



 
                   OILS WELL THAT ENDS WELL

                              by

                           Joe Doe  


AN OIL COMPANY EXECUTIVE CHEATS A KING AND BRAGS ABOUT IT TO THE 
PAPERS.  NOT SURPRISINGLY, THERE IS A PROBLEM WITH HER EXIT VISA.

		******************************

                      KINGDOM of HAJISTAN

                 Office of the First Secretary
                              to
                  HIS MAJESTY, KING ACHMED IV


Dear Mr. Calhoun:

I am pleased to announce the return of your wife, Mrs. Debra 
Calhoun, to the United States of America.

As you know, oil is the lifeblood of our kingdom's economy, and 
the visit of your lovely wife was truly an honor.

Initially His Majesty was insulted when he found out that she would 
be handling your company's negotiations.  Women have a different 
status in our country than in the West, and he misinterpreted her 
appointment as a sign of gross disrespect.

Ultimately, she proved herself to be a most able negotiator, and 
indeed, it wasn't until after the contract was signed that His 
Majesty realized how generous the rebate clauses that he had 
unknowingly agreed to were. 

When we attempted to strike the most egregious clauses, your wife 
laughed and reminded us that the contract had been signed.

In her interview with the "Wall Street Journal," she referred to 
our kingdom as "astonishingly stupid," and "comically incompetent." 
I'm sure your wife appreciated the irony when her passport and 
travel papers were lost.

Naturally, she had to be detained in our customs area until the 
matter was resolved.  However, as we are a poor nation, this 
necessitated your wife being incarcerated with several young 
women bound for the slave market at Abbo.

When the shift changed and the officer who had lost your wife's 
passport went off duty, our staff faced a quandry.  While the 
officers sympathized with her predicament, the shipping clerk who 
had prepared the bill of lading had unknowingly counted your wife 
as part of the slave market shipment.

She was clearly a United States citizen, well-educated, wealthy, 
and free.

But she was on the bill of lading.  

What were we to do?  The document had been signed.

When His Majesty learned of the error, he ordered her immediate 
release.  Fortunately, I was able to convince him to think better 
of it.

In her interview, she had cited the "market forces" and the 
"invisible hand of capitalism" as the source of her enormous 
financial triumph over our kingdom.  While it is true that His 
Majesty could have purchased her from the slave trader, what 
price would he pay? 

Is it fair for the government to intervene in a private enterprise 
and override the efficient pricing mechanisms of a free market?  

What of your wife's feelings?  Would a Harvard MBA want us to burst 
through the door of a private business and fix a price on a piece 
of merchandise that the buyers had not even been permitted to 
examine?

Such an outrage could never be permitted.
 
After I reminded him of your wife's many lectures on "market 
forces" and the glories of capitalism, His Majesty agreed that 
it would be fitting and proper to abide by your wife's principles 
and let the market set her price.  

Naturally this required her to spend four weeks in the busy market 
of our capital, chained naked for all to see.  During this time, 
she was examined by the rich, the poor, and the idly curious.   

Each day, the "invisible hands" of capitalism squeezed and kneaded, 
caressed and slapped, poked and probed.  Every curve and orifice of 
your blushing wife's body was examined, every feature and flaw 
noted.

Her comments about our country's "vast ignorance" and "pathetic 
educational system" were well-publicized and roused His Majesty's 
subjects to action.  

During her time at the market she was taught well, with particular 
emphasis on her dancing and oral skills.  Your wife's adder-like 
tongue, so harsh and sharp during our negotiations, is now a velvet 
instrument of unadulterated pleasure.

In order to ensure a just price that adequately reflected her fair 
market value, I arranged for her to be sold in the port city of 
Dagra, in one of our busiest local markets.  Far from being the 
dark and dismal cellar so often portrayed in your western 
exploitation movies, the open air market at Dagra is large and 
sunny, and the mood of the crowd was bright and festive.

Your wife was sold on the main block, which, only a few hours 
before, had been used to sell goats and camels.  She displayed 
her charms well, and, as the auctioneer SNAPPED his whip in the 
air, she bent and bowed, jumped and squatted, scraped and danced.  

The auctioneer spent a great deal of time reviewing her business 
reputation and professional credentials, much to the crowd's 
amusement.  

Is it not more amusing to see a woman roll across a sandy stage 
like a frisky puppy and spread her legs like a bitch in heat when 
you know it is a woman of wealth, education, and privilege?   

The crowd's reaction to your beautiful wife's ordeal would settle 
that question forever.

The auctioneer displayed not only her body but also her personality,
and, at the crack of the whip, she was commanded to laugh, sing, 
cry, pout, smile, giggle, blush, and even masturbate.  Her 
commitment to excellence was obvious, and she showed more of 
herself in those few minutes on the block than most men see of 
their wives in fifty years of marriage.

The crowd was large and vocal, and, as she was led from the block, 
your wife seemed quite shell-shocked.  She seemed to be puzzled by 
her new status, and, as the blacksmith bolted the shackles to her 
wrists and ankles, she protested that we had "auctioned her like 
an animal."

Of course we had.  An animal she was, and we chained her behind the 
camels and donkeys we had purchased at the market and paraded her 
back to His Majesty's palace.  She hadn't recognized me at the 
market, but she certainly recognized the huge gates of the palace.

It was enormously entertaining to watch her beautiful face register 
first the joy of recognition, and then the fear of what her 
purchase might mean.

She was treated extremely well during her stay with us.  She was a 
featured performer whenever Westerners visited the palace, and on 
many occasions had the opportunity to dance before friends, 
subordinates, and business rivals.   

I can still picture your wife, her nipples hardening in the breeze, 
her breasts swaying and bobbing to the beat of the music, the lips 
of her shaved sex glistening though her translucent harem pants, as 
she danced for our pleasure.

Despite her obvious humiliation at being forced to perform for the 
entertainment of people who had known her in her profession, none 
of the spectators, friend or foe, ever objected to her performance. 
Indeed, everyone seemed to be highly amused by her humiliation.  

"She doesn't look so haughty now."

"Little slut!  I can see the whip marks on her bottom.  It's good 
to see her getting what she deserves."

"Poor little Debbie!  Are those big nasty Arabs spurting into your 
prissy little mouth?"

I suspect your wife's obvious arousal extinguished whatever 
sympathy her helplessness generated.  Despite her beet red 
face, her juices dribbled down her thighs, and it was never 
long before her transparent pants pasted themselves to her sex.

No one voiced any objection at her plight.  The main difference 
was that her friends were merely amused, while her enemies and 
(former) subordinates were always anxious to fuck her.  

His Majesty has never refused a guest, and thus neither did your 
wife.  No matter how despised, fat, or grotesque the man or woman 
was, your wife always performed, and performed well.

She was rewarded for her service.  After only three months in the 
harem, she was given the honor of forever wearing the royal brand.  
The lovely and intricate royal crest -- a stylized lotus -- will 
forever mark her as a possession of His Majesty. 

Branding is generally done with the girl under anesthesia.  Given 
your wife's well-known penchantfor cutting costs, however, I 
decided that such a frivolous expenditure was unnecessary.  
 
Besides, how could she fully appreciate the honor if she was 
unconscious?  It was a wise decision.  She was certainly 
excited by it all, and, during the ceremony, nearly chewed 
through the thick rubber bit that had been placed between her 
teeth.

Speaking of bits, shortly after the branding I arranged yet another 
honor for your lovely wife when I transferred her into the Royal 
stables.  I don't think she appreciated it at first; indeed, I'll 
never forget the look of humiliation in her eyes as the stable lad 
fitted her with a steel bit.  

But, with a little encouragement from the whip, your wife was soon 
winning races for His Majesty's colors.

As you know, arranging your wife's release has been difficult.  
Shortly after her arrival, she "voluntarily" relinquished her 
United States citizenship.  Since she is in fact not a citizen 
of our country either, but is instead classified as livestock, 
I have arranged for her to be sent to the United States under 
the Farm Produce Act.  

The cage containing your wife will be unloaded at Dulles Airport 
in Washington, and, after three weeks in the quarantine kennel, 
she will be released into your custody.  

It is important to note, however, that her stay may be revoked at 
any time if she fails to obey the following rules:

1) She must never again hold a job, or be allowed to possess 
   anything of value, even pocket change.

2) She must never attempt to obtain any form of identification.  
   Her brand and your livestock permit, which we have translated 
   into English, will identify her henceforth.

3) Your wife is still His Majesty's possession, first and 
   foremost, and as such will be expected to perform for 
   and service on demand the Arab Club your local college, 
   as well as any other Arabs that group finds appropriate.  
   The group will periodically check on her at your home, 
   and will discipline her if she misbehaves.

If you find any of these terms objectionable, we will solve 
the problem by extraditing her back to His Majesty's harem.

I am sorry if a cultural misunderstanding over your wife's 
negotiating tactics has caused you any distress, but I am 
certain that you share my relief that the matter has been 
satisfactorily resolved.

I trust the financial settlement enclosed will more than compensate 
you for the loss of your wife's income.  And I hope that her new 
submissive attitude, the many tricks she has learned in the harem, 
and the knowledge that you may, with a phone call, return her to 
the harem, will make living with her more pleasant than it has been 
in the past.

Thank you, kind sir, for your time and patience in this matter.

Res Waddoo
First Secretary to His Majesty, King Achmed IV



Edited by C. Lakewood

