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Two Balls for a Kingdom My name is Umar Jiahd, and I am a reporter for one of the largest papers in the Middle East. I can smell a story and when he called me, making the offer, I had come, anxious even, and I knew whatever it was it had to be good. We met at a small hole in the wall restaurant, and sat in the back, just two men sharing a lunch and with no one else around. I smiled, and waited for him to start the conversation. He needed some time to build up the courage, and I wasnt in any hurry. Finally, he began so speak: I want it told Umar...but no names. And, you leave me out of it, you got that? I want my story told, but not with my name associated with it. If you mention my name Id be a dead man. Still, when you tell the story, the man that needs to know will know, and that is what is important. So, you got that? No names! Deal? he asked. I looked at him, square in the eyes. He definitely had something, and he was sweating, but I had known him long enough to know he would tell it to me. I nodded, quietly, and said Deal, and then I opened my coat and pulled out the envelope, and paid him ten of the twenty thousand American dollars he had requested. Abdul-Malik took it, and carefully opened it for a second, glancing inside at the bills. As he looked at it, I said Thats half. If the story is good enough, Ill give you the rest after its been told. Then, I pulled out the small tape recorder, and placed it on the table in front of him. I pressed the record button, and the red light came on. He slid the envelope inside his jacket, and then looked me in the eye. I swallowed, and waited, anxiously. He had a story, that much I knew, and I had to know it, had to, and so I paid him to hear the tale and to obtain the truth that only he could share. Money has always talked, especially in the Middle East, and my paper had the funds and if the story was hot enough they would earn it back and several times over. I had known Abdul-Malik, servant of the King, for many years, and I trusted him. I knew whatever he would tell me would be the truth, and if he needed twenty thousand to tell it, then the information must be worthwhile. He was the personal body guard of the King himself, and that gave him direct knowledge of all the inner workings of Hamids household. King Hamids empire was oil rich, and that gave him power, a lot of power, and even though he ruled a small country we were still important. Like a lot of powerful men in the Middle East, Hamid was wealthy, and had more than two hundred servants and lived in four different palaces. Unknown to most of the world, he also had more than a dozen or so eunuchs, and even a harem too that he sometimes bragged about to his friends. It was rumored he had five wives, but there might have been even more. But, that wasnt what interested me. Hamid was sick as hell, and that much was obvious to just about everyone. He hadnt been seen now in several months, and so lots of rumors were flying. Obviously, he was on his way out, and it was his son Issam that had my attention. The Prince would of course inherit the empire, and so he would soon marry, and then have his own sons that would carry the linage on. That was as it was, and had been, for more than a thousand years. But, something had happened, that much was obvious, and Abdul-Malik had said he had something to share, and it was worth buying, and so I knew I wanted to be the one to hear the tale. But I didnt know what, and so after I passed the envelope and waited for him to speak, my heart pounded. Abdul-Malik finally spoke, his tone low, and his words guarded. Well, my friend, you will not believe the tale. You will not. What do you know of King Hamids time in America? I knew actually very little. But, I knew some of the background, and so I told him, about how Hamid was in his late teens when the former King, his now deceased father, had sent him to Yale University, to be educated in the United States. Hamid had learned from the infidels and lived among them, watching and learning, and then when he graduated he came home, educated, Prince of the Kindgom and heir to all that is. I didnt know much else, and it was long enough ago that I didnt see it as very important at any rate. Hamid was our King now, and his son was the future heir, so the kings early years in America held no real interest for me. Abdul-Malik smiled, and then he said Well, yes, that is correct. And, as you know the King was a Prince then, and just a boy as well, the age of his own son Issam in fact. But, there is more, much more. You see, against his fathers wishes as he gained his education he also became involved with an American woman, and she in time bore him an illegitimate son. Later, when he graduated, he brought the boy home through Persia, sneaking him into our country so no one would suspect his origins. So, you see, that infant was Issam, our Prince, and he is half American, and thats why he looks the way that he does. That was interesting. I had no idea of course, nobody did really, and I along with the rest of my countrymen just assumed that Issam had been born here. But, thinking of the boy, and how he looked, I knew the words I was hearing rang true. Abdul-Malik continued: You see Umar, the King has a host of wives, and yet none of them have ever born him a son. And none ever will. Not now they wont. As you said on the phone, yes, you are correct and the king is sick and that does have something to do with this. What you do not know is he has cancer, of the prostate, and it has spread into his kidneys and now into his bones. He is not yet forty years old, and yet the man is dying. So, you see, Issam is the key, as the Kings only son, and now that will never change, and so as such he will inherit all that is. He is the future of the kingdom. I nodded. I knew the King had not been well, and many of my journalism friends had speculated on the Kings condition, although the official word was that he was well. I nodded, and said So, Issam is the one. It would have been better to have a King of purer blood, but he is still one of us. Abdul-Malik nodded his head, in agreement, and then he went on. Well, true enough, but with the cancer and the treatment our King has lost his balls. There is only one Prince, and we have what we have. So, things were changing for the King, and for the boy. The fact that the Prince had been born in America was surprising, and it explained much, but still it was not information worth twenty thousand. Still, it was interesting. Perhaps I should have suspected it. Issam had reddish hair and a freckled face and bright, blue eyes, and when you saw him you never forgot the striking appearance of the adolescent, and now hearing of his linage the boys ancestry explained much. But I didnt see the story here, at least, not a big one. Although the future king was legally an American, grown from the womb of an infidel woman, the reality of it was that he wasnt an American boy, not anymore he wasnt. At least, not as far as his father was concerned, or his countrymen, or the boy for that matter. So, while the place of his birth had never been mentioned in all the years I had studied the royal family, it really didnt change things that much. Of course, I had assumed the boy was born from one of the Kings many wives, who were kept out of sight and in their harem. Still, it didnt matter. The boy was eighteen now, and he was well studied in the Koran, and he was old enough to assume the position of his destiny when the time came. And, I had no doubt he would make a good ruler. We had all known that at some point of course the empire would fall in his hands, and as the eldest son, and only son, he would someday take the Kings place and rule the land. But the news that the future king was half American was surprising, and yet it did explain a lot. He certainly seemed almost an aberration in this country of dark haired dark skinned men. But the King adored him, and the people of the land had learned to accept the young Prince, with his strange looks, and as they had watched him growing up there was no doubt to the masses he was the future King of their nation. So, obviously, what American blood was in him was thin, and he had clearly forsaken it. I looked at Abdul-Malik, and said This is interesting. But I do not see it as that important. Regardless of his background, the boy is one of us, a Prince, and someday soon a King. If the King can bear no more children, then Issam will be the one, and he will in time have his own sons, and so on it goes. Is this your secret that has cost me so much? He grinned, a wide grin. And then he said: No my friend. The tale really begins when the boy was sixteen, just two years ago. He grew sick with mumps, and it hit the boy hard. His neck grew large, and he was in tremendous pain. Fever racked his body, and worse, his adolescent testicles grew as large as two big oranges, and all the doctors could do was to pack them in ice to try and prevent sterility. Still, when the disease had run its course, the boy was sterile, and while his balls produce some testosterone still, there was no living sperm cells in his ejaculate after the disease had run its course. None. For all practical purposes the boy was a eunuch. My heart was pounding. God. If he was a eunuch, and the King could have no more sons, then without sons there were no more heirs. Hell, the entire dynasty would end in the lifetime of the boy, the only heir now to the thrown. I was shaking. This WAS news! Finally, I whispered: So, the linage is dead then, with the father? Are you positive that there will be no more sons? Is that the story I have paid twenty thousand to hear? He looked at me, his eyes bright, and then he told me the tale. I didnt say that. But, after the mumps had ravaged the teenager, his father was furious, desperate. He hired he best doctors in all the land, and they could do nothing. Some of them told him that the boys balls might start working again, and the odds would be improved if they were used and used often. That was their only chance for recovery. So, well, the boy was masturbated, regularly, his load of clear semen captured and analyzed after every ejaculation. You would think the teenager would have relished it, but I can assure you that he did not. I was put in charge of it, to make sure it was done right, partly because the King trusted me and partly because I was only one of a handful of people that knew he was sterile. The boy wasnt told at first, but he was a very smart boy, and figured out right away that something was wrong. The king absolutely mandated that the boy could not know, but he figured it out anyway. Even so, I had to insure he was pumped dry three times a day, in an attempt to try and save his balls. The boy was a virgin, and innocent as hell, but like most teenage boys he was embarrassed and did not want this done to him. Still, it was too important, and in spite of his pleas the King was adamant it be done and so it was. Three times daily the boy had to be masturbated. Spilling ones own seed is forbidden, and so there was no way that the boy would do the task himself. Still, it was too important, and the King demanded that it be done. So, three times each day I would have him restrained and then I would do it for him. He hated that, but no matter how important we tried to tell him it was he wanted no part of what had to be done. Still, we did it, and I was there, pumping his teenage pole, in accordance with the Kings instructions. Ill never forget restraining the teenager, tying him to his bed and then milking him with a clinched fist until he came. Like I said, he hated it, and would scream and yell and beg, but still he would grow hard and soon pump out his sterile seed. Ill never forget those sessions. He would buck his hips and thrust up against the restraints, fighting the feeling as it would build within him. He would stare at my hand as I was working is pole, pumping him, and he would beg and yell. No! No! No! he would cry out, and then he would arch his back and ejaculate anyway. After a while he grew so afraid of the sessions he would try and hide from them, but he could never leave the palace and so I could always find him. Each time I would arrive he would fight and scream, and each time I would have him tied down and milk his pole. He begged me to let him have a woman at least, but of course until he was married that would never be allowed. So, like it or not, three times each day he was milked dry, but, even so, after two years of the treatment, the boys sperm count was still zero and we had accomplished nothing. I nodded. Then I said: So, he is a eunuch then, and all hope is lost. Abdul-Malik smiled, and then he said I never said he was sterile now. Quite the contrary in fact. His young cream is thick and viral, a mans seed really, fit for a King. He squirts a hell of a load, and his sperm count is high, and he should have no troubled fathering many sons. My friend, the story you have paid to hear isnt that the Prince is a eunuch. No, the story is that he was a eunuch, but now is not. You see, the reason, and how he was cured, is the story you have paid to hear. I leaned forward, interested. Then I said Go on Abdul, go on. Well, you see my friend, after a while it became obvious that the boy was not going to recover. The despair in the King was total, and with the sickness ravaging his own sexuality and moving to his bones he knew it was the end of his line. Yet, the secret, the secret of the boys sterility was maintained, and only a handful of us in the palace knew of it. One day, I was summoned, and this is what the King said to me. Abdul-Malik took a sip of his drink, as if to gain some courage, and then putting the glass back down he leaned over and lowered his voice. Hamid called me into his chamber, privately, and told me of his time in America. It turns out he had two sons, by the American woman, two, not one, and they were twins. Identical twins. And what he told me was that he and the woman had made an agreement to separate, because she did not love him and was not willing to travel back to his country. So, they had come to terms, and she kept one of the boys and he had kept the other. And so that is how it had gone. Our prince has a brother. My heart was pounding now. So...there is another. Allah be praised! But, but are you saying that this other boy, this American boy, will now become the one, and inherit all of our lands? Tell me it is not so!!!! Abdul-Malik shook his head. No...no that was never a consideration. The other boy is an American, just out of high school, and he would never make a ruler in our kingdom. Never. He is an infidel my friend, and nothing more. He has no knowledge of the Koran, or our customs. And he doesnt know the King, or suspect anything, and knows nothing of his origins. Like Issam, he knows nothing of his brother either. He would never come, not willingly, and if he was brought here against his will he would never be a ruler and the people would not follow him even if he was. I was confused, but listening with rapt attention. OK...go on then. If the brother is not the key to the future of the kingdom, what good is he then? As I said that, I suddenly had this chill run down my spine. The Prince was a eunuch, and now he was not? What the hell? My eyes went wide, as my mind began to race, trying to put it together and to figure it out. Abdul-Malik smiled, seeing my expression as I took in the words he had said. Then he continued. Oh, he was the key alright, but there was never any attempt to make him a Prince. But he was the Princes twin, his IDENTICAL twin, and so he was the same as the Prince, exactly the same. He has the same eyes, the same red hair, and even his smile is the same. Gene for gene, cell for cell, he is the same. His cock is the same, and his BALLS are the same. They are biologically the same, made from the same egg and the same sperm, split by chance in the womb, and turned by Allah into two separate beings. So, genetically, they are one and the same. So, the Prince had a twin. An identical twin. Umar continued, the story coming out now faster. Well, when the King told me of the American boy, I listened carefully. He instructed me to go to America, and to find the boy. I was then to find out if he was sterile, like his brother. It was very important to make certain his balls were healthy and he was making seed. Remember, since he was the Princes identical twin, the seed from his balls was the identical seed of his brother. The sperm from one identical twin is exactly the same as the sperm from the other. But the American boy never caught the mumps, as he had been vaccinated against them. Of course it would be true. Fascinated, I listened, and then I said I would think it would be difficult to obtain a sample of his semen without him suspecting something. Even infidels dont willingly give someone their seed. He laughed. Then he said, Sure they do. That part was easy Umar. Hes an American boy, remember? An infidel! They have no morals, and so getting him to give me a load of his man cream was easy, and he suspected nothing. I bought a young woman, a prostitute, and I paid her well to take the boy to her bed and to capture his sperm. The American boy was actually anxious for a fuck, and looking for one, and unlike Issam he had no morals and no intention of waiting for marriage. So, it was easy to set it up to happen and he never suspected anything. She took his cherry as it turned out, took his virginity. Most American boys are using condoms these days, and so the boy ejaculated into one without any thought to do otherwise, and she was able to capture his semen in that way. I had the rubber in my hand five minutes after it was filled. I nodded. So far, it all made sense. He continued, The boys sperm count was 32 million per milliliter, and his wad size was 4 milliliters of ejaculated fluid. He was a fully functioning male, and virile in every way it can be measured. I had been instructed to notify the royal palace once the boy had been located and his virility assured. Then I was to wait until the right time, when a plane would be dispatched allegedly to bring the ambassador home for a consultation. Time was of the essence of course, so the plane had to be standing by and ready to depart as soon as it was done. My part of the plan was simple enough. I was to kidnap the American boy, take him to a hotel near the airport, and then open his scrotal sac and steal his testicles. Two balls, for a kingdom. I was taught the procedure before I left on my mission, and I castrated dozens of dogs until I had it down and could do it right. There could be no chance of mistakes of course, so in the end I nutted more than a dozen boys as well, with different sized scrotums, and was carefully instructed by the royal surgeon until I could do it right. They were all guilty of a sexual crime of one kind or another, so taking their balls was just and proper and it served the royal family and so it was done. I imagine that by now they have their legs spread wide somewhere in the Kingdom, and they are no doubt serving some master in one way or the other. I learned the procedure well, and it is not that difficult, and I was confident I would make no mistakes when the time camp to do the American twin. My job was simple, but it was very important. I had to take the Americans balls in such a way that they were ready to be transplanted. Once it was done, I would put them directly into a chilled saline solution, and then into a special pouch of ice, which I would then take straight to the airport and straight on the airplane. As it turned out the excised testicles went with the ambassadors group, into a locked diplomatic pouch, and were thus never subject to inspection or x-ray and so they did not have to be explained. I then flew the cooled pouch back personally, never letting it out of my sight, even for a second. As soon as we arrived, it was transplanted into the Prince, and he was once again the man he had been. The balls survived the journey, and the immediate transplantation, and they are working well now and so the kingdom is saved. A million questions flooded into my brain. This of course was a hell of a tale, a hell of a tale, and I wanted every single detail. I leaned forward, and said I would think the Prince would have been suspicious. He is not stupid. Did he learn he had a brother when the doctors implanted a new set of testicles into his scrotum? He shook his head. He was told that there was a new operation, to cure him, and that they could reattach a small artery along his spermatic chord and the additional blood supply might give him back his virility. That was what he was told, and nothing more. So, he knew he was going to have his testicles operated on, and he never suspected what was done to him. Since the balls from his twin were the same as his own useless ones, at least genetically speaking, there were no rejection issues and he suspected nothing. He still has no idea that he was castrated and his twin brothers testicles were put in his bag in the place of his own. All he knows is his ejaculated load now is between three and four milliliters, with a living sperm count of approximately 30 million sperm per milliliter. The operation was a complete success in every way it could be. In short, he got his balls back. I could hardly believe what I had heard. I grinned, and then I said Ah, what genius! So, it is as if Allah had give our future King four balls instead of two. The American boy was like an insurance policy, just carrying them for him until they were needed. So be it! Allah is great! Abdul-Malik nodded in agreement. Then I asked: So, how did you find this American boy who carried the jewels of our land between his legs? When I went to American in search of him he was not difficult to find. The King still knew of the woman, and what she was doing, and so with the information he gave to me I located her within a few days. The family was living in the suburbs of Virginia, a few minutes out of Washington D.C., and that of course helped make things easier as it was close to the airport. The woman is married now, and the boy has a sister and a younger brother from her husband. The boy has the mans name too, and they are a typical American family, and the twin is a typical American teenager in every respect as far as I could tell. He wears the tattered jeans and t-shirt of most boys his age, and his language is crude and unrefined. Just seeing the boy dressed that way and listening to him talk was difficult, because he looks like Issam in every way. But he is an American boy and talks like an infidel, and his name is American as well. They call him Scott, or Scottie, depending on who is talking to him. Anyway, I could tell watching him that he liked chasing girls, but like a lot of boys of his age, he was inept at it, and seemed to be getting nowhere. I found him in June, and hired the girl right away, when the boy was out of school. I picked her up in North Carolina, as I didnt want her from the local area and I wanted her to leave once her role was done. The boy himself was working at a fast food restaurant, and it was there that I arranged for the prostitute to meet him. She was a professional, and she had the boy into a hotel bed two days later. I was in the closet, watching, to make sure it was done properly and the sperm collected was the lads own wad. I watched him fuck the girl, his erection so eager Ill never forget it. The boy fucked like an amateur, and had no idea what he was doing. Still, he got his pole stiff, and once she had rolled the condom over his shaft the boy managed to get it into her hole and after that he did his fucking. He didnt last very long, and I watched him humping her and sweating, and he just fucked her fast and deep with long penetrating strokes of his young adolescent cock. It was like he was in a hurry, desperate perhaps to empty his balls and conquer his first vagina. I watched his balls swing as he was humping her, and as I watched them I knew then that I would take them if they were virile. I watched them with that thought, until after a few minutes the boy tossed his head back and grunted out his load as she held his ass, pulling him into her and squeezing his cock with the muscles of her cunt to make sure and get every drop of his seed. She pushed him off of her after it was done, and carefully pulled off the condom from his pole. Then with great care she tied the end into a knot. As I said, she was a professional, and she didnt let a single drop spill. Then, as I had directed her, she took the boy into the shower, and while they were there together I slipped out of the closet and took the rubber, the end bulging with the boys thick load of semen that he had just ejaculated. I went straight to the lab, to have it verified, and as soon as I had the results from the teenagers sperm count then things were put into motion. After it was done and the boy was home, the girl had been instructed to leave the state, and with the amount that we had paid her she did exactly that. I did not want her ever to be located, and had picked her carefully. As far as the boy was concerned, he had conquered his first pussy, and for the next few days at work he was bragging to his coworkers, sharing the story and reliving it in his mind again and again and again. I have to tell you my friend, when I first saw him, I was stunned. Hes the spitting image of the Prince, and seeing him there, in American and working the fast food counter, with a wisp of hair across his upper lip and his cheeks rose red, like his brother, was just unbelievable. The American has the same look, the exact same eyes, and the big grin and freckled face that we have all seen so many times. When he was fucking that whore I could not take my eyes off of him, as it looked exactly like the Prince himself was doing the deed. You would not have believed it, and even now it is a memory I will never forget, and I can close my eyes and visualize his big scrotum, stuffed with his teenage nuts, swinging beneath his legs as he fucked the girl with what of course were royal balls. I had to know everything. How did you take them? How did you take his balls? I asked. It took about two weeks before things were ready and the airplane was in place in Washington. On the night it happened I waited for the boy after his work shift. His shift ended at 10pm, and he usually went straight home without stopping. The restaurant required the employees to park at the back of their lot, so it was dark and quiet there, and made it easy to slip into the back seat of his car and wait for him. In the dark he never looked but just got in to drive. It was a beater of a vehicle, something typically driven by American teenagers, and it was the perfect vehicle because it was so normal looking, the kind of vehicle nobody notices. Anyway, I grabbed his head from behind, as soon as he closed the door, and held the rag of ether tight over his mouth and nose while he struggled. It didnt take very long. Id say he struggled for less than a minute, before the drug took him, and after he had passed into unconsciousness I then used some rope to tie his wrists behind his back, and his ankles together. I then drove him to a hotel near the airport, just a few miles from where the plane was waiting. The hotel room I used wasnt being rented, as it was under repair during the day and so I didnt have to register as a guest to use it. It also had a king sized bed, with a frame to tie him to, and so it was the perfect place to do the operation. I made the call, to put things into motion, and then I tied the boy spread eagled to the bed, face up, and then I pulled a nylon stocking over my head to hide my features. I wore the mask until it was done, and I know for certain that the boy never got a good look at me. The boy woke up soon after that, and struggled. He would have called out too, but I had stuffed his mouth with his own underpants and taped them in place. He was naked when he awoke, stark naked, and I found it amazing that his cock was the same as that of his brothers. I guess I should have know it would be, but still I was surprise to see it. It was very familiar looking, and yet the boys foreskin had been completely cut off, as if he was some Israeli boy, and the end of his dick was round and exposed. It seemed so ugly, so defiled, to have been cut like a jewish boy, and the ugliness of his hose was a sharp contrast to the natural look of our own Princes beautiful cock. Still, both boys have proud poles, that seemed to jutt, high in the air when they are pumped. His was hanging limp initially, growing out of his red nest of pubic hair, but even so except for its missing foreskin it was the spitting image of the cock of his brother, a cock I recognized and had held many times in my own fist. And, like his brother, my fist soon had the boys pole within its grasp. In fact, the first thing I did was to milk the boys load of semen from his balls, and to place it carefully in a vial to be put on ice. If the operation wasnt a success, the load of sperm might still bring a future King to our land, and so it was important and could not be wasted. I milked the boy, exactly as I had once milked his brother, and he stared at me with the same look as he grunted into his gag as I did so. He was so damn scared I didnt think he would be able to obtain his erection, but like his brother even though he didnt want to it turned out not to be a problem once I started to manipulate his cock. His rod grew hard in my fist, and I pumped him until he grunted, his eyes wide open as he ejaculated. He had a big load, a very big load, and the teenager shot his wad for almost a minute before he was done. I collected it all, a good 3 or 4 milliliters worth, and then I waited thirty minutes and did it again. His second wad was smaller, but still significant, and while it took a little longer to obtain it was still worth the effort. I took one more sample, thirty minutes after that, but the volume was under a milliliter and I knew the sperm count at that point would be significantly less. After that, with his three wads milked out of him, it was time to take his balls and to get it done. I would like to have given the boy a shot of pain killer before I nutted him, but there was a small chance that it could affect the subsequent transplantation and so it wasnt a chance worth taking. I washed the boys balls with antiseptic, and then wearing surgical gloves and a mask I opened his scrotum with a single, carefully made slice. I excised each testicle one after the other, extracting as much of each spermatic chord as I could before I tied it off, and then snipped it, high up in his sac. By suturing the ends before I severed them I kept the blood loss at a minimum. As I took each ball he thrashed on the bed, screaming into his gag as he felt me castrating him. He bucked his hips and jerked like a madman, tossing his head back with his eyes wide open. I dont think he could believe what I was doing to him. I really didnt take that long, even though I didnt hurry. Still, for the teenager I was nutting, I think it probably seemed like an eternity. Unmanning him was easy to do actually, easier to do than the dogs I had done. Having done the boys at home of course helped immensely, and I wasnt even nervous as I opened his bag and stole his stones. When his scrotum had been emptied I sutured it closed, as I had been taught, and it was a good job and I had done it well. After I had finished and had the youths balls chilling in their saline solution, carefully packed in the pouch of crushed ice and ready for transport, I came over to him then and whispered in his ear. It was important to throw off any investigation, and so I said You fucked my wife boy, you fucked my wife. You got that? Well, Ive taken your balls in revenge, so I hope you enjoyed it. Nobody fucks my wife, and keeps his balls! Nobody! His eyes went so wide then, as he thought of the whore he had fucked and imagined her as my wife. He stared at me then, with the look of understanding, the thought in his brain that his own actions had cost him his balls. With that, I put the rag over the boys nose one more time, and held it there until his eyes rolled back into his head and he lapsed into a deep sleep. Then, I untied his left wrist, and left the room and the boy, still spread eagled, with his legs spread wide and his scrotum sutured closed, now an empty useless bag of skin where his nuts had resided for the past eighteen years. Then I went straight to the airport, with the teenagers balls on the ice, and met up with the Ambassadors party. In less than thirty minutes we were in the air and headed for home. He hesitated then, grinning. I had no idea what to say. I pulled out the envelope, with the rest of the money he had demanded, and gave it to him. When this story broke it would bring my paper riches a hundred times over. As I handed it to him I said: I have only one more question Abdul-Malik, only one more. Why? Why would you tell this secret? I would think the risks you are taking would outweigh the money you have made, and even if I never mention your name the Prince will still figure out you are the one who has done what is done. He turned to me, and then he smiled. Finally, slowly, he said: Well, the truth is that I did not tell you the tale for the money. In fact, I would have told you for nothing. You see, during the period in the Princes life when I was milking him daily, he grew to hate me. He was so angry, and yet there was nothing the boy could do about it. I tied him down and milked him, pulling his seedless sperm from his balls three times each day. He hated it, and hated me for doing it. He despised me even, and that continues to this day. On one of those times, after he had shot his wad and I had fisted his cock until it was dry, he said to me that when his father was dead, and he was the King, the first thing he would do was to have me castrated. He swore it before Allah, and he told me to never forget it. He told me the day was coming when he would be the one fisting my cock, and when I shot my load he would have me nutted. The look on is face was dead serious. |