Ahmed's Cub

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Story Recap: Ahmed, a fit, Egyptian man of 24 years meets the boy of his dreams in Dylan who is newly 18. Dylan was in a deep depression over the tragic loss of his parents in a car accident. Dr. Colton Takada administers a procedure that relieves Dylan of his illness but also instills in him a deep desire and obedience for Ahmed.

Ahmed's Cub

Ch.6 - The Criminal

By Emri

"Your son has my boy! Where is he?" I yelled as I ran towards the Korean man who started to stand.

"He said he wanted to play his game. He is likely in our room," he offered. He knew the shitty son he'd raised, and didn't seem surprised that he would be implicated in this.

"Take me now!" I demanded. I didn't care about the presentation anymore or the fact that everyone was staring at us. Dylan was in danger and I didn't know what Shion was capable of.

Everyone followed us as the man led me to his bungalow. The clients, the security, and Dr. Takada moved like a herd of angry buffalo behind me. Sheikh Zayed came at us from the other direction. He mirrored my anger.

"My security team has alerted me to the trouble. They are searching the property for him. This does not happen in my home!" he boomed. I nodded and thanked him. He put his hand on my shoulder as we followed the now shaking man to his bungalow.

They had one of the standard units closer to the main building. The man pointed to the one that was his and stopped.

"You stay here, Mr. . Ahmed and I will handle this," the sheikh said to the man with anger. He waved for his security team and I followed them as they moved in on the door. Sheikh Zayed came behind me and put his hand on my back to show solidarity. They swiped a keycard and the door unlocked. They opened it but everything was dark and quiet.

"Ahhh looo!" The front security guy called out and then they moved in. They did a quick sweep of the place, but my boy was not inside and neither was his likely captor.

They cleared the place and then the lights came on and Sheikh Zayed stepped in behind me. The security team moved out to search the property while everyone filed into the small bungalow like it was a museum tour. The Korean man, who introduced himself as Mr. Jung looked as if he'd been kicked in the stomach.

"I am so sorry. He is such a shame. When you find him..." he started, but then Sheikh Zayed cut him off.

"We will find him and deal with him as a criminal. This does not happen in my home!" The Sheikh insisted.

"Of course. Do with him what you will. I am done," the man sighed in defeat. I pushed past him and went out to look for Dylan. This damned resort was a maze. The crowd of clients split up to search for him too. I could feel my heart pounding in my ear as I called his name at every turn.

"Dylan! Dylan!" echoed throughout the resort with everyone's voice joining together. I checked our bungalow first. I even looked in the closet as if he'd be tied up or something. He wasn't there. I headed for the recreation center and just as I was coming towards the gates I heard the guards yelling excitedly.

"Here! Here!" The shouted in Arabic. I followed their voices to a dead end in a court of bungalows then retraced to get back around them.

"Doctor! Found! Safe! Get the medic!" They shouted excitedly. I ducked under a low branch and hopped over a hedge through a dimly lit path through the back of the complex. I found myself behind the bungalows along the coast. I raced under the piers of their balconies until my feet hit the sand.

I was following their voices and the shining flashlights until I ran smack into a solid body.

I looked him dead in the eye. Under the dim light of the moon I could see his right eye was puffy and his cheek was bruised. There was a small cut on his cheek. He froze when he saw me.

"You fucker!" I screamed and punched him square on the jaw. Shion fell with a thud.

"You got him?" A guard yelled from around the bend in the cliff. I hopped over Shion's body and ran around to see a group of guards kneeling around my Dylan perched happily on a rock.

"Daddy!" He yelled excitedly. He hopped up and ran towards me. I threw my arms around him and lifted him up. His chest hit mine. His arms hung around my neck. His legs wrapped around my waist. I couldn't talk. I just held onto him. He pushed his face into my neck and laid his head against my shoulder.

"So shook!" he mumbled. "So shook, daddy!"

"You are ok, my baby angel?" I asked. My voice broke. I felt like crying. All my anxiety turned into a mix of relief and anger. "What did he do to you?"

"I hurt him. Dude was gay! Did you know that?" he laughed. I set him down and looked him over. He was fine but a little wobbly on his feet.

"Why did you leave the conference waiting room? I tell you to stay put!" I said.

"No, but yeah! Like dude. He comes in there all cool and he offers me some gummy bears. They were mad tasty. Like this really strawberry cream flavor. Oh they were lit!" Dylan started. Something was off with him. He was incoherent and started to ramble. The medic arrived and gave him a look over.

"Something is wrong. He is not himself," I said to the medic in Arabic. Dylan chuckled.

"Looks like he is high, but otherwise fine. We do not permit drugs here," the medic said.

"He gave you drugs!" I said.

"Oh, yeah maybe. He did seem weird when I downed a handful of them." Dylan said then paused and put a finger to his temple like he was trying to remember.

"Yeah anyways he said he had a game setup in his bungalow and I told him I shouldn't go off, but he said you said it was chill if I went so I was like Oh ok cool! But then he said he wanted to show me something on the beach he found earlier so we came down here and he was chill and stuff for a little while. He told me had this bodyboard and we could take it out tomorrow with a boat! I was like wow! Yes! Boat me!" Dylan started to ramble again.

"How do you end up to hurt him?" I asked, wishing I could just take Dylan back to our room. The clients started to come down. The medic had bandaged up Shion and the security team had him in handcuffs.

"No! Oh well yeah, so like we sit down on the big rock here and then he starts to touch me! Like woah! He grabbed for my jock and I was like No thank you! I'm cool with guys who like guys but well you know... I like you and stuff but it feels different. I didn't want it. I said Bruh! No!" Dylan's face fell like he was worried he did something wrong.

"Then what happened?" I asked. Sheikh Zayed had joined us.

"Dude came at me! I pushed him off and he fell then he like lunged for me and I blocked him like YEEET! Oof! So I caught him on the cheek with my right hook and he stumbled back and then started telling me I had to do what he said like he is a man and I am a sub boy. Da fuck does that even mean? He got all cringy on me and I said Bruh just chill I'm not into that... am I in trouble?" Dylan looked like he was unsure.

"No, my love. You defend yourself. You shouldn't have to defend yourself, not here," I sighed.

"That's right. You did good. We are proud of you," Shekh Zayed said.

"Thank you, sir... I did my best," Dylan said with humility then flashed those angel eyes to elicit sympathy from everyone. The crowd reacted with sounds of adoration.

"Poor kid," said one man. "Sweet little guy," said another. Dylan nodded at their sympathy but kept his eyes on me, hoping for my approval. I wanted to laugh at his cuteness, but he was high and I was pissed and ready to beat Shion.

"Take your boy to the room. I will be there shortly to discuss this," Sheikh Zayed said. He squeezed my shoulder to assure me things would be handled properly. I wanted to tear Shion limb from limb but I knew the sheikh would be able to do worse.

I carried Dylan the whole way back. He was getting heavier with his hard workouts, but I wasn't about to set him down. I took him back to our bungalow suite and set him down on the couch. He looked at me with a thoughtful expression and with the lighting in the room I could see his glazed over eyes.

"You know what? I haven't been on a skateboard in like weeks, bruh! We should get one here!" Dylan said this like it was important news.

"Ok, my love. We will get you this," I assured him and kissed his forehead. I slipped off his shoes and socks then laid him down on the couch. He rolled onto his side and stared at me as he sucked his thumb like a small child. He was unbearably cute. I knelt on the carpet beside him and pushed my nose against his. I rubbed them together and he giggled. It made my heart flutter. There's nothing I wouldn't do for that smile.

I got Dylan a water bottle and some crackers. I turned on the television to a nature show. He sat up and sipped it then noticed how interesting his fingers were. I listened to him comment on how magically they moved until the sheikh arrived. He came in with his security team and a man who looked vaguely familiar.

"Sir. I can not thank you enough for your concern!" I said in Arabic with respect as he came in.

"I am sorry that this happened, especially on my property. How is he?" Sheikh Zayed asked.

"Oh he should be ok. He is very silly right now. I will put him to bed soon." I turned to look at Dylan who was eating his crackers very slowly and watching the lions on the nature show as if they were the craziest thing he'd ever seen.

"I wanted to introduce you to the guest staying next to you. This is Ali Hamad, the Emir of Satra. He wanted to check in on your boy as well," Sheikh Zayed said and waved towards the man who was with him. I had heard the name and many stories of his great wealth, but he was quite elusive from public eye.

"Mr. Hamad? The ruler of Satra?" My mouth dropped open as I took him in. He nodded and offered a handshake.

"Dylan, come!" I said as I shook Mr. Hamad's hand a little too excitedly. While Sheikh Zayed was wealthy beyond reason, Ali Hamad was legendary. He never allowed his family in the public eye. He was the money behind the money.

Dylan hopped up and then ambled over towards us. He was a little shaky but otherwise happy.

"Heyyyy, Bruh! Sweet beard!" Dylan chirped with a wild grin. He reached to touch Mr. Hamad's beard but I pulled his hand back.

"Hello, little one. I heard you met with an unfortunate boy tonight. Are you well?" Mr. Hamad asked with concern. He started to look Dylan over.

"This dude is foreign." Dylan tried to whisper to me but he was talking in his regular voice. He did cover his mouth with his hand as if that would help. He had lost his sense of volume control.

"I am from this region. You are the foreign one here," Mr. Hamad laughed. He took no offense at my boy. "Come, let me look at you." He took Dylan closer to the light and observed his eyes.

"Woah! He's right! I am foreign... fooooor. Innn. Yah!" Dylan chuckled at his words. I whispered to him to close his mouth immediately.

"Ali is well trained in medicine and has raised two boys of his own," Sheikh Zayed told me.

"Yes! Twin sons. Right, sir?" I asked. Mr. Hamad nodded. He put his hands on Dylan's cheeks. Dylan stared up at him and pursed his lips like he was expecting a kiss. I was surprised at how readily he allowed Mr. Hamad to explore him. But Ali Hamad is no normal man. He is a fierce lion in his own right. He knew how to handle a boy.

"His eyes... It looks like... hmmm." Mr. Hamad leaned in and put his nose close to Dylan's lips. "Probably just Marijuana. We confiscated the candy he ate. The wayward boy says Dylan ate a handful of it. He will likely have a stomach ache but he will be fine. He should get to bed."

"Yes, Dylan go and put on your pajamas and brush your teeth," I told him. Dylan paused, enjoying the way Mr. Hamad rubbed his cheeks and scratched under his chin like a kitten. Dylan purred at his touch, maybe from the drugs.

"Yes, sir. I am," he said with reluctance. He seemed strangely entranced by Mr. Hamad.

"Sir. It is an honor to have you here!" I said when Dylan left. I was starstruck.

"I came to learn about the procedure. It could be helpful with prisoner reform efforts. May I sit?" he asked.

"Of course! I have forgotten my manners!" I apologized and cursed myself inside. I needed to get it together and act like I belonged in the presence of two of the world's most powerful men.

I sat on the couch while the sheikh and Mr. Hamad took the two large chairs. A worker brought in a tray and set it on the low table between us. He took off the cover to reveal a bottle of fine scotch, glasses, and a tray of fruit. The sheikh poured three glasses while Mr. Hamad asked about the procedure.

"And the boy. His attachment to you is clear. That was intentional?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. He needs someone to monitor him and the procedure requires maintenance though over time the effects become deeply ingrained on their own. Also, as you will see, his natural self requires direction and a fatherly hand. He was spinning out of control without his parents. They hovered over him and sheltered him. He isn't made for life on his own." I took a sip of the scotch and coughed.

"Yes. I am hoping it could turn our young men around and make productive citizens out of the ones who have gone off course. They could be used for policing and security services." Mr. Hamad held up his glass as he spoke.

"Yes, sir! It certainly could. Dylan's obedience is absolute," I assured.

"I have seen the documentary. It is adorable how he follows your every whim! My husband was concerned about changing their sexuality or putting them in situations they normally would not choose, but our inmates forfeited their freedom and this would greatly reduce cost while allowing them back into the general population. Attaching them to our security force or a wealthy patron would give them a better life. On that we do agree," he noted. I hadn't heard much about Mr. Hamad's husband, only that he existed and was very loved.

"It would most certainly be a better life. I'm sure they would choose it as an alternative, and they could produce money to repay their societal debts by working for wealthy families or in public service." If I could sell this procedure to a kingdom, Dylan and I would be set for life.

"You will come with me to Satra when your business here has concluded? I have spoken to Dr. Takada about this, but having an Arab perspective would convince my brothers and partners." He said this like it was a command rather than an invitation. I readily agreed.

"And this boy who has wronged your boy. He is being confined for now. The medic is with him. Your boy did a lot of damage to him. His father has agreed to a fine. That will go to you, naturally. If the boy requires care or counseling then the father will pay for it. Would $200,000 American be acceptable to you? We can demand more. Whatever you think is fair. I'm sorry for what happened to your boy. He is very beautiful and innocent," Mr. Hamad said.

"That would be a fair settlement," I said. Inside I was doing flips. I could pay for Dylan's education and care. "He will be shaken up by what happened, but he has his daddy here."

"Naturally. You and Dylan will be my guests. We have the finest medical and mental health services. They will give him whatever he needs. As for the other boy, Shion. His father has asked that we reform him. He does not wish to take him back to Korea. If you don't feel it would damage Dylan further, I'd like to take Shion with us to Satra and perform his procedure there for observers. He is a very attractive boy and his tattoos can be removed," Mr. Hamad explained.

"That would be a great way to show the implications for prisoner reform! Dylan is a very sweet and gentle boy. He would not want us to leave Shion with no help." I finished saying this then noticed Mr. Hamad's eyes turn up and look behind me. I turned to see Dylan standing there wearing pajama pants and a tank top. It showed off his pale but developing chest and arms. He was a sleepy, dreamy All-American boy no one would resist taking to bed.

"What troubles my angel?" I asked. I reached for him. He still had that glazed but happy look in his eyes.

"There's still people here. Are you coming to bed? It's scary in here," he whispered too loudly.

"Come and sit with your daddy, little one. Let him calm you from your trauma," Mr. Hamad told him. Dylan smiled with relief and came to me. I reached my arms out to help him sit beside me, but instead he settled into my lap. I turned him sideways and cradled him against my chest. Dylan gave a wide yawn and put his head against my shoulder.

"Bring him a blanket," Sheikh Zayed said. A worker scurried over to a closet and brought back a light woven blanket. I thanked them and covered Dylan with it. He settled in against my chest.

"He is a very good boy." Mr. Hamad smiled warmly. "He will enjoy my estate."

"We would be honored, sir!" I said with a little too much excitement.

"Dr. Takada has already agreed. He wishes to return to California but says he can assist remotely. My research team will be there to learn as well. If we can develop this and my brothers agree, we would be purchasing the procedure. I would want you to help oversee it, of course. I'm impressed by what I have seen so far. I hope that it can deliver on a larger scale," he said.

I rocked Dylan lightly. He's not that short, but he just seemed to fit in my arms. He stared up at me happily like I was doing something highly entertaining.

"Close your eyes, boy." I kissed his forehead and he squeezed his eyes closed comically hard.

"Normally," I laughed. "Try to sleep."

"They are too cute at that age. My Emi was 18 when I got him. He was small and submissive like yours. I never wanted him to leave my bed," Mr. Hamad said in Arabic. We stayed in that language so Dylan wouldn't be disturbed trying to listen in. We talked about my college studies and what I could do for the Hamads. Sheikh Zayed was pleased he could bring us together.

We talked for hours until Mr. Hamad called it a night. He said his husband would come find him if he didn't get back soon. Mr. Hamad told me to dial his private extension on our room phone if Dylan had any troubles and he would come to check on him.

I thanked them for their concern with my Dylan and then carried my boy off to bed. I was too excited to fall asleep right away. The things I could do, the empire I could build from this would be a life change. I'd have security to keep my boy safe and be closer to my family in Egypt. They would be proud of me for making something of myself and being able to send money to them.

+++

Dylan woke me in the morning. I opened my eyes to see him holding his stomach and shaking my chest. I sat up and saw his troubled face. I dialed Mr. Hamad and he came over to check up on him. He brought a bag of medical supplies and a smaller, blonde man who I guessed must have been his husband. The smaller man was thin, but toned with a warm smile.

"Hello, little one. Your tummy hurts you?" he asked Dylan as he came into our room. I had gotten up and put on shorts and a t-shirt, but Dylan was sprawled out in his pajamas looking weak. He sat up and nodded.

"Hi, sir. I am Ahmed," I said to Mr. Hamad's husband. He smiled and nodded, but didn't reply.

"He is deaf." Mr Hamad turned to look at us. He signed to his husband and then told me about him while he got Dylan to sit up. Mr. Hamad pulled Dylan over to his lap and pulled out a stethoscope to listen to my boy's stomach.

He told me about his husband, Emerson Hamad. He told me had come to the kingdom 25 years ago when he was just 18. He told me about their twin sons Ali-raza and Amir. Emerson began to sign and Mr. Hamad translated between us. It was amazing to watch.

"I ate bad bears," Dylan said as Mr. Hamad listened to his stomach and chest.

"You did. That was not a good decision, was it?" he asked.

"No, sir. It was not." Dylan shook his head. Emerson, or "Emi" as Mr. Hamad called him, came and sat beside them on the bed. He felt Dylan's forehead and then gave it a gentle kiss and rubbed his hair.

"We raised two boys who would eat almost anything," Mr. Hamad laughed then started to sign with his husband back and forth. They must have been telling a story. Dylan was fascinated watching their hands fly around him. I was too. The two were so beautiful together. I knew Dylan and I would be that someday.

Mr. Hamad gave Dylan something to calm his stomach and his husband helped ease Dylan back to lie down.

"He will be ok. I suspect you have meetings today, correct? We can take care of your boy for the day. The sooner you conclude business here, the sooner we can head home and bring you two with us," he said. I wanted to forget about the business here. Nothing we could do here could match what was waiting for us in his kingdom, but I didn't want to look like someone who dodged his responsibilities. I thanked them and told them I would get Dylan dressed and ready.

"You will be on your best behavior! Whatever Mr. Hamad tells you is same if I say it myself, yes?" I asked Dylan when the two men had left.

"Yes, sir. Good boy will be good," Dylan groaned and rubbed his stomach.

"You are ill, my angel. Will you be ok without me?" I realized I was getting caught up and forgetting my first priority. My boy was sick.

"Yeah, they're chill. It's starting to feel a little better," he said then let out a loud burp.

"You will need a lot more of those," I laughed. I helped him change into a pair of comfy sweatpants and a t-shirt. He sat on the bed while I packed up his backpack with his phone, earpods, and a change of clothes.

"Bruh! Feels like I'm going to daycare," he laughed while watching me pack.

"I want to make sure you have everything for comfort," I said. I added the sweatshirt of mine he had clung to when going through the procedure. It was his favorite thing. He smiled.

He watched me get into a suit and then I walked him over to Mr. Hamad's suite next door. From the outside, their suite looked the same as ours, but when the guards let us in I could see it extended out much farther and had levels that went down the cliffside. It was a mini mansion and they had at least five workers inside preparing food, straightening up, and putting out fresh flowers on the various tables.

"Welcome! My Emi is doing his yoga. Dylan can stay with him. Breakfast will be served soon. I ordered a special stomach remedy for him," Mr. Hamad said. Dylan came in behind me wearing his backpack and clutching my old sweatshirt like it was a pillow.

"Thank you so much! I know he will be better off here instead of sitting through meetings with me. I am grateful for your kindness," I told him in Arabic.

"Thank you, sir," Dylan said and stifled another burp. He looked pitiful. I hated to leave him, but I knew he was in good hands.

The day was excruciating. I was half-present for the presentations. Dr. Takada made up for my disinterest, but I could tell he was annoyed at my lack of enthusiasm. All I could think of was my boy lying sick in the Hamad's suite. I wanted to be with him, and talk more with Mr. Hamad. When we took a break for lunch I rushed back to check on him.

"He is feeling much better. My Emi is a natural with childcare. How were your meetings?" Mr. Hamad asked when I came in.

I told him about the potential clients as he led me back to a sunroom where Dylan was doing yoga poses with Mr. Hamad's husband. Dylan had changed into shorts and a tank top that likely belonged to Emerson. He was standing on one leg with the sole of the other wedged up against his thigh. He had his arms up over his head like he was praying. He was doing his best to mimic the older man's poses.

"I hope he hasn't been any trouble," I said to see if Dylan had said anything inappropriate.

"Oh no. He is a fine boy. My Emi has enjoyed playing with him all morning. Your boy has even learned some sign language. He is very well behaved," he told me. I sighed in relief.

"Good! He should nap soon. He has been sleeping at least ten hours since the procedure. If you want, I can take him back to our room and put him down," I offered.

"No need. We have extra rooms here and Emi will sit with him. You will come for dinner tonight. Emi gave him some herbs to help him sleep. He will be well rested when you return," Mr. Hamad assured. He had his staff make me a sandwich to eat on the way back to my meetings.

I returned to Dr. Takada in the conference area where he was dining with our next client. It was a psychiatrist from South Africa. They had a variety of appetizers and beer. Dr. Takada introduced him as Jordan Pienaar. He had light hair and bright green eyes with sun-kissed skin. He looked young for a doctor, maybe just a few years older than me.

"Jordan was telling me his story. It is similar to yours," Dr. Takada said.

"Is it? My love, Rex, he was healthy and strong when I met him. We dated through college then he went to work for a business firm in Cape Town. He was moving forward. We even bought a condo while I was doing my residency. Everything was going so well until he was attacked. Four men jumped him as he was walking back to his car after a business dinner." Jordan looked away from us, deep in thought.

"I was supposed to be with him that night. Instead I stayed home, exhausted from exams. I fell asleep and didn't wake up until the police banged on our door. They took me to the hospital. He stayed there a month recovering from his injuries, but mentally he never came back. A month after that his firm offered him a year's salary to resign. He didn't want to go back anyways. He hasn't left the house alone since then. It's been a year and he still cowers behind me anytime a group of men approaches. I just want my husband back." Jordan sniffed back a tear as Dr. Takada nodded and squeezed his shoulder.

"We can do that! We can certainly do that," he assured the man.

The next meeting annoyed me. An older Greek man who'd let himself go was looking to replace his current trophy boy who had hit age 30 and wasn't keeping up his tight body anymore. He told us the boy was spoiled and he was ready to kick him out. He wanted us to make sure the procedure would ensure that whatever boy he got would always keep himself in shape.

"You take a break," Dr. Takada told me after we wrapped up with the Greek. "Go and be with your boy and the Hamads. You lock down that contract for us and it'll be worth ten of these conferences! He's quite taken with you and Dylan. I hope you'll consider his offer."

"What offer?" I asked. Dr. Takada seemed to know more than I did.

"To stay in Satra. I assured him I could monitor things from California. You'd be able to help them get it all set up. I'd be able to retire once it got running and I was sure you could monitor it all. It's a huge change, but Dylan doesn't have much family left and you're all he needs." Dr. Takada put his hand on my shoulder and looked at me with hopefulness.

"I'd have to talk it over with Dylan. He still has a brain in there and he has to agree to it," I said. I knew Dylan would go wherever I did. As long as he had his games and my body, he would be happy. I would see how he felt when Mr. Hamad asked us.

When I got back to the Hamad's suite, Dylan was napping peacefully on the couch under a heavy comforter. Emerson was curled up in an armchair with his tablet, and Mr. Hamad was on a business call at the dining table. He waved me in with a smile and I sat across from him until he finished.

Since Dylan was still asleep, we decided to go check in on Shion, the Korean boy who had attacked him. He was confined to his bungalow. His father had taken a room elsewhere. Sheikh Zayed had assigned a security team to keep an eye on the boy.

"Let me check in on Dylan first," I said. I missed my boy. With all the excitement of what was going on, I could never forget my primary purpose for all of this.

"He sleeps so peacefully. My Emi has been watching over him," Mr. Hamad said as he followed me over to the couch.

I knelt beside my boy. He was on his back with the blanket pulled up over his chest. I pushed back his hair and took in his handsome little face. He was so beautiful, so perfect. I put my hand over the blanket where it covered his stomach and felt something squishy. I pulled back the cover to see he was holding on to a small stuffed camel.

"We brought it for him from Satra. Emi was curious to meet the boy we saw in the preview videos. He thought he would like something from our country," Mr. Hamad said. It had a little heart on the side of it with "Satra" stitched in Arabic script. He looked so cute holding it.

I was just about to cover him up again when I realized it had been almost 24 hours since Dylan had my essence inside him. The boy needed a dose of me; sweat, sperm, tears, anything that I could give. It put his body at peace. He would be cranky when he woke up if he had to wait through dinner to get me.

I put my finger in my mouth and collected the spit that I could. The two men watched me curiously as I put my spit-soaked finger to my boy's lips. Instinctively, his nose twitched. His eyes blinked open and his lips curled into a sleepy smile. He opened his mouth and I put my tongue inside. He sucked it eagerly, like a baby with his pacifier. His blue eyes opened fully and looked at me with gratitude.

Dylan sucked on it for a minute while he watched me. Finally, his eyes closed and he drifted off back to sleep. His lips kept pulsing around my finger. I waited until they went still and then took it back. I pulled the covers up over his chest again and kissed his forehead before getting to my feet. Both men looked at me with wide-eyed alarm.

"It's my essence. He needs something from me. It calms him down, regulates his mood. It's a fail-safe of the procedure. It overcomes whatever emotion he may experience and sets his world right again." I wasn't sure how to finish or if this was going to freak them out.

Mr. Hamad translated to sign for his husband who turned his head like he couldn't quite understand, but then nodded knowingly and smiled at me.

"Very intriguing!" Mr. Hamad said thoughtfully. "I am impressed. This could do wonders for our inmates! Let's go see this boy now."

+++

We found Shion splayed out on the couch wearing black sweatpants and reading a book. He looked up at us when we walked in, then scooted up the couch in fear.

"You are reading. That is good," Mr.Hamad said.

"They took my phone and tablet. The TV doesn't work either," the boy grumbled.

"Inmates need time to reflect. You'd have much live entertainment in the Saudi prison system if you prefer!" Mr. Hamad warned.

"No, sir. This is better. When can I go home?" He asked. He set down his book and sat up on the couch. His face looked better. They'd cleaned him up nicely. With his shirt off I could see he had decent muscle development, but an ugly set of tattoos on his chest.

"Your family has dismissed you. You can't even afford legal representation. You brought drugs into this country, used them to seduce a young boy, and physically assaulted him. In this kingdom that brings the death penalty. Sheikh Zayed is ready to turn you over. The boy will testify and things should wrap up within the month." Mr. Hamad explained as he sat in the armchair next to the couch.

"That's not right! The embassy will send an attorney! I'm only 20. They won't kill me!" Shion's words sounded unconvinced as his voice cracked and his body shook. His feeble attempts to put up a brave front were met by a cold, amused look from Mr. Hamad.

"You might be right. The judge is a fair man. He stays here as Shekh Zayed's personal guest quite often. In fact his son is interning at one of Zayed's corporations. We could call him to get a preview if your case. Would you like that? Knowledge is power. Of course if we inform him of your crime then it is out of our hands. The media will surely cover it and the people will demand justice. But knowledge is power," Mr. Hamad was enjoying seeing the boy squirm. I enjoyed it as well.

The smug confidence I'd seen in the boy last night had vanished. He lowered his head, whispered "fuck," and started to weep.

"Please don't," he said with a shaky voice. Tears rolled down onto his chest and he covered his face with his hands.

"You can be saved. Your father is done with you but he begged for our help. He's returning home tonight. We told him this country has no tolerance for that behavior. You cannot buy your way out of this. You are done." Mr. Hamad spoke with ice.

"Please!" Shion went to the floor. He fell on his knees and crawled towards us. "Please! Dylan will forgive me. I'll beg him. Let me talk to him. I'm sorry."

"You drugged my boy. You tried to steal his innocence, his safety, his peace. You had no mercy for him but beg it from me?" I spat.

"I'll do anything. You can't let them kill me. I can't go to prison. Please," Shion cried.

"Sit up, boy. There is no mercy here, but there might be a way to salvage you," Mr. Hamad began.

"Anything! Anything!" Shion looked at him with hopeful, tear-streaked eyes.

"You paid attention during the presentation? You understand what the procedure does?" Mr. Hamad asked.

"Yes. I did. My dad wanted it for me." Shion wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

"It may be a way to rehabilitate you. We'd take you back to my home and try it for my research team to observe. Sheikh Zayed would come in a month to see results. If he is convinced you are a changed boy then it might be enough for him to not pursue charges. If we fail then he would extradite you back to Saudi Arabia for the trial. But at least you'd get an extra month to live. You'd have to commit to this fully. Any disobedience would be grounds for sending you back here." Mr. Hamad has thought this through.

"Yes! I'll do it. Please, sir. Thank you!" Shion groveled.

"Stand up. Let's have a look at your physical fitness. You work out, yes? Sweatpants off. Display for us," Mr. Hamad ordered.

"Back home I live at the gym!" Shion was eager to prove his worth. He scrambled to his feet and pulled off his sweatpants. He stood in a pair of black briefs cut high in the back to show his ass. He flexed for us. It wasn't peak fitness but he had more muscle than my boy who'd beat him.

"The tattoos will go. I have a dermatologist who will clear those up in a week. Turn for me... yes. Your body is not bad. Any scars or blemishes?" Mr. Hamad appraised him. The boy had flawless almond skin and perky little brown nipples crowning his budding pecs.

"No sir! Well. Just one. I had a fall when I was nine. It's right here." Shion slid down the waistband on his briefs to show a small crescent scar on his right hip.

"We'll take care of that as well. Briefs off. Let's see what else we are working with," Mr. Hamad directed as he leaned back in his chair. He looked over at me and nodded towards the couch to say I should sit and enjoy the show.

"Yes, sir," Shion smirked. He didn't mind showing off. His eyes sparked. He started to slide down his briefs slowly and sway a little like he was putting on a show. He was desperate to entice us and the front of his briefs started to bulge.

"What are you doing? We aren't shopping for a stripper! Get on with it!" Mr. Hamad wasn't about to allow Shion any control here. The boy looked worried again. He stopped dancing and quickly shucked his briefs.

"Sorry, sir," Shion said as his cock poked out. He had a good size for a boy his age. He had neatly trimmed black hair in a small patch above it and a healthy set of smooth boy balls hung below.

"Interesting. Turn. Spread your cheeks." Mr. Hamad kept his icy tone but his eyes showed his enjoyment of the boy's body.

Shion turned to present his ass. He spread his cheeks to show a perfect little rosebud. He poked his finger at it without being prompted.

"Don't play with it. Did I tell you to do that? You really are an insolent little fuck. Is it worth investing in you? You seem to be auditioning for a fuck boy. That's something you'd get plenty of use out of in a Saudi prison. Can you do as you're told or not?" Mr. Hamad feigned outrage. Shion shivered and looked back over his shoulder at us with fear.

"I can, sir. I will do whatever you want. Please," Shion whispered with a defeated tone. He understood he would not be able to charm Mr. Hamad. His bubble burst.

"You will prove it. We leave tomorrow for my kingdom. The medics will check you over once more and then you'll spend tonight in a cage Zayed is loaning me. You'll be brought to the airfield tomorrow. Any problems and we'll leave you here." Mr. Hamad stood and started to walk away. I rose and followed him. We left a stunned Shion naked and trembling.

I went back to my room after that and changed for dinner. I put on a pair of khaki pants and a fresh button-up. I saw that maid service had come through. They had put our room back to its original, clean state, but also they had done our laundry. The clothes we'd worn were folded and put into drawers. Our clothes from the presentation dinner had been cleaned, pressed, and put on hangers in the closet. It truly was a first-class resort.

I went to the Hamads and found Dylan awake and playing a board game with Emerson. He was laughing and signing the few, clumsy things he had learned. Emerson was patient with him and showed him several times. I kissed my boy and found Mr. Hamad working in an office he'd had set up.

He waved me inside while he spoke with someone on speakerphone. I listened in as they discussed an oil development in Russia. He was having trouble getting permits, but the man on the phone assured him it would be taken care of within the week. Mr. Hamad was a harsh businessman and made it clear he expected to not be bothered with this again.

He spent an hour with me talking about the new developments in his country. He loved his people and was busy bringing in new investments. They had taken in a tribe from the Sinai peninsula that was devastated after a recent war. He showed me the plans to integrate them and give them a farm to develop within the safety of their kingdom.

For dinner, we ate on the back patio. The sun was setting and a cool breeze blew in from the sea. We had the most amazing grilled fish I had ever tried. Dylan ate it up eagerly along with the side dishes. Emerson showed him signs for everything and Dylan repeated them.

We were just having dessert when talk turned to our trip to Satra.

"Mr. Hamad has invited us to come home with them. We would be staying for a long time." I told him delicately. I looked at him and hoped he would welcome the news.

"I saw pictures of the house! It's legit fire! Hundo P! They even have a skatepark!" Dylan said excitedly. He showed me the sign for skateboarding he'd learned.

"We would be very happy for you to stay with us. It could be several months or more. You would have your own quarters with Ahmed. Would you like that, little one?" Mr. Hamad asked.

"Yes, sir! It looks like a resort!" Dylan was taking this well.

"Will you miss California? Your friends?" Mr. Hamad translated for Emerson.

"No... I... don't have those," Dylan looked down as if remembering the bad times.

"You will have plenty in my home. I have two boys just a little older than Ahmed. One has a boy who is also from California." Mr. Hamad explained.

"Kasper, right? Mr. E showed me pics. And his brother? Kyle, right? What's his story?" Dylan asked. He had been paying attention. I was proud of him.

"Kyle works for us. He was troubled when we took him in. He took a lot of work. This was before we knew of the procedure that could have helped him. Now he is a wonderful boy who works in one of my offices. He lives in our home as well. There are younger boys closer to your age. My brother and his husband have two. They will all love you," Mr. Hamad assured. Dylan nodded happily.

"Yes, sir. I would like to go there." Dylan put his head against my shoulder. I knew he needed time with me and soon.

"Good. We will see that your schooling is finished in our home. We have excellent teachers who will come and work with you. We will leave tomorrow. Perhaps it is time for you two to get to bed." Mr. Hamad knew we'd been apart for too long.

We hugged them and headed back to our room. It was a good day and the next one would be even better. I held my boy that night as he slept. It felt different. I felt like a real man. I could provide for him, give him safety and whatever he desired. Dylan would have family, community, friends, and love. Life was good. My boy was safe in my arms. -- My Blog: https://emriwrites.blogspot.com/