Date: Thu, 05 Feb 2004 23:43:24 +0000
From: Gerry Taylor <gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Dahran Way - Chapter 14 - Gay - Authoritarian

This is the fourteenth chapter ex twenty two of a novel about slavery and
gay sex.

Keywords: authority, control, loyalty, slavery, punishment, re-training,
submission, gay, sex

This story is entirely a work of fiction and all rights to it and its
characters are copyright, and private to and reserved by the author. No
reproduction by anyone for any reason whatsoever is permitted.

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The Dahran Way

Chapter 14 The importance of control

 Shariff Khan

One of the advantages of having a large body of just under six hundred
slaves, who are naked at all times is that it is quite easy to observe,
which of them are well endowed genitally. That endowment may either be in
the girth of the penis, or in its length.

There are all sorts of wild exaggerations as to the sizes of the adult
male's genitals, but statistically speaking only one in five has
anything to write home about, if slaves were allowed to write home that
is, either as to the girth or length of their cocks when flaccid.
Perhaps, another fifth might have something to boast about when erect,
but that is another matter.

We have each slave's measurements in the database, so when I asked Ben
Trant, my secretary, to get me a list of all, who had a penis diameter of
two inches or more and a length of over eight inches, he produced two
lists of over a hundred such slaves. That was far too many for the
purposes of what I had in mind.

I then asked for a common list of those with a cock of two inches in
diameter and nine inches in length. The list dropped to sixty one slaves,
including three Swedes. Never let it be said that the extra inch does not
count! I also noticed that over twenty of these slave were former EU
prisoner slaves themselves, who had been framed for crimes, or where
miscarriages of justice had occurred.

I remember quite well the morning after first inspection in the
courtyard, when these sixty one slaves were told to remain behind and a
new training procedure for future incoming slaves was explained to them.

Dumi Bod, as stables manager at the Lime Palace, explained in both
Arabic and English in case of any doubt, what was involved though not
necessarily every day. There was a spontaneous cheering with some slaves
punching the air in approval of the suggestion.

It was also stressed to the slaves that if they did not want to be
involved in this procedure they did not have to be and about one in ten
told Dumi private that they did not want to be considered.

However, I have never known a slave, who did want to participate to
excuse himself, or ever to be unavailable when called upon to provide
this particular training service. It was one of the very few areas where
the slaves of my Palaces, who are not assistant overseers or overseers
have an actual choice in matters.

I also had Dumi tell the three Swedes present, to discuss the matter
among themselves and their colleagues, if they wanted to participate in
this project -- they being, after all, Gustav Ahlson's slaves and not
technically mine to order about, though by coming to the Lime Palace they
were agreeing to the duties of the Palace.

I was not surprised when the following day I was informed that the
original list was ninety per cent intact and these slaves were available
for the new duties, if and when called.

Apart from the use of our senses as human beings and our minds as
intelligent beings, one of the most basic enjoyments of the human being
is what nowadays is called sex.

Sex can take on a real dimension, or an imagined one. It can be a solo
flight of masturbation, or a shared minimum activity with one or more
persons of mutually jacking off, or a maximum mind-blowing and
body-exhausting limit-touching session, but what must be stated very
clearly, few persons will avoid sex deliberately when offered it in
appropriate conditions.

The vast majority of my slaves at the Palaces are neither gay nor
bisexual, but they do have sexual healthy appetites, which must be
accommodated. I have determined as their Master that to deprive them of
sex would not only be inhuman and in a way cruel -- but that it would be
positively dangerous.

A Master has every right as a Master to be both inhuman and cruel, if he
so wishes, but he is foolhardy if he engages in a long-term practice,
which may be, not just simply negatively dangerous, but as I say
positively dangerous inviting and courting disaster.

I am convinced that sex will out, that sex will always find a way to be
had, or to be expressed. I am also convinced that my slaves, were they
back in their own countries with their wives, or partners, or girlfriends
would be having regular sex several times a week and would never cease to
have it as opportunities arose inside, or outside marriage, or
partnerships.

That arrangement is not possible at my Palaces and to create that
bonding, which I consider very important in the long-term, each slave
must have a minimum of sex with a buddy, who will either jack him off, or
suck him off in the showers each morning and on their pallet beds each
night. That is the minimum.

After that their imagination is the limit, with many engaging in oral
sex, sucking their buddy off and licking and touching the buddy's body.
Though I have never asked for a statistic on it, a definite minority
engage in long-term penetrative activity.

However, each slave knows that he can change a buddy at the end of
thirty days without having to give any explanation and if a dominant
partner has been too dominant or demanding, he most likely will find
himself very quickly without a buddy and find that he is being given one,
not of his choice.

So at the end of the day, a sort of balance is achieved -- at least for
thirty days each time.

What however is very clear from years of experience with slaves and
their training is that basic sexual orientation is never changed be it
straight, gay, or bisexual. What does change is that a majority of
slaves, who have never ever seriously considered a second option of gay,
or bisexual activity have it given to them on a plate.

I have never ever heard of complaints of too much sex after training and
particularly, when the training in sexual techniques with Frank Kovacs is
over from anyone, of any sexual persuasion. At times, those, who are
definitely straight have murmured what they would not give for a woman to
be around, but this is said in the same breath as they would say of soft
drugs, a slug of alcohol, or a drag on a cigarette.

The long and short of this discussion with this group of slaves was that
a panel was created, who would be called in rotation as required at the
Lemon Palace compounds.



After work at the Bank one Wednesday, I had Faisal drive me to the
Speciality Supermarket as it is called, downtown in the capital city,
which is run by a Pakistani called Shariff Khan. He does a surprising
amount of business, in that and another two sideline ventures of which I
know. I do know, because he has his accounts at the Bank.

My purchases previously had been reasonably modest at his slave
paraphernalia shop and in the buying of slave biscuits and supplies. He
has special offers on from time to time, but these I usually ignore, but
have always availed of his quantity discounts by buying the slave
biscuits by the quarter ton. A slave biscuit is fresh for about a week
and slaves appreciate a fresh one, much more than one as hard as a rock.

Now I needed a considerable amount of items for five compounds, if they
were to be properly equipped. Greg and Jess and Niko and Rob had given me
a tentative list of purchases to end all lists. Restraints, spreader bars
for legs, canes, butt-plugs in all sizes, mouth-spreaders, conical-gags,
ball-gags, blindfolds, five large heavy tables with contraptions to fix
bodies and heads for oral sex and anal sex training and a complete
outfitting for retraining room number three, to be inaugurated next to
the compounds on the grounds of the future Lemon Palace.

For all its strange products, the supermarket is very much like a rather
large ordinary store with its aisles and products on display. The only
two real differences are that each shopper, such as I on this occasion,
does not have a trolley, but rather a personal shopping assistant -- a
PSA as they are called, who walks discretely some two or three paces
behind.

`Ah! three-foot camel-canes. I'll take a dozen of these.'

No sooner said, than the item is inputted by your PSA into a handheld
mini-computer, which is radio-connected to a personal monitor in the
storeroom, where I was assured, no sooner was my order coded-in than the
items were being taken down from the racks, stacked and packaged for me.

The second difference and if it were not true, it would be funny, is
that the prospective purchaser can try out the intended purchase there
and then.

Although this had been said to me on my first visit, it had not really
sunk in as there were few in the store at the time and I had been
purchasing slave biscuits, common or garden Velcro strips and alligator
clips and bars and so on.

On this occasion, I picked up what was clearly a ball-gag for inserting
into a mouth. They all seemed to be of the same hard rubber ball size,
but I could not quite figure out the strap arrangement, which was
attached to the ball.

`Master, let me show you how it works,' my PSA said, snapping his
fingers at a slave, who stepped out as if by magic from behind and
between two sections of the shelving. I noticed that he was a slave
immediately by the GPS bracelet on his right ankle -- despite a very
flimsy and almost transparent pairs of shorts, which he was wearing.

As the PSA had the ball-gag in his hand, it was clear to the slave that
this was the item requiring a demonstration. The slave, who looked East
European by his fair hair and cheekbones, immediately knelt down between
the PSA and myself and opened his mouth.

The PSA slipped in the ball-gag and the slave `modelled' it in his
mouth, moving his head from side to side with his lips wide open to show
the position and size of the ball-gag in the mouth.

The PSA then slipped the strap arrangement over the slave's head and
once he had done that I could see immediately how the leathers straps
fell into place. He tightened them slightly with a key. The slave again
`modelled' the item in its tightened present state. Some more twists of
the key and the ball-gag was firmly in place, causing the slave to
grimace severely.

`Would the Master like to see it fully tight?' the PSA enquired.

The Master did not and indicated its loosening on the slave's head, who
took the ball out of his mouth, but did not return it to the shelf.

Seeing the question in my face, the PSA second-guessed it by saying
`The item will be washed, Master, before being put back on display.'

I nodded to the PSA and said, `I shall take twenty' and reaching out I
smiled and patted the slave, still on his knees, on his head, `Well
done.'

The slave positively beamed and I got the impression that he was not
thanked a lot in that establishment.

We went on to the next aisle. I could not believe the volume and variety
of items on display. There were usually only two or three items of each
type, such was their number. I stopped at one stand, which was of
thumbscrews.

`Does the Master wish to test one? The latest type in Czech stainless
steel is quite the rage.'

I took one up and found it to be quite heavy. My mannequin slave had
appeared again and was holding out his left thumb to the PSA. I noticed a
mark or something on the back of the slave's second thumb joint and
putting out my hand I took his thumb between my fingers. My finger barely
touched the middle of the second thumb joint when the slave gasped in
pain. The thumbscrew had been used on him frequently before.

I took thumbscrew in my right hand and inserted my left thumb. I
gestured the slave towards the screw on top of it He looked at the PSA in
fear, asking with his eyes what he was to do. I wiggled my thumb and
waved it at him again. He slipped on the thumbscrew and gave it one twist
and stepped back.

`How many times is the thumbscrew twisted? I asked the PSA.

`Up to six times, Master. But please be careful.'

I pointed at my thumb again to the slave, who swallowed and gave it
another twist. The screw was now firmly pressed on my thumb but not
painfully so. I wiggled it at the slave, who again was swallowing and
blinking his eyes. He twisted it a third time and pain shot up through my
hand. He saw my reaction and went to release it.

`Again,' I said.

He took my hand in his and I could feel him trembling, he gave the
thumbscrew a fourth twist and pain as I never ever felt it swept up my
arm and left my hand a mass of screaming nerve endings.

Both the PSA and the slave saw my reaction and when I hissed `enough,'
the slave quickly gave a reverse turn. The pain was gone in a thrice and
the stainless steel screw was in his hand.

I looked at the back of my thumb joint and touched the rising bruise;
again, pain shot up my arm. I wondered how many times a day the slave was
tested with thumbscrews at level four and beyond.

I took a half a dozen of them.

The bulk of my other purchases were less exotic and I only had the
mannequin slave test a training table for me, which had various ingenious
pressure pedals, which raised and lowered sections of it. Once the slave
was firmly attached to it by Velcro straps, some of these positions the
PSA put him through looked painful if those positions were to be held for
a long time and nothing else done on the body of the restrained slave.

I wisely decided that I had tested enough things for one day in the
store.

Shariff Khan was positioned at what, in another supermarket, would have
been the tills. Here, however, it was a series of small tables and sofas,
where the PSA confirmed the list of items and their quantity, while
refreshments were offered. The final bill came to just under fifty
thousand euro. I had come prepared with some drafts as I had thought, in
fact, that the total might have been more.

`A sizeable purchase, Sir Jonathan. If any item is not to your total
satisfaction, there is a thirty-day window in which to return it.'

`Thank you, Shariff. Yes, a lot of items. A retrainer's work is never
done.'

Two slaves with their Master at the next sofa looked up sharply in fear,
when they heard the word `retrainer.'

`But your staff are admirable. I even was able to test one or two of
the items on a slave.'

`Yes, Sir Jonathan. I saw. If you were to have come next week, we would
have the new slaves in for testing.'

`New slaves?'

`Yes, Sir Jonathan, I change the testing slaves every two months. Their
buttocks get accustomed to being beaten every day and do not jump around
as much when a good camel-cane beating is being delivered by a Master or
a Mistress for that matter.'

`And the slave today?'

`Jan? I shall sell him next week at the auction house when buying the
new ones.'

I really do not know why I said it, but I asked Shariff what price he
would be looking for the slave.

`I got him two months ago, Sir Jonathan, for eighteen thousand. I will
be happy to get the same. He really has no great qualities or training
other than having a pleasant personality and he has been thoroughly
beaten by customers that much I can tell you.'

`Will you sell him to me?'

`Now, Sir Jonathan?'

`Now. Eighteen thousand. He may be of use to me.'

`Agreed. My pleasure, Sir Jonathan.'

As I pulled out another bank draft, Shariff Khan called over my PSA and
spoke rapidly in what I took to be Urdu.

`Just a moment, Sir Jonathan and I shall have my son get you a bill of
sale and the slave's folder,' he said and the PSA sped off in search of
documentation.

While I was finishing a glass of rather insipid white wine, I realised
the testing slave was now beside me, kneeling on the floor. He seemed to
be able to appear and disappear at will.

`Do you speak English or Arabic?'

`A little bit of English and some words of Arabic, Master.'

`Your name is Jan?'

`Yes, Master. Jan Korda.'

`Do you know why you have been called?'

`No, Master. Young Master Khan said to kneel beside you. That he had to
get something. I am sorry, Master, when I displease you.'

`Displease me, Jan? You have not displeased me. I have bought you. You
are now my slave.'

I thought that might have eased whatever tension was in the blond slave,
but it seemed to increase it.

`What is the matter with you?'

`Young Master Khan says, you are the retrainer and will retrain me
better. You buy me to retrain me? I am sorry, Master, when I displease
you.'

I was not getting through here somehow, but I was saved further talk by
the arrival of Shariff Khan and the PSA, who I now could see had a
resemblance to his father.

`Here are your invoices, Sir Jonathan, and the folder on the slave.
Your purchases will be delivered this evening to the Lime Palace. It is a
true pleasure doing business with you.'

The two Khans followed me to the door of the shop and they indicated to
the slave to walk behind me and out to the car. As I got into the
limousine, they seemed, from the angle I caught of their faces, a little
surprised that I beckoned the slave to get onto the floor in the back and
not into the boot.

Jan Korda sat on the floor hunkered down on his thighs. His hair was
blond and down to his ears, short but tidy. His upper body was
underdeveloped and as I glanced at his file, I saw that he had been a
porter in a hotel in Ljubljana for four years, was single and unattached.

I motioned him close and ran my hands up his arms and around the back of
his neck.

`Turn,' I said, indicating with my fingers what I wanted. He twisted
around and his back was to me. I ran my hand down his back. Just under
the skin, there where multiple ridges of hardened flesh. You have to know
what you are feeling for. He had been beaten a fair bit on his back.

I slipped my right hand down inside the elastic of the almost
transparent shorts he was wearing. If he had been beaten on his back, he
had been doubly beaten on his buttocks. There were ridges upon ridges of
welts there.

`Turn.'

He turned. He was not trembling, his eyes blinking.

`My name is Jonathan Martin.'

I repeated the name slowly for him, which he repeated with accents in
the wrong places.

`Master, are you the retrainer?

I looked at him. Well-trained slaves are not supposed to ask questions.

`Is that important to you?'

`Yes, Master.'

`Why?'

`The retrainer...' and he made a scissors sign and pointed toward his
balls in the shorts.

Ah, the wicked, wicked things that are said of me as a retrainer. As of
yet, I have only had four slaves half-gelded. But I supposed that news
would have spread like wildfire among slaves, who had gossiped with
others.

`Take off your shorts,' and in case he had not understood, I mimicked
what I wanted.

The slave fearfully slipped them off. A short treasure trail of navel to
pubic hair led down to a fine bush of dark blond pubes. His penis was
small. Well, admittedly the cold air was on in the limousine and would
have shrivelled much larger organs.

I motioned him closer. He approached an inch. I motioned him closer
again. Again, another inch. This was going to take all afternoon. I
reached out and placed my hands on his balls, which were soft and small
and warm.

Jan Korda closed his eyes and his lips were moving.

`What are you doing?'

`I am praying, Master, you no cut my balls.'

`I cut the balls off bad slaves, Jan. Do you understand?'

He nodded.

`Are you a bad slave?'

`No, Master, I am a good, good slave.'

`Secondly, I only cut big balls off slaves and your balls are very,
very small. Are they not?'

`Yes, Master, very, very small.'

I could not help but smile at him and for the second time in our
acquaintanceship, I thought I saw a flicker of gratitude.

`Show me your thumb,' I said indicating his hand. He did not seem to
understand the word, so I indicated again.

He produced his hand very slowly and gave it to me. I put his thumb in
my mouth and started to lave it with my lips and tongue. He was kneeling
transfixed there. I changed the angle of his hand so that it was at right
angles to my face and the thumb was sliding in and out of my lips. Every
so often, Jan would open his mouth and breathe deeply, as if a little of
the hurt was dissipated.

I was doing this for some minutes, when he took the thumb of my left
hand put it in his mouth and started to do the same to me. We would have
continued like this for some time, but tears started to run down Jan
Korda's cheeks.

`Am I hurting you?' I asked in surprise.

`No, Master,' he said, taking my thumb out of his mouth, `you are the
first person to be...to be gutig to me in a long time.'

Ah! He must have learned some German in school. I was being kind to him.

I looked at him and wondered how he had come to end up as a slave in
Dahra and why in heaven's name I had bought him. It was not for his
tackle that was for sure.

He placed his head on my thigh and it lay there for the remainder of the
duration of our trip to the Lime Palace and as I stoked his blond head of
hair in a half-distracted manner, I continued to ask my myself one of
life's great imponderable questions, `why?'

End of chapter 14

To be continued...