Bob’s Memoir: 4,000 Years as a Free Demon
56
When Is a Slave Not a Slave?
NOW LEST YOU START THINKING ‘Bob is the world’s biggest hypocrite,’ let me tell you that I did free Angel—under her terms. I took her to Areola and undressed her completely, including removing her collar. Then I gave her the full tour of the palace and city, with both of us wandering around naked, like the majority of the inhabitants.
“When you said you were from a different world, I thought you meant it figuratively,” Angel said as we stepped into the pool just to float for a bit. “This is literally a different world than earth.”
“We think so. At the very least, it is a different dimension. Everyone here is free. But we all live in harmony in the lifestyle we prefer,” I explained the best I could. “Maybe my concubines would be better at explaining. Many were once slaves or lived in societies where the practicality was slavery, even if it didn’t go by that name.”
“But if I’m employed by you, that’s no different than being a prostitute. When I offered myself as a slave, I got no personal gain from it. It was a mission—a kind of ministry if you will. I would be taken care of as good masters take care of their world, but I wouldn’t get paid. Even the little bag of things I brought with me was little more than the necessities and a couple of gifts from former masters. You can’t imagine how liberating that lifestyle is,” she said.
“Well, I’m not going to pay you,” I laughed. “Everyone here works for the good of Areola. As a result, everyone has plenty for all their needs. I make sure everyone is cared for.”
“So, in a manner of speaking, everyone here is your slave,” she said thoughtfully. I had to think that one through for a while. It reminded me…
Remember when I was with the Great Khaans of Mongolia and China? Most notably, Chinggis Khaan loved to hear me talk of the places I’d been and temples I’d built and the battles I’d witnessed. We sat for hours while I outlined the wars and strategies of Caesar, and sometimes he called one or more of his sons and grandsons in to listen to something particularly important in his mind. Then he asked me to go find a place for his capital city and build it. By that time, I think he was pretty convinced that I was not mortal.
I went off wandering and eventually found the site for Xanadu where I built the city and palace and temple while waiting for Khaan to arrive. Instead, his chief minister or general arrived with 20,000 horsemen, ready to storm the city. They found the gates open wide and the city ready for them to inhabit. When the Khaan arrived, it was Hubilai Khaan ready to take possession. When he was installed and had toured the city, I begged his leave to return east to my homeland ‘to die.’ He agreed, but said to wait just a bit until he had learned ‘one more thing.’ The tales his grandfather told had not fallen on deaf ears. Hubilai was fascinated with tales and stories of other lands and customs. He’d been visited by two ‘Latin’ brothers and sent them back to Europe to get him priests and oil from the lamp at the sacred sepulcher. They’d been gone some years before Khaan moved to Xanadu. But while I was there, they returned.
The brothers Nicolo and Maffeo were accompanied by Nicolo’s son, Marco Polo. Marco was the reason I was finally permitted to leave the service of the Khaan. Each time I’d suggested that I needed to leave, Hubilai would agree and say, “Next month,” or “Next year.” Or, in fact, whenever he grew tired of me.
Marco was a new diversion for the Khaan. His father and uncle were welcome, but Marco soon became the Khaan’s favorite at court. He was a bright young man, about twenty years old when he arrived. He had no idea at the time that he and his father and uncle would remain there in the service of the Great Khaan for many years. Khaan sent Marco to me for instruction in the martial arts and Buddhism as the family had failed in the mission to bring priests. The priests they were bringing chickened out and fled back west. Nicolo and Maffeo set up a school in which they taught the seven arts of the West: rhetoric, logic, grammar, arithmetic, astronomy, music, and geometry. In turn, Marco was to learn the arts of the East.
He was a little full of himself, but generally a nice kid. He studied diligently and soon prepared for the first mission that Hubilai would send him on over the next fifteen or so years. He asked my advice.
“The Khaan is dissatisfied with the reports he gets from his ambassadors,” I said. “You can be different.”
“How shall I differ, Zongshi?” he asked. One of the things Marco had going for him was that he was taught respect from an early age. He had another uncle in Venice who had mostly raised him. The Italian Family was very big on respect.
“The other ambassadors the Khaan has sent out came back with a concise factual report on the situation they went to investigate or deal with. They struck a good trade deal for winter rice. This tartar would like to marry the daughter of that tartar. The war at the wall has been averted for now but there is a weakness near Lomein. He needs these reports. But he wants to know more about them. He wants to hear about the customs in this part of the land that differ from customs in Xanadu. He wants to know what you think of their language, what the people look like, what the fashions are. He wants examples of their art and their music. Even differing religious beliefs and philosophy. These are things the other ambassadors fail to bring back to him, but which you have brought him from Italy. You have told him about the pope and brought him oil from the holy sepulcher. These are the things the Khaan yearns for and they are all things that will make him a better and wiser ruler. You can bring these things to the Khaan.”
Marco considered this and went off on his first short mission as a representative of the Khaan. When he returned, he gave his official report and then sat with Hubilai and regaled him with tales of the customs of the people, what vassal had a birthday, who was pregnant, how the peasants were dealing with the water shortage, and even sang a song he’d learned. Khaan was delighted. It turned out that Marco was quite a storyteller.
I chose that time to ask Hubilai Khaan once again for leave to return to my homeland in the East and he granted it at once. He gave me a horse and attempted to press other valuables on me that would have taken a wagon to carry. I politely declined the gifts with the statement that these gifts would do me no good in my grave and should be given to the bright young ambassador, Marco Polo.
The next morning, I rode like the wind toward the East. Three days later, I found a place where I could seclude myself within the satchel and changed my body for one much younger. I renewed my relationship with my wives and possessions and then with my concubines and with my priestesses. Refreshed and ready once again, I proceeded into Northern China and what is now Russia.
In all but name, I had been a slave in Hubilai Khaan’s court. I was not ‘captive.’ All I could ever want was provided for me. I had minimal duties in work that I loved, teaching about the tantras and the forms of martial arts. But I could not leave Xanadu without the permission of the Khaan.
Marco Polo served in Hubilai Khaan’s court for seventeen years before his father and uncle successfully begged to be allowed to return to Italy. It was a near thing then and they would not have been allowed to leave if it had not been that a certain princess needed to be delivered to a subsidiary king in India. Read about Marco’s adventures sometime. They are almost as interesting as mine.
But if Khaan had not had a new plaything to occupy him in Marco Polo, I would never have been free.
Where was I? Ah, yes. Angel.
“Since you consider all here in Areola to be my slaves, then I free you to join them,” I said after I’d considered her proposition. “I will expect you to work for the betterment of our world, just as all the others do. Will that be acceptable to you?”
“Yes, master. If that is what it takes to serve you, it is acceptable except for one minor thing. I am a sexual being. If you will not call me ‘slave’ then I am your sex servant. My job on Areola is to give you any sexual experience you desire upon your command. Please, Mr. Bob. Use me. P…”
I slammed my lips against hers and took her, right there beside the pool. But I did not let her use the words ‘Possess me.’ On the other hand, I found she was one of the most creative lovers I had ever had. Every part of her was open for my invasion. And I used every opening. Oh, I made sure she had pleasure from everything we did and we both lost count of the number of orgasms we’d enjoyed. But she explored me in ways I had not used since we learned the tantric meditations. I went to bed, exhausted with Nimia and Josie at my side. And for the first time that I could recall, I had a nocturnal emission. Yes, a wet dream. It so startled me that I sat straight up in bed and looked down at the mess I’d made on myself.
As I sat there with my sleeping wife and possession beside me, gasping for breath, Angel crept up from the foot of the bed where she’d slept and proceeded to clean me with her tongue as I petted her head and whispered loving words to her. She nursed my cock back to full stiffness and then swallowed it into her throat as I came again. She smiled at me and quietly returned to the little nest she’d made at the foot of my bed.
Angel does not sleep at my feet every night. In fact, she once confessed that she was glad there were a hundred other women to help keep me satisfied because I would exhaust any dozen women with my appetite and stamina. And I heard it whispered that she had found a mission teaching others her techniques and philosophy of being a willing sex slave to Bob. I’m not sure any of my concubines, wives, possessions, or priestesses actually needed the instruction, but Angel had her mission.
I still struggle with the ethics of this situation. I created the infinity room. Or did I? Perhaps I only truly opened a gateway to another dimension that created itself around my desires. Yet, everyone I have brought into the infinity room—with their consent—has found everything they ever need provided for them. They all contribute in some way or another.
I have firmly disproved the idea that people need to work forty hours or five days a week or fifty weeks a year to earn their bread by the sweat of their brow. The one who contributes a new song to our community is as valuable as the one who harvests a bushel of wheat. This is the rule our world lives by. Other than Angel, I don’t believe anyone considers him or herself a slave. But as we grew, I needed to continue to think about my relationship to my people.
Soon after I brought the mini-series contestants to Areola, Artemisia, the youngest of our crew, came to me with a question. She’d happily discovered that ganja was freely available in Areola. As a result, use was casual and it was mostly used for special occasions. People really didn’t need any additional way to relax or feel good. Nonetheless, Artie had indulged, simply because it was available and the idea was firmly ingrained in her from her home in California. She had definitely indulged in a favorite cupcake before she came to talk to me.
“I was wondering, Bob,” she began as she planted her naked butt in my lap. I did not impale her, but it was a near miss. She wouldn’t have minded if I had. But we reclined comfortably beside the pool and cuddled for this conversation.
“Yes?” I prompted.
“Um… What is the religion here in Areola? Are we going to offend someone by not offering a proper prayer before a meal? Should we be going to church? Are there seasonal rituals? Are you really a god?”
“Whoa. That’s a lot of questions. What do you think are the answers?”
“I certainly feel like I’ve been with a god when we make love,” she giggled. And wiggled. The young artist/body builder knew well what rubbing her hard body against me could lead to and seemed to be headed that direction. I let her drive that part, though I held that firm butt in one hand and petted her breasts with the other. We kissed in the long and languid way that lovers do when they are high. I wasn’t, but she was.
“I’ve never really claimed to be a god,” I said. “I’m a simple demon.”
“Who has a temple at the other end of this pool with fifty-two ferocious priestesses ready to lay their lives down on your altar?”
“Well, that wasn’t exactly my idea.”
“Yeah. I heard. The priestesses are pretty open about what happened, where they came from, and how many kidnappers and traffickers they’ve killed,” Artie said. “They also worship you. But they told me straightaway that no one else was expected to worship you. It was something special between them and you.”
“That’s a good description. I certainly wouldn’t want them to go all missionary on me and try to evangelize the rest of Areola,” I said. What a catastrophe that would be!
“Yeah, but that’s what got me wondering what the religion in Areola is.”
“I’ve never tried to control that,” I mused. “When they came into the infinity room, many of the people brought the religion and customs they were born with to the room. For example, did you know there is another temple just a ways from here. Kind of that way,” I said, pointing. “There are another hundred or so priestesses there. I brought them from Troy.”
“As in the Fall of Troy? Wooden horses? Achilles? Odysseus?” she asked trying to clear her eyes to take in the concept.
“The very same. I’ll tell you all about that one day. But the goddess Aphrodite contacted me and asked me to save her priestesses when the city fell. Not all would come with me, but over a hundred did. They established a modest temple and still carry on the same ministry they did in Troy. Oh, some have left the temple and have married or gone to explore some new area. And there have been some number of people who have joined their priesthood for a time. Essentially, they still do what they were doing in Troy.”
“Which is?”
“They have sex with anyone who is lonely, horny, or just wants to have a nice cuddle with a beautiful naked woman. And they do not discriminate based on race, national origin, sex, or religion.”
“You mean they are like holy prostitutes?”
“No. The basic premise of prostitution is the acceptance of payment for sexual services. Aphrodite’s servants have sex with anyone who needs it or wants it because that is what Aphrodite wanted. Remind me to tell you the story of the Propoetides sometime. They lost their way and began collecting money for the sexual favors they offered in Aphrodite’s temple. She turned them to stone. The thing is, the priestesses of Aphrodite all know Aphrodite is not here in Areola. They don’t try to convert people to the religion of Aphrodite or of the Greek pantheon. They simply carry out their mission as they have done since before the fall of Troy.”
“Wow! That’s deep. So, there aren’t Christians and Jews, and Moslems and Buddhists and all the others here?”
“Oh, many people have carried their customs into Areola with them and they are widely shared. There is a period when everyone agrees to have a winter festival and they share Christmas, Kwanzaa, Hanukkah, Solstice, um… I can’t remember all of them. It’s pretty hard to say we do this every winter since there isn’t a calendar here. We don’t really have seasons. If someone has a desire for snow, they can go to the other side of the lake and up a hill and find snow. If they want fall colors, they will find trees with falling leaves over there somewhere. But they don’t really define themselves as Christian or Moslem any more than they define themselves as African or European or Asian. We are who we are. We all know that we entered a different dimension and the gods of Olympus, the gods of India, the god of the Jews or the Moslems, Jesus, or Buddha aren’t here. Oh, we may still honor all those gods, but they aren’t here.”
“But you’re here,” she said. She started squirming a bit more and soon had my cock in her hand. Not long after that, it was in her pussy. “This,” she breathed. “This is my religion.”
I have to admit, I wondered if it was my religion, too.
Our conversation put me in mind of my old friend Issa. There were times I really wished I could sit down and talk with him, just to get some advice. Did I really need a religion in Areola? Am I doing the right thing by trying to leave earth behind? Does he enjoy sex as much as I do?
I’d looked for him in India three or four centuries AC. I found a tomb in the north that had a statue that was obviously Issa. I think I’ve mentioned that a demon’s body bears the scars of his battles. I’ve been fortunate. I have a few minor scars. Two where I was shot—one in the side and one in the butt. There are a couple of small scars where I was nicked by a sword. And, of course, the chip out of my horn where a monster demon tried to take off my head with an axe. Issa had distinguishing scars from his crucifixion. Nail scars in his hands and feet. A jagged scar in his side from a spear. These scars were clearly defined on the statue at his tomb.
It was a sad day for me to realize I’d missed him. Of course, I knew he wasn’t buried there. It takes a lot to kill a demon and Issa was very good at resurrecting himself. In fact, the old man who showed me the tomb and told me stories about Issa’s life in India confided to me that “We know the tomb is empty, but we honor the thought.”
I’d met a few demons in my 4,000 years. We don’t exactly seek each other out. There was Maureen, my business partner in the winery. We didn’t really speak anymore. I’d signed over all my share of the winery to her and she was doing well. She’d finally stopped consuming souls most of the time. There had been a few I was sure she’d taken, but she was almost civilized these days.
Speaking of civilized demons, the Queen was another. I’d had to inform her that our trip to space was indefinitely postponed as the ship was not ready. She’d sighed and then said, “Well, I’ll see you around someplace.” A week later, I was invited to attend the royal funeral. I went, out of respect for the family. But, like Issa, I knew it wasn’t her in the coffin. I had a feeling that if I looked in a brothel, I’d find her catching up on the past forty years without the diet of sex she longed for.
There’d been the monster summoned to attempt to kill me in the desert. He was psychically chained to his master and when Athene instructed me to sever the chain, the demon turned on its master and then dissolved back into the primordial mass he arose from. Not before getting a good swipe at me with his axe.
And then there was Issa. The greatest demon the world has ever seen. Someplace along the line, his followers turned him into a god and created a massive religion around his mythos. I doubted sincerely if he would recognize the practice of the religion. He was certainly moving as far away from it as he could when I last saw him.
And I’d known gods. I’d met and talked to Zeus. In fact, he helped me get my act together when I was only a few weeks or months or years old. Even invited me to come to live on Olympus, but I was still young and adventurous. And if I’d taken his offer, I wouldn’t have half the wonderful people who had joined me in Areola.
Then there was Ninra and Namri, the god and goddess of Bathra who selected me to build their temple. I really loved Bao and Portia, my wives in Bathra. It was a lesson in mortality to me.
Aphrodite had taken passage with me from Tyre to Cyprus and I’d had to fight off one of Poseidon’s sea monsters before the goddess of lust and love decided to make use of my ready cock to satisfy her lusts. And she had provided others to me over the years, including Deedee, the buxom blonde I’d settled on first as a member of my crew and then discovered she’d been sent by My Lady Goddess.
Oh, there were others. Ningrum in the Indonesian islands. The war god Tu and Tawhirimatea in the South Pacific. Kukulcán of the Mayans and Ixchel, their goddess of love and beauty. I’m sure I’ve forgotten some, but you get the idea. I am accustomed to the company of gods.
In most cases, though, there was nothing really worship-worthy. They were created by the summons of people who needed them and rose to their divine status with the same characteristics that their human creators imbued them with. Like I am with the characteristics Pinaruti gave to me. I have goat horns and legs and hooves, and a goat’s sex drive—always horny. Otherwise, rather benign.
I have noticed that as much as the gods thrive on the worship of people, they don’t really care much about people. They are as lost in their little worlds as I am in mine. When people cease to believe in the same character as the one they first summoned, the gods are somewhat relieved. They can separate themselves and their heavenly kingdom from earth and live eternally with no more thought for the people of earth.
All I really wanted was to do the same thing with Areola. I didn’t need worship, but I was extremely protective of my people. I was ready to launch into space in order to keep them safe. I wished I could talk to Issa about that.
It was lonely being a god.
Instead, I talked to Nimia. My first living wife had been my companion since just a few years after I was created. She’d been with me some 4,000 years and still looked as fresh and young as she did when I brought her to the infinity room. And when I was around, she was very nearly as horny as this old goat. I say ‘when I was around’ because I don’t know how horny she is when I’m not around. It seems, however, that all my wives, possessions, and concubines always have the appearance of being fully sated and satisfied women.
“My darling, do we have a religion here in Areola?” I asked.
“Ah, you’ve been talking to Artemisia,” Nimia responded.
“How did you know?”
“She has an inquisitive mind and an undying devotion to Bob. I think she went to the temple hoping she would find a way to worship you.”
“Is this going to be a problem?”
“Is Zhi a problem?”
“Zhi? Of course not! She is the most loyal and faithful of any of my subjects. I trust my life to her.”
“Exactly. Did you notice that you did not call her a wife, a possession, a concubine, or a priestess?” Nimia asked.
“Well, she’s not exactly. She’s more like a… a… uh…”
“I believe the word you want is devotee,” Nimia said. “There is nothing in Areola or the natural world that she loves so much as her devotion to Bob. You taught her. You loved her. You encouraged her. And the meaning of her life is Bob.”
“And you think Artemisia is like that as well?”
“If not today, then tomorrow,” Nimia said. “Every thought she has is how to better be Bob’s woman. No, I don’t mean she wants to usurp the place of any of your wives or possessions. She simply wants to be the best she can possibly be for Bob. She is devoted to you. Please, my loving husband, never break her trust. She has placed her entire being in your hands.”
“She’s not a possession of mine,” I defended.
“No. You are a possession of hers.”
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