A jet-black stretched Bentley Continental Flying Spur with blacked-out windows hurtles through the dark back streets of old Dubai. The driver fears no over-enthusiastic local gendarme will pull them over for excessive speed, because any of them can be bought, for the price of a U.S. note with the engraved image of Benjamin Franklin on it.

And any of them will be silenced by the quiet mention of one name, a Saudi emir whose hard-bargaining purchaser of human flesh, and her most recent acquisition, sit

together on the butter-soft leather back seat of the Bentley.

In private now, she has removed her modest silk head scarf, revealing black hair coiffed professionally in western style.

"Listen to me, Dao" she speaks quietly, with unsettling intensity and directness. They don't worry about the driver hearing; a thick polycarbonate and glass window separates the front seats from the roomy rear interior where Dao and the Buyer converse.

"You belong to the Emir now. But, you may never see him. That is not important. You will serve several others. The family physician will want to give you a thorough physical examination and will supervise certain medical procedures. There is the Emir's third wife, for whom you were purchased. And you will be required to visit me from time to time for special training. One or more of the Emir's

other wives may also request your services. And there's one more thing ..."

She pauses, looking out the window for a quiet moment only broken by the faint whine and rumble of the Bentley's dual-turbocharged engine. The lights of Dubai's broad avenues and dazzling gambling palaces whip by, too fast to read their names in neon-lit Arabic script.

"You have certain extraordinary physical attributes, Dao. You're attractive, lean, better muscled than most your age. But you may not have realized, when you were young, how different you were from other boys. Now you're fully grown, and you have seen many others of your age, unclothed. When you're not aroused it's not obvious, but when erect your penis is larger - in length and in circumference - than that of most other young men. In that regard you're an outlier, the top one-hundredth of one percent."

Dao thinks "Great, I'm a freak." He holds his silence, and his rising anger, for a moment.

"How could you know that?" he finally asks, a bit impertinently. "You've only seen me once. And you barely looked at the others when we were on the block!"

"I have my sources" she replies, patiently. "All slave boys are measured when they finish puberty. You might remember that somewhat intrusive examination and measurement procedure, seven months ago. Your attributes are available for inspection by trusted Buyers, like me."

She pauses, then adds: "And, even without seeing the numbers, Dao, I could be fairly certain you would be in the top category, one who is almost off the charts for genital characteristics."

"Lot of good that does me ..." murmurs Dao, with a hint of bitterness. He's confused, doesn't understand what she's saying. The memory of her stroking him to ejaculation, with the Meat Handler's knife held against his engorged shaft, is still fresh in his memory - not surprising, considering that it took place only six hours earlier.

Adding to Dao's anxiety is his growing suspicion that his days with cock still attached to his young body may be numbered. First, the Buyer had brought the Meat Handler into the room with her. And then, right in front of the five slave-boys on the platform, she had discussed the Emir's wife, the trouble conceiving a much-desired male heir, and referred to "tribal physician" and "traditional remedy".

Dao, in his years growing up in the slave-boy barracks, had heard rumors of well-endowed young men being selected for penis size, sold to a Saudi prince desperate for an heir, and the slave's cock becoming a high-protein nutritional supplement for the infertile woman. He always dismissed these stories as slave-barrack horror tales intended to frighten defiant but gullible youth into submission, like hundreds of other stories he had heard over the years - nearly all of them preposterous, patently unbelievable. Now, he is forced to reconsider this one - on the basis of new evidence, all first-hand.

The black Bentley is past the outskirts of Dubai, past the last broad boulevards with planted palm trees flickering past, past signs to The Palm Jumeirah, hurtling into the desert toward Abu Dhabi.

Tires hum softly on black asphalt at 200km/hour.

The Buyer can easily guess at Dao's unease. "There is a great deal you don't know about yourself, Dao - or about your family bloodlines. You know that Arab men aren't ...exactly famous, in the category of genital endowment. You know you're not much Arab yourself, but a mixture of races and ethnicities.

"You are one-eighth African, partly Nubian. One-eighth Khazar. One-quarter Scandinavian, mostly Norwegian, some Danish, some Icelandic. Descendant of Vikings. One-quarter Arabic, from a region that's now Qatar. But you're not a mongrel, Dao. You are the product of six centuries of most careful selective breeding." She watches Dao's face closely in the dim light; how will he take this news?

She can see Dao staring at her, eyes glistening in the near-darkness.

"You shouldn't be shocked, young one. Your ancestry is well-documented back to the 14th century. Understand: owners always have the option of controlling how their slaves breed; it's just a question of how much time, care and money they're willing to devote to the process, to reach a desired outcome.

"Know this: Arab princes - Saudis in particular - are very, very patient, and - when time and money are no object - they get results. The best racehorses in the world, for centuries, come from Arabia. They are the product of selective breeding, and a great deal of money."

Dao turns and stares out the window, seeing nothing. Desert in the moonlight races past the blacked-out window glass, so flat and featureless it feels like they're motionless, suspended in space. Emotion roils in Dao's belly. Bred like a race horse. The kid with the big dick.

"Of course, nobody advertises success in human selective breeding" the woman continues. "Legally, Saudi Arabia abolished slavery in 1962. Quietly, it continues for the very wealthiest as it has for many centuries. Laws are no barrier and profits drive the business. The projects continue. You are the product of one of those programs. Now look at me, Dao!"

Dao, not knowing whether to feel despair or pride, turns slowly to face her again.

"You are very special" she says, softly. "You wouldn't exist without the breeding program, Dao. You owe your very life to the program and the people who run it. And it's not just about genital size: you have an extraordinary sexual drive, enormous stamina and control; you're a very attractive young man. These are all valuable attributes. More than that, you will continue your training that will make you a favorite among the Emir's women, if you take it to heart and learn well."

Dao's heart seems to skip a beat. He remembers the demanding, seemingly insatiable German woman who had trained his fingers and tongue twice a week for the past year. She would order him to undress, seemed to enjoy watching his erection growing, as it always did for her. If he was good, she would reward him at the end of an hour with sweet release, using both hands on him. If he didn't meet her expectations, she would thrash those most prominent targets - his cock and balls - with a little whip

she always held in one hand. It hurt like hell, but only seemed to make him harder. Once, she had sucked and nibbled on the head of his cock - as much as she could fit in her mouth. Sometimes she hinted that she would like to lay him on his back, mount him, ride him with his big cock deep inside her. But, that never happened.

Then Dao remembers the Meat Handler, the blade against his erection, the infertile wife, the "traditional remedy", the stories about big-dicked slave-boys donating their members to a special meal for the barren woman. Dao feels anger, humiliation building.

"...a favorite among the women ... without a cock?!?" he almost shouts out the words, veering uncontrollably between anger and fear. He is lost, momentarily terrified, thinking wildly about escaping somehow. He knows the doors are locked, their velocity toward Abu Dhabi surely in excess of 200km per hour.

The Buyer has faced this scenario a half-dozen times before, but every youth is different. Sometimes it's best if he doesn't know until the last moment; then he will be restrained and sedated for the event, a discreet injection of aprostadil generating the necessary physical response.

And sometimes she knows she must be honest; full disclosure, earn his trust. She must decide quickly, or the relationship may be unsalvageable. Dao is smart, so she decides for truth, apportioning at least one part of the pain up front. Start now, and he begins to assimilate the truth, however difficult.

"You've heard the stories, I know" she says quietly. She puts her hand gently on his knee. "There is some truth there. It is an ancient remedy that tribal physicians have prescribed for a thousand years. Bearing a son for the prince, or the king, was the wife's most important duty. Anything that could make it possible has been tried. Tribal physicians believe it works. The Emir's mother is certain it works." She paused, sighed.

"I am not a physician; I haven't the training. I have no opinion as to its efficacy. It may be a placebo, or it may truly confer unique hormonal supplements to the infertile

woman that make conception possible. We all have our roles to play in this life, Allah willing, and this is mine, to bear a son is hers, and that - that sacrifice - is yours; your duty. If a son comes from this, we will have all done our duty."

"'That is your ... duty'" Dao repeats her words, his throat constricted so tightly he can barely speak.

"What is my duty? What sacrifice? Say it! I want to hear you say it, no bullshit now! What is my duty?"

The Buyer grips his knee more firmly, turns toward him and holds his hand with her other hand. She speaks firmly, each word chosen carefully.

"Dao, your duty is to serve. You were created to serve, you were born and trained to do whatever is required of you by your masters. There is no other way. Remember that.

"The next few months will be the time of your life that you will remember forever. These are the days that will determine your character and your fate, the arc of your life starting right here, right now. These will be the most memorable events of your life.

"First, your training will continue. Your life can be very good if you learn, if you truly desire, to please the women in the household. Second, you will continue the program, Dao, as a contributor this time. Three young women go to Al-Sha'bah this week, who, like you, serve the Master, and the program. Their duty is to bear your sons or daughters. Only when your seed has taken root in all, will we consider your other duty, your sacrifice."

"Three women!" exclaims Dao, his apprehension momentarily derailed. The image of the stallion comes again, but this time it's the stud horse, servicing mares brought to his stable. "... and what if I don't like them?" he asks. He knows it borders on insolence, but says it anyway.

"You won't necessarily meet them, Dao. I'm sorry. That's the decision of the physician, although it could change in the future. For now, the procedure will use your seed - your sperm - to impregnate the women, supervised by the doctor. It won't be so different from what we did today - but we will catch your seed, instead of letting it fly everywhere. I think you'll like it - it will feel very good, I assure you."

Dao is silent, trying to absorb it all, feeling his life turned upside down and inside out. The long Bentley tears through the night air on Highway 11. Dao sees the red landing lights of Abu Dhabi airport flicker past. The thunder of the Bentley's exhaust echoes back from concrete walls as they rip through a highway underpass, then returns to a steady insistent rumble in the open desert again.

Dao comes back to the question left hanging, the question they both know must be answered: "The sacrifice. I need to know. You must tell me."

"The life I told you about will be yours. You will not want the days and hours and minutes to end, but they will. Life has its seasons - its beginning, and its end. For you, Dao, it's not the end of life, it's only another beginning, a new season. Life will change, as it changes for all of us. You begin again.

"When a few years have passed, you will wonder what all the fuss was about; you will understand there was no reason for the apprehension that possesses you now. You will be proud that you performed your task, without shirking or complaining.

"Your sacrifice is this: you will give your penis to the Emir's wife. It will be removed in solemn ceremony, and prepared for her, and she will consume it. Then begins the rest of your life. And the Emir will have his heir, if we succeed."

This confirmation hits Dao like a punch to the gut, and he can't breathe for a long minute. He thinks about life without a cock, without erections, without that sweet release he desparately needs. A new life, indeed. When he begins to breathe again, he cannot speak above a whisper.

"Will it hurt?"

She squeezes his hand gently.

"It's not painless, Dao. But the physician is very good. She will prepare you well, use an anaesthetic cream as well as antibiotic on your penis, beforehand. When it happens, it will be very, very quick. And ... although it's a solemn and deeply traditional occasion, it's extremely erotic.

"You will be at the height of arousal, Dao - more physically aroused than you've ever been in your life. All these will help you."

Dao stares at her, unbelieving. "Aroused ... you mean I'll be hard?"

"Oh yes" confirms the Buyer.

She pauses, momentarily losing her normally firm control of thought narratives. Memories flood back, unrestrained. Hot rigid flesh, under the blade. A warm wave sweeps through her, from her face, across her breasts, hits farther down like a hot shower focused on her genitals. Touching the blade, cold surgical steel. Carefully, she adjusts her position on the seat. The explosive tension in the group of a half-dozen women, in an elaborately-decorated secret ceremonial room with one extraordinary man, bringing a doomed penis to its final erection. Sudden spray of semen, and blood.

"Yes", she says again, softly. She senses her heartbeat has accelerated, and if Dao could see her clearly, he couldn't miss the color coming to her face. She controls her voice, gives nothing away.

"You will be erect, Dao. Extremely erect. Think about it: given that you're making such a sacrifice, would you have it any other way?"

There is a long silence.

"Why?" asks Dao. "I'm a slave-boy, I'm the sacrifice. Who cares about my pain?"

"Tradition" she answers simply. "But that tradition is founded on some basic truths. The ancient physicians, men and women both, were not without empathy. A man aroused, at full erection, is less sensitive to pain, especially to his genitals. At peak arousal, he can be almost insensitive to extreme injury. Our ancestors, the physicians, knew that, and insisted that the sexual component be the foundation of the procedure - the ceremony."

"...peak arousal? You mean..." Dao's tongue stumbles, embarrassed and suddenly ashamed that he's discussing such topics - that he normally wouldn't bring up, even with friends in the slave barracks - with an attractive older woman he barely knows. The Buyer recognizes the tempest of emotions boiling in the young man, quickly intervenes to spare him greater embarrassment.

"Peak ... yes, as you guessed; ejaculation. Cumming. When you launch your seed, she will remove it."

Dao absorbs this like another punch, but its after-effect is different now; rather than the turmoil in the belly, he feels something like an electric shock straight to his groin, followed by waves of tingling, shooting the long length of his penis, swarming over the skin of his scrotum. He knows his cock is swelling, can't understand why, why should foolish flesh betray him like this?

"This must happen?" he asks, knowing even as he speaks, that it sounds like a complaint. "There is no choice?"

"It has been decided, Dao; now it's your destiny. No choice."

Dao purses his lips, lets out a long slow breath, gazes out the window at nothing. He realizes he's exhausted, leans back into the soft leather, head into the headrest, eyes closed. Inwardly he curses his rampant growing cock, as it pushes mindlessly down his pants leg, oblivious to its fate. He tries to think about nothing.

The Buyer rests, eyes closed. Her mind churns. I talk a good line about this destiny stuff. Of course, there is a choice. I could save Dao, send him to Istanbul, he could work as a servant there. Or in porno films, for that matter. Save the cock. Or watch it go. Watch it go.

Regret? What do I believe myself? Is it right to do this? How much of this is following orders, how much is my own twisted lust to see a man's masculinity under the blade? ... it's only a penis at risk, after all. Dao will go on ... but who is Dao without his extraordinary member?

A gentle snore comes from Dao's side of the compartment. The Buyer smiles to herself, realizes that with the strain of this conversation her body is tense, stressed. She relaxes consciously, slowly, feels her body sink into the black leather. Heat flows toward a diffuse region between her legs. At its center she feels her clitoris tingling and burning, demanding attention. This job shouldn't make me feel aroused, she thinks. Or feel so guilty. Perspective: it's only a penis. She resists the temptation to begin touching herself. Dao might wake and hear her, and she's not certain she can be completely silent.

Curious, she presses the switch for the reading light over her shoulder. In the dim light, she can make out the clear outline of his huge shaft, its distended head, extended far down one leg of his pants, straining upwards as if trying to tear through the thin white fabric. Full erection.

The Buyer smiles to herself. She wonders what he's dreaming. The Bentley races toward Al-Sha'bah.