Summary
Randy did as he was told, and he started to let his hips roll with the fucking the shaykh was giving him. This was what he’d come out this evening to get. And this was kind of neat and arousing. Four guys all to himself. Him sucking one, the royal one cocking him, the black-suited black guy stroking Randy’s cock, and the Arab thug playing with his balls.
The limo had come to a stop before the shaykh had ejaculated and Robert had covered Randy’s chin and the front of his navy white tunic with his cum.
The four guys sat up and adjusted themselves. The black-suited black guy helped the shaykh put his galabiya over his head, and Robert was already exiting the car.
Randy took the moment when no one was paying attention to him to look out of the windows and reconnoiter. They were dockside in Manama harbor. Much of his view was blocked by a mammoth white yacht taking up a good third of the harbor and docked beside the limo, but Randy could see beyond it out into the outer harbor, where the USS Deringer rocked in the waves. So near and yet a world away.
“You may have him now, if you like, Tego,” the shaykh said, as his two thugs helped him out of the back of the limo. Another one, probably the limo driver, an Arab wearing a galabiya, was standing outside the limo, holding the door open. “And if there’s anything left of him when you are done, bring him to the ship. He still owes me a blow job—and Mustafa might be amused by him as well.”