I was dry, hungry, pretty tired and kind of stressed but I found my tongue loosened enough in my mouth to speak if I needed to.
"Please get up, Sir." Said a voice behind my left shoulder. A third man with cultured American English.
I turned onto my side, pushed myself up to a kneeling position and slowly rose to my feet in as dignified a fashion as I could. Most of us are very nervous at the point of a gun, two guns. I am no exception.
"I came up to see the lights and the stars, I just fell asleep." I said as I rose. I then saw that the third man was dressed in the traditional ankle length white dishdasha and head dress with the black cord to fasten it. He was about 5' 8" I'd guess 45 and rather fleshy, whereas his armed companions were stacked, fit, attentive and dangerous. One about 6' 2' 230 lbs., the other a little taller than me 5' 11" but man he was way more broad. All three sported a neatly groomed narrow black beard and stubble stained exposed cheeks. The men in black more intimidating because of the look. Not so their boss. Contrary to movie magic you cannot outrun a gun. I was not about to try.
"With your permission, Sir, Mr. Abdullah will search you."
"Certainly. Go ahead." I replied, not wishing to challenge the authority held by men with guns whatever the law of the state. My navy chino shorts, deck shoes, and loose T shirt presented no great obstacle and the only thing in my pocket was my electronic room key. If this had been the police, I carried no ID no phone I'd have been in big trouble. Was this making the guns less threatening? Maybe not.
A command was issued in Arabic.
Mr Abdullah, the shorter, broader of the two security men, holstered his gun and raised his hands in the gesture I should copy for his search. So the careful pat down I received was considerably more respectful that you would experience at airport security formalities. His large, thick fingered hands paid considerable attention to my " inside leg" area and when reaching into my pockets, extracting my room key, he traced the length of my sleeping cock and rummaged my scrotum before handing my room key to the man giving the orders.
As he reached around my torso to pat my back down, his mitts cupped my buttocks before rising smoothly over my back hair under my shirt into my armpits and most extraordinary of all, whilst looking me straight in the face with inscrutable black gaze, his back to his companion and his boss, his thumbs imperceptibly brushed the tips of my meaty nipples, sending a shiver of sexual delight and relief into my confused and frightened brain. He stepped back and raised his arms and then lowered them to his sides in a further gesture that I was to follow. I lowered my arms in turn and nodded in a serious manner to acknowledge him.
"You will follow me please!" commanded the man in the headdress, as he turned and walked surprisingly briskly past the helipad to the far end of the rooftop where the elevator house stood and another access door was sited, similar to the one through which I had come. Once there, I could see that this was no service stair, though the outside of the doors was utilitarian, inside was red and gold plush, deep pile carpet, luxury that the super rich take for granted. I was ushered into a spacious, air-conditioned passenger lift and checked my uneasy look in its mirrored walls and the emotionless faces of my captors.
