Date: Sun, 15 Jan 2006 17:56:47 +0000
From: Gerry Taylor <gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Dahran Sands - Chapter 15 - Gay -  Authoritarian

The Dahran Sands by Gerry Taylor

This is the fifteenth chapter [ex twenty two] of a novel about gay sex
and present-day slavery.

Keywords: authority, control, gay, loyalty, slavery, punishment,
retraining, sex, submission

This novel, The Dahran Sands, is the eighth novel in the Dahran series

If you are underage to read this kind of material or if it is unlawful
for you to read such material where you live, please leave this webpage
now.

=============

The Prison Doctor and The Changed Life [the first novel of this series]
are now available as full novels in Adobe Acrobat format on
http://www.geocities.com/gerrytaylor_78/

===========



Chapter 15 -- The slave's punishment

    The existence of the sea means the existence of pirates.

    (Malay proverb)



  When Dr. Miraldo Coelho presented me in his office with the medical
files, I was not a happy camper. The first unopened file was that of my
rapist. The others were of slaves who had been treated for badly bruised
back passages or who had even required stitches.

  `How are you feeling today, Jonathan?' he had asked upon my arrival
as I undressed to let him examine me again.

  `It hurts less. I did not sleep well though. I should probably go to
bed early again tonight.'

  I had awakened in the early hours bathed in sweat, my mind reeling
after a disturbing vision of being encased in ice crystals, feeling them
melt from the heat of my body, the water of the `Antarctic'  entering
my nose and mouth. Lying awake I had waited for the panic to subside, and
had only fallen asleep again as grey twilight announced the morning.

  Miraldo had confirmed that the bruises still looked ugly, but that the
healing process was underway, and applied a salve.

  As I sat across from the young Brazilian doctor, I just looked at the
unopened files.

  `I can leave you, if you wish, Jonathan, while you read them.'

  `There is no possibility of a mismatch on this one,' I said and laid
my hand on the first file.

  `Fortunately no, when you read three of the other files, you will see
why I say `fortunately' and not `unfortunately'. The DNA matches. It
is quite fortuitous that Yves is doing his research because the normal
official slave files don't yet include DNA. Physical characteristics,
blemishes, scars, tattoos, yes, but generally not yet DNA. Our Palace
files now do so as a matter of course.'

  Yves Fournier is technically Miraldo's boss at the Palace, but the two
work hand in glove and as Miraldo loves the clinical work of the daily
surgeries, he leaves Yves to his research.

  I opened the first slave's file and a stranger looked up at me from
the colour photos. I breathed a sigh of relief. In one way, it was not a
slave that I knew intimately or well, though he now knew me both
intimately and well.

  Yes, I did know him in that I had bought him at al-Qatim with three
others when the Lime Palace needed more field hands. I did not ever
remember having spoken to him, nor having seen him in a line-up asking
for anything or saying anything to me.

  I looked at his standard photos and my eyes were riveted on his erected
penis. All ten inches of it. All two and half inches of its diameter. All
eight inches of its circumference. And that had been inside me, again and
again and again.

  The eyes that looked out at me were in neutral, neither frightened nor
weak, nor strong nor hostile. Just neutral. I looked at his data, 32
years old, divorced when lifted, a former security guard. His name was
Nick Willet. I looked at his muscles and shoulders and the visible
strength of his arms and I stopped any blame inside me that might have
arisen of self-recrimination for not having resisted more quickly or more
forcibly. There was no way that I would have been a match for him, from
the front, from the rear or from any side. When I perused further and saw
`karate and weights' under former `hobbies and activities,' it became
a definite `mismatch'.

  Of the other folders, I only knew one of the slaves, a Fausto Lopes, a
Portuguese double murderer, whom I had transferred to the Lime Palace to
assist in sex technique training because his body was so sensitive to
touch.

  I always remember Ben Trant's and more recently Dmitri Solidiuk's --
him of the combed pubes -- statement how important it is for a slave that
the Master remembers the slave's name. In fact, if the truth be told, I
know about a hundred by name between the three Palaces and the opal mine.
The other nine hundred or so are indeed faces for whom I do not have a
name except in a file or with a file before me to remind me.

  Miraldo had helped himself to a glass of water and was sipping it as he
waited for me to finish glossing over the files. It was only when I was
finishing reading the last file that I spotted the connection that
Miraldo had discovered, and I backtracked through the others.

  Three of the slaves who had been treated for anal injuries had been
buddies at one time or another of my rapist. None had lasted more than
three months with him as a buddy. Where the rough sex had stopped and
rape had begun was a debatable and moot point. There were other slaves
who had been unlucky in their choice of a vigorous partner or some sex
play had been rougher than expected. Nick Willet however seemed to hold
the record in abusing his sex companions as far as the sheer extent of
physical damage went.

  Four other interesting cases caught my eye, which struck me as similar
to my own experience. According to the doctor's notes, the slaves had
been assaulted and overpowered by an unknown perpetrator. In other
circumstances and locations, it would have been also called rape, but in
Dahran law, slaves are property and you cannot rape property only people,
but by a quirk of Dahran law slave property can rape a free man, as one
had done to me.

  One thing was certain; whoever was responsible had wanted a victim, not
a willing partner. The attacker had chosen locations where a struggle and
cries for help would most likely go unnoticed. I noted down the dates,
times, buildings, and the slave identification numbers of the four.

  One, in the Lime Palace garage, had received a blow on the head, had
been grabbed and thrown on the floor. Another had walked into a storeroom
around midday, where someone had put a sack over his head to muffle his
screams and take away his vision, and fucked him until he was bleeding.
The other two attacks had happened in the Lime Palace sauna too.

  I had asked Stan Mercer to have one of his maintenance crew check the
lights in the sauna, and he reported back to me that two of the bulbs had
been taken out of their sockets and merely left intact on the floor
underneath the pine benches. He started to apologise for the lack of
maintenance. But I knew the attacker had planned his move well.

  I put down the files and looked at Miraldo.

  `Thank you. It makes me wonder how many other cases we may not know
about.'

  `Not so many perhaps. If a slave is bruised or otherwise hurt, the
others tend to notice. All the other cases I have treated were
authorised.'

  `Authorised?'

  `Usually post-retraining checkups; Yves told me early on that the
trainers are authorised to use anal penetration.'

  `That is correct.'

  My retrainers have permission to use dildos or their own cocks as tools
for breaking a slave into submission, or for reminding a recalcitrant
slave of the power his Master has over him.

  `Then sometimes I treat a slave who has been taken by an Overseer who
wants to get his point across. Of course, if it's not their buddy but an
Overseer, they can't choose someone else. If a slave has been badly
bruised I call in the Overseer in question and give him a warning. It's
not like the slaves can ask them to lay off.'

  `They can't?'

  `Well, they can ask of course. I think they prefer not to.'

  `My Overseers are all supposed to have taken sex technique classes,'
I pointed out crossly.

  `I am sure they have, Jonathan, but I assume the purpose is not always
to pleasure the slave on the receiving end.'

  I could see where he was coming from. An Overseer may have sex with an
ordinary slave for mutual enjoyment. And he has the privilege use him for
his own enjoyment, without asking what the slave wants. Or he may use sex
as a means to an end, driving home the message of obedience. In which
case, the slave practices submitting to sexual activities. An exercise of
the submission expected of him in every area, every day.

  `Yes, that is true. But I don't want the slave to get damaged in the
process. Bruises from sex heal as do bruises from flogging, but anal
injuries are dangerous. You are right to have the Overseers on the carpet
when it happens. I am beginning to see, Miraldo, why none of those slaves
came to me to complain. I once had a slave punished because he hit one
and choked another during sex, but that was long before your time and
long before I acquired most of the slaves I own now.'

  `I think a slave finds it hard to draw the line or set limits at all.
He has been trained to accept absolutely anything. He knows that his sex
life is not his choice. He knows that he has no say in what happens to
his body. What if he makes a bad impression? What if he is considered
defiant and uncooperative, in need of relearning submission?'

  `You mean, better to hold one's tongue than to risk ending up
strapped to a table in the fifth compound.'

  `Yes... I believe it is self-evident that a trained slave does not
complain.'

  This struck me as sweeping generalisation. But then I asked myself,
when really had any slave ever come to me to complain about anything even
remotely close to this?

  I gathered up the papers.

  `True. Well, should there be any more anonymous attacks I want you to
inform me right away. If you have to treat what in your judgement is
serious damage resulting from anything else other than a formal training
or punishment situation, I want you to issue a warning to the slave who
was responsible whether buddy or Overseer. If it happens repeatedly send
them to me. I'll deal with our most acute problem now. I'll hold on to
these three files and this top file. Remind me at some stage to give them
back to you.'

  Miraldo nodded.

  `Come to see me again tomorrow please, Jonathan.'

  `I will, Miraldo. I can hardly miss my doctor's appointments when I
employ the doctors, can I?'



  In some countries, rape is punishable as the second most serious crime
after murder. My mind was clear as to the options I had as regards this
slave. My rights over him were absolute. He posed no immediate physical
threat now to me, but he did pose a threat to my standing as his owner
and a future threat to my own slaves. I could have him put down by
calling in the Dahran exectioner, but that option I never seriously
considered. Revenge is a dish best served cold, and that slave would rue
the day he ever attacked me, and that regret would continue until the day
he died, whenever in the distant and painful future his death occurred.

  I told Miraldo Coelho of my proposals for the slave and asked him if he
had any moral or ethical difficulties with them.

  `None whatsoever, Jonathan. None whatsoever,' he said as I saw him to
the door.



  I went back to my study and re-read each of the files. I laid one
aside. Referring to the notes I had made, I logged into the Palaces'
internal surveillance system and searched the backup records. Jens, the
slave in charge of my computers, had a very easy to follow system for
checking such matters. Satisfied with my findings, I called in Ben and
told him to have a specific slave found and arrested.

  I had never had a slave arrested before.  If Ben was surprised he did
not show it, but merely departed immediately on his errand.



  I must have stared at the walls and paintings of the study for over
half an hour, when Ben returned and informed me, `Master, the slave is
in the holding cell as you ordered.'

  We have a number of actual prison-like cells off one of the slave
dormitories for emergencies. I dismissed Ben and walked over to the
cells.



  Jess Tollman was waiting for me at the door as per my previously
relayed instructions by Ben Trant.

  `He is ready, Boss, as ordered,' he said as he let me in.

  I nodded to him as he held the door open for me and went inside where
Greg Logan, my assistant retrainer, was waiting for me. This was one of
his days back from his on-going project in the opal mine.

  Greg was standing `at rest', and merely said, `Boss.'

  The well-muscled slave was spread-eagled against a wall of the cell by
short chains to his wrists and ankles. A ball-gag had been inserted into
this mouth and was strapped and locked behind his neck. He was staring at
me as I came in. His eyes were blinking in fear.

  `That's all for the moment, Greg. Check that Dr. Coelho is ready and
have Jess on hand outside.'

  `Yes, Boss,' Greg confirmed and he exited the cell area.



  Nick Willet's fingers were curling and relaxing in reflex actions
against his chains.

  I remembered the sensation of being trapped, the pressure on my neck,
his strength holding me down as I vainly strained to escape the pain of
his brutal penetration. I felt no pity for this slave, just contempt.

  `You have raped or sexually assaulted at least six slaves.'

  I saw confusion in the slave's eyes. I could see his mind at work. I
was talking about slaves, not about myself. He was thinking, hoping
perhaps, that I had not made the link between what had happened to me in
the sauna and the other slaves.

  `You are a rapist who has deliberately planned your attacks on some
slaves. You have sexually assaulted the buddies I have given you or
allowed you to have. Today, justice, my justice as caught up with you.'

  The slaves eyes were so wide the whites were huge.

  `You pose a threat to my authority, because around here I decide who
does what to whom. You pose a threat to everyone's safety, because you
don't care whether your victim survives or not. I don't mind relying on
fear, but fear has failed in your case. Neither your training at
al-Qatim, nor in my compounds, nor the bracelet on your ankle deterred
you and caused you enough fear to stop your actions. What training or
threats can I add? You knew what you risked when hurting and almost
killing a victim. It is my responsibility to protect my other slaves from
you. I don't want to risk having you attack anyone here again.'

  I had not referred once to myself nor even hinted that I knew him to be
my attacker in the sauna.

  I waited. There was nothing to hear except the air-conditioning, my
breathing, his breathing. His chains made him like Leonardo da Vinci's
`universal man' with arms and legs outstretched to the limits of a
wider circle. I observed the play of his rippling stomach muscles. Fear
does interesting things to the body's musculature.

  His expression now showed that he realised that I truly knew who he was
and he cried out into his gag. It was muffled beyond recognition, but the
plea of the repeated word `mercy!' might just as well been on speakers.

  I did not answer his plea.

  I stood up.

  `When you immediate punishment is complete, you will be put on a
water-wheel for the rest of your life in my service as a slave.'

  The former Michigan security guard looked nervous and like some who get
nervous, he was getting an erection. I went over to him and cupped his
testicles. They seemed to be filling the scrotum to capacity giving it a
dark purple look, and I noted that the testicles were almost rock hard.

  It occurred to me that the slave must not have come in some time or
else he had an extra high sperm production facility in this balls. As I
took the shaft of his dark-coloured cock in my hand, he began to tremble
at the sexual nature of the touch. His circumcised cock was now totally
hard and stretched to almost ten inches in length. The top two inches
from the deep suculus behind the glands where his foreskin had been long
ago removed and the skin down the top of his shaft was of a lighter
colour to the rest of the shaft.

  When my fingers touched the tip of his glans, there was a viscous
almost oil thick precum oozing from the urethra, and as I touched it, I
could see that the slave's splayed legs, three feet apart at the ankles,
were shaking. Quite definitely the slave had not come in some time.

  Without warning, and trying to turn his hips to one side so that I
would not be sprayed, Nick Willet's cock erupted and shot spurt after
spurt of thick white cum shot across the room. The furthest splatter on
the floor was all of four feet away, but at least three shots had hit my
shirt and trousers.

  Fear indeed does some strange thing to slaves about to be punished.



  Jess Tollman and Greg Logan were waiting outside. They seemed to have
been chatting and catching up. Upon spotting my demeanour, they froze on
seeing my cum-spattered clothes. They put their hands `at rest' behind
their backs and turning fully towards me, they awaited my orders.

  `Take the slave across to Dr. Coelho. He's waiting for him. I shall
be there presently. I need a change of clothes.'

  `Yes, Boss,' both said.



  For free people consent forms the dividing line between sexual play and
rape. A free man can be perfectly willing to let himself be physically
overpowered, or if he has an interest in bondage let himself be fucked to
ecstasy in chains. He can find joy in obedience to orders if his mind has
a potential to flourish in submission. If he is masochistic like my
neighbour's son and occasional play partner Amin, he can consent to
skilfully administered pain which under the right circumstances releases
the body's inner drugs and endorphins, while the dominant partner
remains responsible that no grave health-threatening injuries occur.
Among free people, consent and risk-awareness distinguish play from
violence and abuse. Rape among free people is determined by absence of
consent.

  Non-consensual sex, subject to my will and caprices, was part of my
everyday life in Dahra. Slaves, having no rights over their bodies. They
live in an environment where refusal of sexual availability is a
punishable offence. Unlike those free men who have sought affairs with me
by mutual consent and choice, my slaves' wishes ultimately do not count.
Every slave passing through my bedroom has passed through rigorous
obedience training first. Sex with someone who has been legally enslaved
is non-consensual by definition. A slave can certainly be willing to have
sex, and many of my own never cease to charm and delight me with their
willingness. But can a slave give free consent? No! Consent can only be
given persons, not property, by those who are free to choose otherwise.

  Nick Willet had brutally raped me; it was the first time in my life --
and I very much hoped the last time -- that I was subjected sex against
my will. After today, he would never do that again. Of that, I would be
sure.



  As I came down the stairs having changed my cum-stained clothes, Yuriy
Obov, my head of stables at the Aloe Palace, was waiting at the foot of
the stairs for me.

  `Yuriy?'

  `Boss, I was looking for you. There are some slaves outside who want
to talk to you.'

  The furrow on my brow must have alerted him to my annoyance at being
interrupted when deciding the permanent fate of a slave.

  `It's actually, Boss, about Nick Willet.'



  One thing which never ceases to amaze me about the closed slave
environment of my Palaces is the bush telegraph. Something happens at the
far end of the Aloe Palace grounds and in ten minutes every slave between
there and the other end of the Lemon Palace knows the fact.

  It also works the other way round as well. An unfounded or false rumour
can spread even faster, if that is at all possible, as happened once with
a number of slaves who for the strangest of reasons thought they were all
going to be sold, despite my general policy of never selling off slaves.



  I followed Yuriy outside and immediately saw the reason why he had
approached me. Lined up at display were six slaves. What struck me was
how physically alike they were -- about my own height and build to within
a half-inch or half-a-pound weight. When I recognised one, the
recognition of a further three followed immediately in domino effect, and
two I did not immediately recognise.

  `Well, Yuriy?'

  `These slaves, Master, wanted to talk to you before you have Nick
Willet castrated.'

  `Castrated?'

  `It's the rumour, Boss.'

  If he knew what had happened to me, I doubt that he would have brought
these six slaves to speak to me. Only Dr. Coelho knew for a fact that I
had been raped. I was not sure that Konrad and Zenon, the two Polish
slaves who had found me unconscious, had drawn that conclusion. Maybe
they had thought the blood on me on that occasion was all from my head
wound, and not also from a bleeding issuing from my anal passage.

  `How did they hear a slave is to be castrated? I only decided on this
less than an hour ago.'

  `It is all over the Palaces, Boss. They heard that Willett had been
brought to a punishment cell and has now been brought over to Dr.
Coelho.' Yuriy replied. `I told them,' indicating the six slaves in a
row, `not to waste your time. But they insisted in talking to you,
Master, if you would allow it.'

  `Order them `at rest',' and Yuriy gave the command.

  I walked the few paces over to the first slave who was now trembling.

  `You want to interfere in the punishment of a slave? Is it not a
Master's right to punish a slave any way he wishes?'

  `Yes, Master. No, Master. I mean, Master...'

  The first slave was hyperventilating in his fear.

  `Well?'

  `Master, Nick was my buddy for a while. He was a good buddy but very,
very rough. I had to change buddies because after a month, I could not
sit down. But once, his sex is over, Master, he is good and nice and
kind...'

  I put up my hand. A rapist is a rapist. I moved on to the second slave
and the story was much the same. A thought struck me.

  `And where did you have all this sex? Not just in the slave quarters,
I imagine?'

  `Oh no, Master. In all sorts of places. In a water-wheel when it was
going fast. In the sauna..' My blood boiled on hearing those words, but
the slave was in full flow.

  `Even in the back of the Rolls, Master...'

  `What? What? In the back of my car? In the back of the Bank's car?'

  I was livid.

  `Sorry, Master, I am not going to tell you a lie. You asked. We made
sure the Rolls was spotless afterwards.'

  Yes, I did ask. But as I always say and, in this, was now hoisted on my
own petard; you should never ask the question if you cannot live with the
answer.

  Number four slave had also been a buddy and also had had sex with Nick
Willet in the sauna, as indeed had slaves five and six, though they had
not been buddies of this slave.

  `Castration will decrease his inclination for violence.' I stated.

  They were not to know that my solution was not merely a measure of
controlling the slave's aggressiveness, though possibly it would do
nothing to alter his liking for fear. It was a Master's privilege to be
both judge and jury and if needs so were, even executioner, over his
slaves and if that constituted a Master's revenge, then so be it. The
reaction to my statement surprised me. One by one the slaves went on
their knees and asked for mercy for Nick Willet.



  I looked at them on their knees and at the first slave in particular.

  `You do not even know the number of attacks he has carried out on
slaves all over the Palaces.'

  I was distancing my comments as far as possible from the sauna. This
was now not a question of castrating a violent slave and rapist, it was
misdirection to have these slaves, and through them to have the rumour
mill looking as far away from the sauna as a possible location of any
recent attack.

  `I have only started to punish this slave for all his attacks on you
and on unnamed others and I will continue to punish him any way I
please.'

  `Master, rock duty in the fields at the Lemon Palace,' the first
slave suggested.

  `Why are you defending a slave who is little more than a rapist to his
buddies and to other slaves?'

  `Because, Master, if you knew Nick as we do, and if we were in there
in the slave quarters about to be castrated, he would be out here
pleading for mercy for us. That's the type he is.'

  Unfortunately for the speaker, I did know Nick all too well and all too
tragically. I had seen nothing redemptive in him or stated in his file.

  `I am still not convinced.'

  Two of the other slaves looked at each other, and one of them spoke.

  `Master, if I can speak.'

  `What?'

  `Master, if you insist on castrating Nick, just take one of his balls
and take the other ball from anyone of us. We agreed this before coming
here if all else failed.'

  `From which of you, did you say?'

  `From any of us, Master' and looking up and down the line on its
knees, the remaining five slaves nodded their consent.

  I looked over at Yuriy.

  `Yuriy?'

  `Not my call, Boss. Definitely not my call.'

  Looking at the slaves on their knees, I said `I have heard your pleas
for mercy for this slave. I will think about it.'

  I walked across the courtyard leaving Yuriy standing and the slaves
still on their knees. My anger against that Willet had cooled. He was
fortunate in those slaves who loved him. I could not understand how they
could after the roughness of his sex with them. But then, some are into
rough sex. Either none of them had ever spoken to any of the slaves whom
Nick Willed had assaulted and forced, or else they deliberately chose to
ignore the harsh truth.

  Their fuck buddy had violently assaulted and physically damaged others.
Those others, just like me, had received no pleasure, only suffering.
Being the Master and owner of the lot of them, it was my responsibility
to take the entire picture into consideration. The availability of slaves
who were willing to have sex with him had obviously not prevented Nick
Willet from seeking the special thrill of forcing himself on unwilling
victims. He had had ample opportunity for sexual satisfaction. He had had
ample opportunity for rough play with willing sex partners.

  The rapes had provided him with something else. The rush of power. The
taste of fear. The enjoyment of making his victims suffer.



  I walked over to the surgery where Miraldo Coelho was located. Greg and
Jess were standing `at rest' outside the door. Inside there was the
doctor and his Brazilian assistant, Sergio. Nick Willet was strapped into
a heavy dentist-like chair which Miraldo uses for tattoo removals. The
slave's head was strapped to the back of the chair by means of a leather
strap around his forehead. The ball-gag was still in place.

  `Proceed,' I said to Miraldo, who nodded in turn to his assistant.

  The assistant worked a handle on the side of the chair and it went
backwards until the slave was now lying on his back almost parallel to
the floor.

  `Take out the gag,' the doctor ordered and Sergio put his hand around
the back of the neck of the slave and unlocked the gag.

  `Brace,' Miraldo said and the assistant took up a wedge-like
instrument and started to put it into the slave's mouth.

  Nick Willet said only one word of plea, `Master!' and that word was
appropriate as it would be the last he would ever utter.

  Sergio, the doctor's assistant, inserted the wedge and ratcheted it
wider until the slave's jaws were stretched open to the maximum. Taking
up a steel tongs, he inserted them into the slave's mouth and grasping
the slave's tongue, pulled it out -- holding it out with the tongs. The
slave could do nothing but hoarsely gargle, not being able to move a
muscle.

  Dr. Coelho, with a surgical light attached to his forehead, came over
to the prostrate figure and I did not realise that he had an instrument
in his hand by his side until he produced and inserted it down the
slave's throat. Nick Willet's body jerked at the intrusion beyond his
tonsils and down his throat.

  Within ten seconds, the doctor said `done', and Sergio released the
slave's tongue from the tongs, and deftly unratcheted the wedge from his
mouth. The slave was coughing and trying to wet his lips.

  No sound issued from his lips, because Nick Willet was now muted for
life. He would never reveal to anyone his act of rape against his Master,
who was not yet done with him.

  The slave could only look up and at the ceiling of the surgery, so he
could not see what next lay in store from him. His balls looked hard and
swollen. He is one of those slaves who balls never really fall in their
scrotum but are always up tight against the body.

  Miraldo nodded to this assistant who now took what looked like a can of
deodorant off the counter beside him and sprayed it on the slave's balls
which were lying between his splayed legs restrained at both knees and
ankles.

  `Novocain,' Miraldo commented.

  Again, a scalpel was in his hand as if by magic, he looked at me
waiting for my final instruction, `Just one'.

  `Left or right?'

  `Right.'

  The doctor felt the skin of the scrotum around the slave's right ball
and pulled it upwards an inch or so, making a very small incision with
the scalpel. I was surprised that there was little or no blood.

  I was quite fascinated at the procedure of gelding. The doctor squeezed
the slave's right ball out through the small incision. For some reason,
I was expecting it to be the size of a tomato, given the size of the
slave's external scrotum. In fact, it was just the size of a chestnut,
and not even a large one, at that.

  The doctor took a forceps to hold the gonad and with a small cut of the
scalpel cut the seminal vas which would have been the canal for the
slave's seed on its way to his penis. A further cut of tissue attaching
the gonad to the inside of the scrotum and it was lying in a dish,
separated from its former owner. Again, I was amazed, this being the
first removal of a testicle I had witnessed. For some unexplained and
unknown reason, I thought it would have been red. It was white. A
pinkish-white.

  `Now a single suture on the seminal cord, and one...two...on the
scrotum,' the doctor was talking more to him himself and Sergio than to
me, `and he'll be fine in a couple of hours.'

  `Tell Jess and Greg to come in,' I said to the assistant.

  Dr. Coelho had washed his hands and was putting away his instruments.

  My two supervisors came in and I indicated the slave in the chair,
`Take him to furthest water-wheel from the Palaces.'

  `Yes, Boss,' Greg said.

  When the slave was on his feet and being supported by the two
supervisors, I said to him, `your former buddies asked for mercy for
you. That is why you have only lost one ball today. Make sure you give me
no reason to take the other.'

  Nick Willet was in shock. There were tears running down his face. I
don't know if my words then meant anything to him.

  `Take him away,' and nodding my thanks to the doctor, I went out into
the warm evening. I really wanted nothing more to do with a slave like
him.



  The whole episode with Nick Willet and his former buddies had left me
in an unsettled mood and after checking that nothing urgent was waiting
for me in my study, I made my way out to the water-gardens which are
always a source of relaxation to me.

  While the gardens over their many acres are for my personal pleasure,
they are not off-bounds to either Supervisors or slaves. In the evenings
before and after dinner, slaves in particular are to be found wandering
there, especially if they or their buddies have worked at some point on
the gardens previously, they tend to go back to look at the results of
their work. None of the slaves has ever damaged them.  All humans, free
and slave, admire creation in their own ways.



End of Chapter 15



===========

Contact:

e: gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com

w: http://www.geocities.com/gerrytaylor_78/

w: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/erotic_gay_stories