Malik and I awoke in each other's arms, and he kissed me from lips to toes and let me tell you if you've never had your toes kissed or sucked you've missed one of life's greatest joys!

We struggled out of bed and while he was in the bathroom, I pulled out all the cash I had-about 250 Dirham, which was the equivalent of $25 US, and presented it to him when he came back in. We kissed, but he said he had to get to work at his other job on the far side of the city but would love to see me again soon. He dressed and left and I thought Oh My God, I was once the insatiable top and now here I am, a bottom! And my dick sprang to life as my asshole quivered.

Then I showered and scurred down for breakfast in the tiny hotel restaurant, finished quickly and walked out to the front desk to cash a few traveler's checks. The clerk said she could certainly cash traveler's checks, so I signed all 3 fifty dollar checks realizing that with a prepaid meals and my hotel bill, I would need cash to book a trip to the Atlas Mountains and spend a few days there, and buy a few souvenirs, but when I slid them over to her, she said, "Sorry sir, I can't cash anything more than forty dollars."

I shoved all three of them back in my wallet with a grumble, because the quaintness of the Palace Hotel, as advertised in their brochure, was beginning to grate on my quite queer quaint nerves. I'd traveled extensively for the past twelve years, starting when I was sixteen, beginning in England where I spent my summer, staying in B&Bs and one-star hotels with the tightest of all budgets, but now as I stretched my imagination to the hilt, I was unable to think of any time or place where I was unable to cash sixty dollars' worth of traveler's checks in broad daylight on a weekday-until now! However, since I'd already signed all three checks, I asked to see the manager, Mr. Ibraham. That was my fourth mistake-I had expected to see a wizened old man, French speaking, stuffy, but instead when I was ushered into Mr. Ibraham's office, I was met with a delightful surprise.

"Ah, Mr. Sazan, how are you? I'm so sorry about the hold up with the cash for your checks, let me give you 500 Dirham as a line of credit and (he looked me up and down from my now smiling face to my crotch) if there's thing else I can do to highlight your visit, just let me know. Meanwhile, please, have a seat and I'll share some secrets of Marrakech and do anything else I can (his eyes flashed up and down my body before he turned and slowly walked back to his desk, giving me the most glorious view of a man's ass I had seen since my arrival) just let me know". He then dragged his chair out from behind his desk and brought it close to mine as if we were ready for the most intimate discussion of my life.

It was.

It surely was.

He began by Saying, "Please, just call me Ib. And may I call you Billy?"

"Of course," I said. "I'm Billy to my friends and this seems to be the friendliest county on earth-I've already met-"

"Malik told me all about you!"

I blushed, "Oh, is that good?"

"You seem to be very good, yet-"

"Yet?"

"Perhaps, someone unsure about a few things, Billy BOY?" he stressed the word "BOY" as his gorgeous Arabian green eyes slid down my body to my crotch, and it was then that he bent over and dropped his card to the floor. "My name card," he continued, "Sometimes I present it to the bottom and other times on top. Do you have a card similar to mine?'

I laughed joyously, freely, for the first time in what had become a very tiresome trip. "It does, for the first time anyway, it did."

"And what are you in the mood for today? Where is that card now?"

I blushed and went nearly speechless before whispering sotto voce, "It's on the bottom, is it not?"

"Proper place for any boy as hot and sweet as you," he said before continuing as he ran his hand up and down my legs and thighs, "As manger and owner of this hotel, I have a great more freedom than most to play my cards any way I please. Do you have time this morning to further explore your options? . . and perhaps play a hand?"

My dick nearly exploded and I had to reach down to adjust and just as I did, Ib put his hand there and did the rearranging for me and Oh My God, that was the first time I did cum in my pants-or at least the first time I came that quickly in my pants.

"May I offer you some tea and perhaps a towel or a bath or anything to make things more comfortable?" Ib laughed gaily and went on, "I have a private apartment on the top." The way he said TOP let me know what position HIS business card lay and I responded quicker than I had in a long time, "I do prefer the top, as well, perhaps we can wrestle out the best way to tackle this quandary."

"Ah, Billy Boy, Billy Boy, Billy Boy, I have no mats upon which to wrestle but I do have gadgets and playthings and toys that you simply must try. Are you DOWN for that?"

Not again, I thought, not again, his ass is way hotter than mine, perhaps, but just perhaps, just maybe this could be negotiable, my mind kept focusing on Ib's hot ass-as hidden as it was in his pants-wondering how quickly I could pull them down with my teeth and pounce on him like a starving Atlas mountain lion.

"Walk with me," Ib said, rising and taking me by the hand leading me out the door to that elevator from hell that seemed to take an hour to go from floor to floor. The elevator boy took one look at us and hit the button for the top floor-which arrived like a hurricane and before I knew it, I was in Ib's extremely ultra very secluded and totally private apartment. He led me through it-he had a well-stocked kitchen, huge living area, marvelous bedroom and what he called his secret chamber that he only showed to and shared with friends, "Are we friends?" Ib asked as his hands began one of those Arabian journey's Malic had begun yesterday-why in the hell aren't American men as sexy, as hot, and as talented with their hands as these men are? I wondered.

Ib knelt down and removed my shoes and socks, kissing each toe as if each was a private wife in his harem, so not to be undone, I knelt down as soon as he finished and removed his shoes and started kissing his feet when suddenly like he had the strength of the mightiest of those Altas lions, he held my head down with one hand and shoved his big toe deep into my mouth. "There're bigger things for you to suck on soon, Billy Boy, and more fun than you've ever known."

I remained there a prison of his feet and his glorious toes, groveling like a slave for the next few minutes before I felt him pulling me up by my hair and then my armpits which were sweaty with man sweat, until I was dangling-with my toes barely touching the floor-yet as precarious as that position was, I felt safe-secure-content to be dangled in the air by this Moroccan God.

Then he lowered me so my toes touched his carpeted floor and took a strap of leather with a red ball and placed it in my mouth-tying it securely around the back of my head as he dragged me by my right ear to a corner of this special room where he tied a rope loosely around my neck and anchored me to the ceiling before tying my hands behind my back and forcing my face to literally kiss the wall as I felt my pants and my tighty-whities being pulled to my knees-somewhat immobilizing my legs but giving me enough freedom for the moment if I had really wanted with some struggle, to wrestle my hands out of the loose fitting cords that held me and pull up my pants and run like hell-but the clock ticked away and I stayed there like schoolboy Billy with my nose to the wall and my mouth thoroughly gagged and nothing happened.

It was as if Ib was toying with me-letting me decide if I was the Man or the Boy and giving me time on my own to think it through-was I man or boy-boy or man? Because I could turn the tide and become his master, or I could just remove the gag, put on my shoes and calmly walk away, the ropes were easily tugged down, the door was not locked, the way was clear for me to escape, check out of his hotel, hurry to the desert, see that real African lion, but, but. . .

I remained stoically where Ib had left me-still feeling like that naughty little boy with my nose to his wall and my pants pulled down and my ass so totally vulnerable and my dick getting harder and harder and even though I'd shot a load first thing in the morning, my dick had a very bad memory-probably the first Alzheimer's dick because now it was throbbing, pulsing and expanding, growing, and growling for an ass, a mouth, hot lips, a sexy Arabian hand but was it Ib that turned that rascal on or something else. I'd always come quickly in the morning and then feel my cock rise, rise, rise again and again throughout the day, so I thought and thought and finally came to the conclusion that yes, I am top but last night I was bottom and I loved it and today I love it more so fuck it, I'll give it another shot after all I'll be home in less than a week and what's the old saying, 'nothing ventured, nothing gained,' so I might as went venture something and make this a real adventure. And my dick banged against the wall-harder than it had ever been-and contrary to Malic's inference that I was tiny own there, I had a man size dick-all of 5 hard inches, more or less, and I am no longer a BOY. I am 28 and a world traveler who has sucked and fucked guys on three continents, I, me Billy Sazan, am definitely not a God damned fucking boy!

Ib returned, removed my arms from the ropes, twisted me around and locked my hands in cuffs and lashed them together behind my back. Then he put cuffs on my feet and had those attached to a spreader bar-keeping my feet so far apart that my asshole stretched more than it had last night when Malik opened it but now it felt as though it was also being pulled even further and further apart-so I struggled, trying to speak through that apple-sized red ball gag in my mouth, "glug, glug, mfff, nnppp," as Ib laughed and slapped my face-not once but a dozen hard slaps, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth until my eyes rolled and that red thing in my mouth was ready for a revolution-demanding to be manumitted and I prayed Ib would stop-would stop now-would stop his control-would stop his slapping -that Ib would, what the fuck: never ever, ever stop!

Then, bound and gagged as I was, Ib slapped my dick and smiled while jerking me, jerking me smoothly, jerking me roughly, jerking me, jerking me until I came like a geyser, spewing my hot man seed all over his playroom floor and my dick shrank and shrank.

"Boy," he said, "that's the smallest wee-wee I've ever seen-what is it? 2 inches?" his laugh was neither a friendly one nor a playful one: it was merely the voice of a master putting his slave in his proper place.

I blushed because I had used that line countless times in my conquests-turn the victim into a little boy, make him wear a schoolboy uniform and take him to the boy's department in the local retail store, buy him boy size Superman underpants, take him to your friend Tuan, whose name means: "obey!" where Tuan will shave your boy's pubes and pits, and both of you will spank your boy until his little behind glows, then dress him in those Superman underpants and schoolboy uniform and walk him back to your place as you remind him calmly and paternally, that he is nothing more than a little boy.

Then Ib did something I had only read about-he locked my dick in a steel chastity device pressing it down, down, and further down until it was about 2½ inches barely breathing room for my 2 and ¼ inch dick. Then he played with my balls, first with his hands, his smooth Arabian hands, then with his mouth, sucking my balls like no one had ever been able to do before-consuming them, swallowing them-my entire sack deep, deep inside his juicy hot mouth as his tongue rolled around and around them and his mouth closed tighter and tighter and he slowly ground his teeth, not enough to cut them off, but enough to let me know he was the master and I was his fucking slave.

And I loved it.

I wanted to ask for more, to beg for more, to grovel for more but I was still gagged and almost totally incapacitated-a BOY like me can only do so much when his God damn nut sack is in a man's mouth-and if you don't believe me try it sometime-it's sheer power for the master, sheer fear and powerlessness for the slave.

BILLY BOY, he said, "You'll be my special guest as I train you for your future until your plane leaves for the USA in five days. That's when I'll have you shipped by private cargo and you'll be delivered in an airfreight shipping crate to my friend Marlin Brooks-and be owned by him on his ranch in North Dakota. But in the meantime, let me thoroughly break you in so you can enjoy these pleasant pleasure-filled days here in Marrakech.


On to Chapter Three
Basic Training
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One Glorious Mistake in Marrakesh
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