King: Cocksure

Chapter XIII

> > > Mecca

This novel include graphic sex scenes, some involving minors, rape and forced sex. It is purely a fantasy and is not depicting real people or events. It is intended as a satire and is meant to be both funny and stimulating. The stories have a political slant as you will see. I hope you enjoy them. New chapters will be published as they are finished.

(Mffffffffff)

The man sitting before me was even fatter than I remembered him.

"Cousin, when I read about you in the London papers," Balil said, rocking back in his chair. "I knew you were on your way here to see me. You stopped to see that singing whore and got yourself in some trouble. I laughed and laughed. You see, now, the wages of your sins."

"I read about you, too, cousin after 9/11," I said. "The FBI was looking for you as possibly one of the plotters."

"Yes, they had their suspicions," Balil said. "But your President, Bush, had members of the bin Laden family in the United States smuggled out in the night and I was able to leave with them before the FBI could talk to me."

"Doesn't mean you were not guilty."

"Yes, but it does prove how duplicitous the Bush Administration was about hunting down bin Laden's," Balil sneared. "You have only yourselves to blame for what we set in motion."

"I see you have resumed here in Mecca the activities you practiced in Los Angeles," I said, "only without your brother, Pahata."

"You know Pahata was never my full brother," Balil said. "He came out of some pretty-footed Pakistani woman. He was never a full, royal-blooded Saudi, like myself. So when his activities became suspected here, it was easy to cast him to the wind."

"His activities?"

"He combined two deadly sins here in Saudi Arabia, homosexual porn and anti-Saudi provocation," Balil said. "So I have stuck to more conventional pursuits along the way,thus keeping my head upon my shoulders. Poor Pahata never had head for business anyway."

"You mean goat and camel porn and women in burquas," I said, smiling.

"Well, Allah looks favorably on all such activities and the local authorities look the other way so long as I am discrete," Balil said. "Besides, I am of royal blood and have become wealthy, though not as wealthy as you have since I last saw you."

A few of Balil's latest videos with English titles were scattered on his big messy desk. I remember seeing "Gahila, Goat Boy", "Camel-Toe Jahid", and "2-Hump Hump Day II." "All are classics" among his devoted Muslim clientele Balil assured me.

"It gets very lonely in the desert," he explained.

"But women in burquas?" I said. "That seems a stretch for you."

"I was never quite the lover of man ass that Pahata was," Balil bragged. "I have always had a taste for women and you'd be proud to know that I have resurrected here in Mecca, the Arab tradition of the harem. I have more than 100 women at my disposal day or night,"

"From what I hear, they are little more than sex slaves," I said.

"Well, the disruptions in the Middle East has created a large population of displaced young females which I offer to the highest bidders," he said. "My family and yours--our families--have always made money on female flesh. Is it not so?"

"Well, I prefer to think we gave women opportunities and freedom not otherwise available."

"Our ancestors led slave caravans across the Sahara to Timbuktu and across the Mongolian deserts into the walls of the Forbidden City," Balil said. "Study your family history , cousin. We have reason to be proud."

"That's not a part of the family history I am proud of," I said. "It was among the original reasons for the split in the family that remains today."

"Yes, and because that big oxen, your great grandfather killed our great uncle Grabin and then went to Chicago and forced our family out of the prostitution business there, leaving no room at all for our wing of the family to prosper" Balil said angrily.

"After how many attempts on Grampa Mortuse's life?"

"He was an interloper who thought he knew best how to run the family businesses," Balil said. "My wing of the family thought better of it."

"Thugs and killers," I said, "that seems to be the extent of your side's talents."

"Mortuse and Vlostok did not share their toys or play gently in the sandbox," Balil said.

"Look, I am not here to relive ancient family history," I said. "By the time Vlostok took over, my mother and her siblings were hidden safely from family business to protect their lives. I grew up totally unaware of those events."

"But you have profited handsomely from them nonetheless, eh, cousin? You eventually found your way back to the family business and used your heritage to open doors and other tight, moist niches for yourself, eh?"

"Today, I am here for only one thing," I said. "I need to speak to Gustavus Buckner to head off this war before it gets started, before it turns violent again. I swear, I will be no less formidable than Mortuse or Vlostok when it come to the retribution if this thing does not end soon."

"Because of your friend?"

"Yes, because of Westbrook, but also for all my other friends and family who depend on me as their protector," I said. "I do not believe in an eye for eye. Just because Buckner had Westbrook killed there is no reason for anyone else to die. We can end this now."

"You share the optimism and hope of the president you have helped elect," Balil said. "But Buckner and his sort do not think this way. They see an America coming out of the befuddlement of the Bush years, years when America's enemies could count on your President to do exactly the thing we most hoped in response to terrorism, eventually ruining your economy and your moral compass in the world. You helped elect this Obama fellow and he promises to be a whole new kettle of fish and Buckner blames you for this."

"He was behind the Republican dirty trick campaign?" I asked.

"Let us say that a whole cadre of American enemies with conflicting interests who did not wish to see Obama elected contributed to prevent the Obama presidency. Buckner was one. He knows you funneled the money you were given to the Obama campaign. To be defeated is difficult. To be defeated by an enemy using your own resources, this is the epitome of shame."

"Yet if this war Buckner wants goes any further, there will be casualties on both sides. Business will suffer. Is this what you want?"

"It is not a case of wanting or not wanting. It is a case of not being able to prevent it. Yours and Buckner's war is only one of many in which I am involved. I continue to strike blows in the eternal war against Israel. I continue to fight against the Godless American She-Devil. I don't even know where your friend Buckner is or care enough to try to find out."

"I was sort of hoping when you agreed to see me that you could tell me how to reach him or at least get a message to him."

"A message?" Balil inquired.

"Yes, tell him I know how to find the Quin Suan Shalat," I said. "I will help him to acquire it."

The astonishment and terror on Balil's face was etched in his eyes and every crevice.

"You must not make such statements unless you can deliver on what you say. "If you are lying and Buckner finds out..."

"What...he will kill me? He's already threatened my life and killed a good friend. How could I make it worse by lying? But if we can end this war before it starts and save many lives, I will deliver what I have just promised. It is worth it to me to make this promise and risk the consequences."

"Your presidential candidates claimed to know the location of bin Laden," Balil said.

"Yes, everyone knows bin Laden's location," I agreed. "He is hiding in plain sight. The secret is extracting him. The Qiun Suan Shalat is no less difficult to extract but worth far more."

Balil thought for a moment.

"You can return to your hotel and rest comfortably and peacefully knowing you will not be harmed while here in Mecca," Balil said. "My family will not allow any harm to come to you while you are here in this holiest of cities. If I can I will get your message to Buckner. No guarantees, mind you, only that I will try."

"Did Balil take the bait?" a concerned Creech asked me over my cell phone an hour later when I'd returned to my hotel room.

"He'll get the message to Buckner, but whether they believe or not, well that's immaterial. It will provoke the desired response."

"Brad, be very careful over there," Creech said. "I can't believe you are so dumb to fly over there by yourself, get yourself in trouble in London and then meet with that crazy son-of-a-bitch Balil in Saudi Arabia."

"Let's just say that there are forces here at work beyond my control who want revenge and I feel very safe in their hands." I said.

"The newspapers in London still haven't quieted down about the incident there, though they are still calling you the Unknown Big Ben Enema Bandit. Some of them have speculated that it was you because of the history you've had with her. A lot of people still remember you as her go-to-guy for enemas back when you were the Two-Foot Feet Guy."

"Well we had to do something to get Balil's attention and he knows my history with her as well as anyone."

"Yes, but the furor it has caused is enough to...well, today, the Arch Bishop of Canterbury came out and condemned the incident. Let me just read this passage to you from the Times of London. 'The Arch Bishop claimed that enema party in the bell Tower of Big Ben was a revolting display of bad taste by the nouveau rich amidst the debris of the economic sink hole in which the world is now mired. It is a deep dark crevice involving an American recently divorced pop tart star and an American porn producer that rivals anything ever attempted by Caligula'."

"Well they got the deep, dark crevice part right," I said, "though I never realize so many people knew so much about her ass. I guess what Rosie said about her boobies in League of Their Own applies to her ass as well."

"You mean about like 'there are people who haven't seen your boobies?'" Creech said.

"Yeh, I guess I've seen them so much I just didn't think anyone else was paying attention."

"Some people are saying you were participating in a Kabala ritual," Creech said.

"You know some people believe the Big Lie more than a small one."

"So it was all a Lie."

"Let's just say some people like enemas better than others and leave it at that. I was in town and there was no one else around willing to do it."

"Boss, you worry the hell out of me. Good night."

I handed my cell phone back to Donna Westbrook.

"You're sure no one could have intercepted and decoded that call?" I asked.

"No, your call was filtered through encryption software at both ends," the tall blonde American agent told me as she unplugged my cell phone from the suitcase of electronic marvels she always carried. "Anyone who tried to listen in heard gibberish and static. Nothing more. And we swept the suite so we know there are no bugs in here."

"Apparently the release of the Big Ben story still has legs, at least in London."

"Yes, it will take awhile to die down," Donna said. "I can't help who your friends are or the relations you have with them. We needed a way to smoke Balil out and get him to meet with you. Big Brad with his Big Stick at Big Ben was just, too, tempting as a lure to pass up."

"Well, I hope you consider me a good friend," I said.

"Ever since you introduced me to your Big Stick," Donna said, "I consider you one of my best friends."

"Seriously, though, you have taken a spot Wes used to hold for me as a close friend."

"And you have filled a spot I haven't had filled for a very long time," she said, hiking her short, tight skirt so she could wrap those long, golden legs around me.

"Don't get me wrong, Brad, I miss Wes just as much--even more--than you do, but I'm pissed at the way he died and who killed him," she said, a frown clouding that lovely tan face of hers. "My whole family is and we won't rest until that bastard Buckner and his associates are dead and/or in jail."

"I understand," I said, letting my hands sweep up her thighs to touch her holiest of holy places. "And your friendship and your body are very much appreciated."

She kissed me deeply and longingly.

"I do appreciate your appreciation," she said. "But I am no match for some of the girls you've made love to."

"What do you mean?" I said. "You are one of the loveliest women I have ever met."

"But I don't have as much experience as some of the porn stars and Hollywood actresses and hell, Britney or Madonna or any of the other singers you've known. And I know I don't compare with Loyola."

"Experience is overrated," I told her. "And Loyola is overrated in her own mind."

We were just about to fall backward in bed when the electronic case full of marvels chimed softly. Donna picked up a small receiver inside the case.

"Yes, this is Donna Westbrook," she answered. "Tom, yes, I understand. We can talk now. What's the problem?"

After listening for a few minutes, she said, "You are kidding. How can that be? Can you send me the pictures?"

She waited a few seconds and an image appeared on a small high-resolution color monitor in the case.

"Brad, this is the sonic sweep of Balil's office we made from the device in your ink pen while you were there," she told me. "This was embedded in a wall in an office directly behind Balil's office hidden from your view."

"Is that what it appears to be?" I asked, hoping I was wrong.

"The analysis staff says there is only a 24% chance that it is a replica and not the real thing," she said.

"But how could he...I mean it is guarded around the clock," I said. "No one could get close enough to..."

"Do what we have to do?" Donna said. "Steal it back."

"But why would he do something like that?" I said.

"There's only one reason for Balil to have that hanging in there," Donna said.

"To blame the United States for stealing it," I said.

"Yes, and incite the Arab world to fits of rage that we've never before seen."

"There is a chance it is just a replica," I said.

"Yes, but we can't take that chance," Donna said. "Real or not. We've got to get it from Balil."

I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. War, perhaps World War III, now seemed suddenly more likely than ever.

As planned, I called Balil the next day to see if he'd gotten any message back from Buckner.

"No, I will call you when I hear something," Balil responded.

"I was hoping I could come see you on another matter," I said.

"We are not friends, cousin," Balil said. "I have no reason to see you."

"Yes, but we are both businessmen," I said, "and I have a proposal for you."

"A proposal?"

"Yes, as you have noticed, I am a man accustomed to female companionship regularly," I said. "You mentioned you had a harem, which I confess, is a fantasy I always have wanted to fulfill. Finding women here in this city is very difficult. They are all hidden behind veils and propositioning them might get me beheaded or be-dicked. I was hoping I might at least sample the best of your wares while in town."

"My wares are very expensive, cousin, even for you," he responded.

"As you also have noticed, I have a lot of money."

There was silence on the other side of the line.

"I will be happy to take your money cousin, especially considering that you have stolen most of it from my side of the family," Balil laughed. "I will have a limo pick you up in 20 minutes."

After I hung up, I turned to Donna and said, "We're all set."

"I don't like this," Donna said. "He agreed too easily to see you."

"What does he have to fear from me?" I said. "He believes I am here alone in his personal playground and you have to know Balil. He loves money, especially mine."

"But you will be alone while in that office complex of his," Donna said.

"You said yourself, we need to know if what the sonic sweep of his offices picked up is real or not before we go charging in there like the United States cavalry."

"Okay, but I have kinda of gotten accustomed to that big dick of yours. Don't let anything happen to it...or you."

An hour later I stood in Balil's office assessing a group of women that Balil had assembled for me to review. All wore traditional Muslim attire except that none wore veils and the faces revealed were quite attractive and smiling warmly at me. Balil glowered.

"You know, cousin, I still don't know why I agreed to this," Balil said. "No amount of money can bridge the rift between us. Select the woman or women you want and I will assign you to a suite here you can use for your personal depravities."

"I'll take them all, Balil," I said. "As I said, I want the harem fantasy experience."

There were 40 women in the room. Balil shook his head violently.

"I fail to see, cousin, how you have not worn your cock to a nub over the years," he said. "Take your women to the upstairs bedroom and enjoy them because your bill will cause even you to gasp."

The pen in my coat pocket continued to sweep Balil's office and adjoining rooms for unusual objects. It could pick up any dense metallic object and return an image to Donna and Tom monitoring from the roof of a nearby building. The pen vibrated slightly alerting me that it had reacquired the signal it had sensed the day before. Now more finely tuned to the object it sought, it would provide the certainty Donna and Tom were seeking. Now all I had to do was enjoy myself.

Muslims, per se, do not put much stock in shrines unlike many other religions of the world, but the al-Hajar-ul-Aswad (Black Stone), normally displayed in its silver frame on the eastern edge of the Kaaba in Mecca is the holiest object in this material world for adherents. Muslims turn toward the Kaaba each day when they pray and during their at least-once-in-a-lifetime pilgrimage to Mecca, many try to press their lips against the rough, shattered texture of the al-Hajar-ul-Aswad as a sign of their devotion to Allah. The al-Hajar-ul-Aswad frame is affixed to the side of the Kaaba with silver nails and would seemingly be nearly impossible to steal from the heavily guarded mosque which surrounds the Kaaba. Yet a sonic sweep of Balil’s office on my first visit revealed that the Black Stone and its silver frame was suspended in a back office. Further analysis revealed that the object detected was not just a replica as Tom Westbrook initially thought but was highly likely to be the real thing. That meant that Balil had somehow managed to steal the al-Hajar-ul-Aswad from its honored position on the Kaaba, and transported it to his office.

Tom and Donna had tried many scenarios for why Balil would take such a risk. If he were caught with the object in his possession, chances are he would immediately be beheaded. Thieves are not tolerated in the Muslim world, especially a thief that steals the holiest object of them all as Balil had apparently done, but knowing Balil’s hatred for the United States, we could see him taking any risk to blame the theft on the decadent west, either the United States or Israel or both. If that was discovered by the rest of the Muslin world, the outrage could tear the fragile cease fire among the many hostile parties in the region to shreds. Already, there was a danger that Hamas was about to begin firing rockets into southern Israel from Gaza. Any other provocation could cause a conflagration that might ignite the whole region.

Why else would Balil have such an object in his possession? He could not sell it outright. It would mean his death. But he could use it as an unconventional weapon in the west. Many Muslims instinctively believe anything bad they read about the United States or Israel. If the al-Hajar-ul-Aswad would suddenly turn up in the west in the hands of an antiquities dealer, for example, many Arabs would believe the worst. Once again, the Arab culture would have been ripped off by the western powers and the anger in the Muslim world would be uncontrollable.

Donna and, brother, Tom plotted on ways to get the al-Hajar-ul-Aswad back to its rightful place, but neither were irresponsible cowboys. They wanted to make sure that what the device built into the pen they’d given me had detected the real thing. They originally had made me wear it was as means of getting information about Balil’s office complex and perhaps detecting Buckner’s presence, but now with the pen re-calibrated to search specifically for the al-Hajar-ul-Aswad, they sent me back to the lion’s den for the confirmation they needed. They also dispatched a crew to the Kaaba to determine if the al-Hajar-ul-Aswad displayed there was genuine. If the two objects had been switched, or if Balil was plotting to switch the replica with the real thing, then we had to know and act swiftly to prevent another holocaust.

Take one woman into a bedroom for sex and chances are, she'll feel more anxious than you. Take more than three dozen women into a bedroom for sex and if you don't feel a little anxious, you are a better man than I am.

The women seemed a little nervous as I approached them. They formed a circle around the large suite talking to one another and smiling at me when I studied their faces and bodies. Some were very young and undoubtedly they'd been warned about the big-dick American with the perverted tastes. Might as well get started since I had at least three or four hours to make things look good for Balil.

"Some of you speak no English," I said, "Those of who do, hear my words: I am your sultan and you are my concubines. You will obey my every command. Tell this to those of you who speak no English."

I grabbed one of the smaller girls and tossed her lithe body on the circular bed at the center of the room. I flipped her skirt over her head, ripped off her panties and plunged my dick into her pussy, letting her warm moist hole fully envelope me.

The other women were aghast. Some shrieked. Others fainted. But those who remained upright seemed awed at the sausage poking their cute harem mate.

"Oh dear God," I heard one woman lament. "but I wish he had chosen me first to assault with that powerful broad sword."

"Don't worry, sweetness," I said. "I assure you that you will be next."

I heard the muffled cries of pleasure coming from the lovely waif beneath me.

"Oh if only our Arab men could assault the fortress with such vigor," she screamed. "Instead, they plant their seed in the anuses of goats and camels."

"Yes, they shroud their small dicks under the guise of devotion to Allah," said another.

For the next three hours, my harem and I "played". I'd heard rumors about Arab women but it was nice to see that they were an all-orifice, all-access group. Still, 140 holes is a lot of space to fill no matter how big your dick is. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't satisfy all the demand. As soon as I thought I'd approached my limit, the girls in my harem started lining up for round two, then three.

I knew that there were events outside that were shaping perhaps the destiny of the world, but I had my job to do and that was to keep my harem "busy" while Donna, Tom and their group did what they needed to do. You see why I enjoy my work so much.

Suddenly, the door opened and Donna stepped in. She wasn't smiling as I expected. Balil and two other rough looking men holding machine guns stepped into the room with her. Their guns were pointed at Donna and me.

"Cousin, you think we Arabs are so stupid that we did not know about your little scam," Balil said. "You think we are so dumb we were not aware of what you were up to."

He had his thugs strip Donna naked like the other women in the room and then pushed her to the ground.

"We are going to have some fun, your blonde friend and I," Balil continued. "only you will be getting the enema this time, not your pop star friend, and I am afraid the only section of the newspapers you will appear in this time is the obituaries."