OILS WELL THAT ENDS WELL by Joe Doe AN OIL COMPANY EXECUTIVE CHEATS A KING AND BRAGS ABOUT IT TO THE PAPERS. NOT SURPRISINGLY, THERE IS A PROBLEM WITH HER EXIT VISA. ****************************** KINGDOM of HAJISTAN Office of the First Secretary to HIS MAJESTY, KING ACHMED IV Dear Mr. Calhoun: I am pleased to announce the return of your wife, Mrs. Debra Calhoun, to the United States of America. As you know, oil is the lifeblood of our kingdom's economy, and the visit of your lovely wife was truly an honor. Initially His Majesty was insulted when he found out that she would be handling your company's negotiations. Women have a different status in our country than in the West, and he misinterpreted her appointment as a sign of gross disrespect. Ultimately, she proved herself to be a most able negotiator, and indeed, it wasn't until after the contract was signed that His Majesty realized how generous the rebate clauses that he had unknowingly agreed to were. When we attempted to strike the most egregious clauses, your wife laughed and reminded us that the contract had been signed. In her interview with the "Wall Street Journal," she referred to our kingdom as "astonishingly stupid," and "comically incompetent." I'm sure your wife appreciated the irony when her passport and travel papers were lost. Naturally, she had to be detained in our customs area until the matter was resolved. However, as we are a poor nation, this necessitated your wife being incarcerated with several young women bound for the slave market at Abbo. When the shift changed and the officer who had lost your wife's passport went off duty, our staff faced a quandry. While the officers sympathized with her predicament, the shipping clerk who had prepared the bill of lading had unknowingly counted your wife as part of the slave market shipment. She was clearly a United States citizen, well-educated, wealthy, and free. But she was on the bill of lading. What were we to do? The document had been signed. When His Majesty learned of the error, he ordered her immediate release. Fortunately, I was able to convince him to think better of it. In her interview, she had cited the "market forces" and the "invisible hand of capitalism" as the source of her enormous financial triumph over our kingdom. While it is true that His Majesty could have purchased her from the slave trader, what price would he pay? Is it fair for the government to intervene in a private enterprise and override the efficient pricing mechanisms of a free market? What of your wife's feelings? Would a Harvard MBA want us to burst through the door of a private business and fix a price on a piece of merchandise that the buyers had not even been permitted to examine? Such an outrage could never be permitted. After I reminded him of your wife's many lectures on "market forces" and the glories of capitalism, His Majesty agreed that it would be fitting and proper to abide by your wife's principles and let the market set her price. Naturally this required her to spend four weeks in the busy market of our capital, chained naked for all to see. During this time, she was examined by the rich, the poor, and the idly curious. Each day, the "invisible hands" of capitalism squeezed and kneaded, caressed and slapped, poked and probed. Every curve and orifice of your blushing wife's body was examined, every feature and flaw noted. Her comments about our country's "vast ignorance" and "pathetic educational system" were well-publicized and roused His Majesty's subjects to action. During her time at the market she was taught well, with particular emphasis on her dancing and oral skills. Your wife's adder-like tongue, so harsh and sharp during our negotiations, is now a velvet instrument of unadulterated pleasure. In order to ensure a just price that adequately reflected her fair market value, I arranged for her to be sold in the port city of Dagra, in one of our busiest local markets. Far from being the dark and dismal cellar so often portrayed in your western exploitation movies, the open air market at Dagra is large and sunny, and the mood of the crowd was bright and festive. Your wife was sold on the main block, which, only a few hours before, had been used to sell goats and camels. She displayed her charms well, and, as the auctioneer SNAPPED his whip in the air, she bent and bowed, jumped and squatted, scraped and danced. The auctioneer spent a great deal of time reviewing her business reputation and professional credentials, much to the crowd's amusement. Is it not more amusing to see a woman roll across a sandy stage like a frisky puppy and spread her legs like a bitch in heat when you know it is a woman of wealth, education, and privilege? The crowd's reaction to your beautiful wife's ordeal would settle that question forever. The auctioneer displayed not only her body but also her personality, and, at the crack of the whip, she was commanded to laugh, sing, cry, pout, smile, giggle, blush, and even masturbate. Her commitment to excellence was obvious, and she showed more of herself in those few minutes on the block than most men see of their wives in fifty years of marriage. The crowd was large and vocal, and, as she was led from the block, your wife seemed quite shell-shocked. She seemed to be puzzled by her new status, and, as the blacksmith bolted the shackles to her wrists and ankles, she protested that we had "auctioned her like an animal." Of course we had. An animal she was, and we chained her behind the camels and donkeys we had purchased at the market and paraded her back to His Majesty's palace. She hadn't recognized me at the market, but she certainly recognized the huge gates of the palace. It was enormously entertaining to watch her beautiful face register first the joy of recognition, and then the fear of what her purchase might mean. She was treated extremely well during her stay with us. She was a featured performer whenever Westerners visited the palace, and on many occasions had the opportunity to dance before friends, subordinates, and business rivals. I can still picture your wife, her nipples hardening in the breeze, her breasts swaying and bobbing to the beat of the music, the lips of her shaved sex glistening though her translucent harem pants, as she danced for our pleasure. Despite her obvious humiliation at being forced to perform for the entertainment of people who had known her in her profession, none of the spectators, friend or foe, ever objected to her performance. Indeed, everyone seemed to be highly amused by her humiliation. "She doesn't look so haughty now." "Little slut! I can see the whip marks on her bottom. It's good to see her getting what she deserves." "Poor little Debbie! Are those big nasty Arabs spurting into your prissy little mouth?" I suspect your wife's obvious arousal extinguished whatever sympathy her helplessness generated. Despite her beet red face, her juices dribbled down her thighs, and it was never long before her transparent pants pasted themselves to her sex. No one voiced any objection at her plight. The main difference was that her friends were merely amused, while her enemies and (former) subordinates were always anxious to fuck her. His Majesty has never refused a guest, and thus neither did your wife. No matter how despised, fat, or grotesque the man or woman was, your wife always performed, and performed well. She was rewarded for her service. After only three months in the harem, she was given the honor of forever wearing the royal brand. The lovely and intricate royal crest -- a stylized lotus -- will forever mark her as a possession of His Majesty. Branding is generally done with the girl under anesthesia. Given your wife's well-known penchantfor cutting costs, however, I decided that such a frivolous expenditure was unnecessary. Besides, how could she fully appreciate the honor if she was unconscious? It was a wise decision. She was certainly excited by it all, and, during the ceremony, nearly chewed through the thick rubber bit that had been placed between her teeth. Speaking of bits, shortly after the branding I arranged yet another honor for your lovely wife when I transferred her into the Royal stables. I don't think she appreciated it at first; indeed, I'll never forget the look of humiliation in her eyes as the stable lad fitted her with a steel bit. But, with a little encouragement from the whip, your wife was soon winning races for His Majesty's colors. As you know, arranging your wife's release has been difficult. Shortly after her arrival, she "voluntarily" relinquished her United States citizenship. Since she is in fact not a citizen of our country either, but is instead classified as livestock, I have arranged for her to be sent to the United States under the Farm Produce Act. The cage containing your wife will be unloaded at Dulles Airport in Washington, and, after three weeks in the quarantine kennel, she will be released into your custody. It is important to note, however, that her stay may be revoked at any time if she fails to obey the following rules: 1) She must never again hold a job, or be allowed to possess anything of value, even pocket change. 2) She must never attempt to obtain any form of identification. Her brand and your livestock permit, which we have translated into English, will identify her henceforth. 3) Your wife is still His Majesty's possession, first and foremost, and as such will be expected to perform for and service on demand the Arab Club your local college, as well as any other Arabs that group finds appropriate. The group will periodically check on her at your home, and will discipline her if she misbehaves. If you find any of these terms objectionable, we will solve the problem by extraditing her back to His Majesty's harem. I am sorry if a cultural misunderstanding over your wife's negotiating tactics has caused you any distress, but I am certain that you share my relief that the matter has been satisfactorily resolved. I trust the financial settlement enclosed will more than compensate you for the loss of your wife's income. And I hope that her new submissive attitude, the many tricks she has learned in the harem, and the knowledge that you may, with a phone call, return her to the harem, will make living with her more pleasant than it has been in the past. Thank you, kind sir, for your time and patience in this matter. Res Waddoo First Secretary to His Majesty, King Achmed IV Edited by C. Lakewood