Arab man offers food to your face, the correct response is not to reach for it. It is not how things are done here,” he started. I lowered my hand back to the table.
“It is not an offer of food. It is an offer to feed you, a sign that he will take care of your needs. Let him provide and show your appreciation like a good little boy,” he said and brought it to my lips. I looked around the table and saw five faces staring at me. The light-skinned muscled guy across from me licked his lips thoughtlessly.
“You say please sir. Or if with Mr. Hamad you say ‘yarja baba,’ please daddy. It will show you know your place. You bring him pride by showing you know your place,” Khalid said gently. “You should speak to me as though I am him. It will be good to practice on me.”
“Yarja baba,” I whispered.
He pressed the potato through my lips and all the way to the back towards my throat. I gagged a little, but started to bite it. He pulled it back with a smile and then forced it in again. I trapped it this time with my teeth and he let go. I turned away from the group and chewed it up.
“Now, shukraan baba, thank you, daddy,” he said.
“Shukraan baba,” I said as I swallowed.
“That’s good. Let’s go now. We are due in the gym in 5 minutes. Leave the trays. Follow me,” Khalid said and stood. I stood next to him and our size difference became apparent once again. He was about Zaid’s height, but he seemed completely unfazed looking up at me. He put a hand to my shoulder and turned me towards the door and then walked ahead.
“Mr. Hamad will teach you how to be a business man in your own right. However, Lincoln, you must know that white boys are always below us,” Khalid said as I followed him across a courtyard of intricate blue tile and around a babbling fountain.
“You are tall, strong, and,” he paused and turned to me, “Honestly you know you are beautiful. Sun-kissed hair, eyes like the ocean, a body like ancient art… and that ass,” he turned me slightly and gave it a squeeze, “You are truly a gift of nature, Lincoln. There are many here who would do business with you just to afford the time taking you in. I can see why Mr. Hamad chose you. Your spirit is calm, your face is the picture of sweet, naive, American innocence… What was I… saying?” Khalid smiled, lost in his praise of my physique with his hand firmly cupping my ass. I felt him press against my leg with a massive bulge in his workout pants.
“That I am below you,” I laughed thinking he must have some dark fantasies about me going on in his head.
“Yes,” he continued walking towards a glass door without catching the irony. “You must not allow yourself to be filled up with all of the adoration you will receive. That is how many boys like you get ruined here. They forget that first and foremost your value lies in your submission to us, your devotion to your lion. A loyal cub is worth everything. I have watched boys with half your looks be spoiled by their lions until they are disrespectful brats who must be put away quietly elsewhere.”
We went through the glass doors and I followed up three flights of stairs to another hallway. At the end was a private room the size of a standard double garage. The walls were mirrors except for one side which was all glass looking out over the dry mountains. There was a scale, sets of free weights, two treadmills, and a few other cardio machines. One corner had yoga mats and a cabinet.
“This should be stocked for us. I expected you to be smaller,” Khalid began as he moved towards the cabinet. “Go ahead and strip, I think these clothes will still work for you.”
He pulled out a small pile of clothes and set them on the weight bench. He turned to me and instantly frowned seeing I was still standing there.
“Do you need assistance?” he said mockingly. “You can’t workout in your learning uniform. Put these on.”
I took a step towards him and looked at the clothes. I held up a small blue jockstrap with an oddly small pouch, a grey tank top that was size small, and blue stretchy shorts that would barely cover my ass. I slid off my shirt and realized he was doing the same. He already looked prepared for a workout.
I folded my shirt and then went to take off my shoes. I set the shoes against one wall and put my shirt on top of them. I unbuttoned my pants and slid them off, folding them nicely as well. I turned to him in my blue briefs and saw he was already completely naked.
“Woah, fuck,” I said without thinking as I slid my briefs to my ankles. Khalid had the biggest cock I’d ever seen. It was soft but fat and snaked down past a set of huge egg-shaped balls. His cock was two shades darker than the rest of him and thicker than a boa constrictor. It made it look even more foreign against his smaller frame.
“You will get used to us, little one,” Khalid laughed and his eyes looked at my soft cock. I covered it with my hands feeling completely insufficient.
“No need for shame, Lincoln. No one here expects you to measure up to us. It would be a medical anomaly if you did!” Khalid laughed. He came towards me, swinging the arab club as he picked up the jockstrap and held it to me. “This should work. I got a boy’s size so it stays on you.” He didn’t seem to be joking.
I stepped into it and pulled it up my legs. The pouch barely covered my cock and balls, my blonde pubes poked out of the sides. It was tight, but stretchy and I felt somewhat secure. I finished dressing as I watched him wrestle his monster into his own well-stretched red jockstrap. It poked out obscenely like he’d smuggled a Big Mac.
I couldn’t take my eyes off of it as I slid up the too small shorts. They cupped my package and had this built in support under it that lifted and displayed it. I paid it little attention though as he sat on the weight bench and tied his shoes. He made no move to put on anything other than the jockstrap.
I unthinkingly licked my lips as he turned and squatted on the floor to fold his clothes into a small pile. His dark ass spread in two perfect bubbles as I slipped on the tight tank top that showed off my chest. His ass was smooth with a small patch of hair creeping up the center.
I got caught up thinking about how I’d look pumping him full of my thick, white cock in that squatted position. I’d make him bounce on it while I sucked at his smooth, perfect skin. That fat Arab snake would bounce in the stretched jock every time I drove deep inside him. He’d beg me for all of it as I showed him I was most definitely not beneath him.
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