Date: Sun, 18 Jan 2004 17:09:56 +0000
From: Gerry Taylor <gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Dahran Way - Chapter 3 - Gay - Authoritarian

This is the third 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 3 The importance of friendship

          Khalid al-Shaad

 The beauty of Dahra lies not just in its people, who are in the main
Arabs of definite tribal traditions living very firmly in the modern
world, but with millennium historical values in the land they have
inherited and where I have lived at the Aloe Palace, and now at my new
residence -- the Lime Palace.

 My lands and farms are on the western road out of the capital city which
runs about ten miles inland parallel to the coast. My neighbours are farm
owners who live in the main in the capital city, and a regular monthly
source of my income comes from the sale of unlimited supplies of water
from the two freshwater wells on my lands.

 My immediate neighbour to the east of the Aloe Palace was a business
man, Mohamed al-Shaad -- who was chiefly in property in the capital city.
It was never clear to me why he had a farm, which -- although I had never
seen it -- according to the overseers -- was not good nor really
producing crops in any great quantities. And then, I heard that Mohamed
al-Shaad, my neighbour, had died of a heart illness.

 It was some months afterwards that a letter was delivered to the Lime
Palace from his eldest son Khalid al-Shaad requesting to come and see me
at my convenience.

 I had Aziz al-Aziz, my head of household, set up a meeting and suggested
that it actually be a dinner. I had never met the son, that I could
remember, and his father was one of the few of my twenty neighbours who
had never invited me to their home and I realise now that this most
likely was because of his illness.

 The dinner was agreed and Aziz informed me that Khalid had requested his
younger brother come along as well.

 It was a very pleasant dinner. The two sons of my former neighbour were
in their early twenties, were very polite and courteous, not hurrying the
conversation in true Arab and Dahran tradition, nor attempting to get to
the heart of their reason for wanting to meet with me in the first place.

 From my perspective as a stranger in their country, theirs was a typical
Dahran family to them and an untypical family to the European me.

 Their late father according to what I was hearing had had four wives,
three of whom were still alive including their mother, and there were
seven sons, in all, and nine daughters. The two boys at dinner with me
were the eldest and the only children of the first wife.

 I got lost when they said that they had seven uncles and aunts and over
sixty first cousins.

 `A beautiful family,' I commented and continued, `and how can I be of
assistance to the sons of my late friend.'

 The two sons looked at each other and the elder of the two then spoke.

 `Our father always owned and managed property in the capital city and
in later years in al-Qatim. The nett value of the estate at his death
would be around two hundred million euro.'

 I felt that the son was conferring considerable honour on me by
discussing his family's financial position in a world and culture where
actual finances are a secret kept close to the chest.

 `It was my...our father's wish that one day my brother and I would run
his business, and then he became sick two years ago when his heart
problems started. The business has not prospered since then and we must
sell some of the properties to eliminate or at least, to reduce the
outstanding debts. We also wish to dispose of the two farms which our
father owned.'

 The son mentioned a town in the south from which one of his step-mothers
had come where the first of the farms was and the second one was that
which adjoined the Aloe Palace to the east.

 `We spoke with the family's lawyers about the farms and they mentioned
that they also are your lawyers and that we should speak to you first.'

 `What is the size of the farm next door? I do not think I would be
interested in the farm to the south.'

 `It is exactly a thousand hectares, Sir Jonathan.'

 `That is just less than the total size of the Aloe and Lime Palaces at
the moment, about two thousand five hundred acres,' I commented more to
myself than to the Khalid.

 `And have you thought of a price which you would expect?' I asked.

 `We would only ask you to name a fair price, Sir Jonathan. There are no
buildings on the land other than the slave buildings and the warehouse
where the vegetables are stored and packed. It is land on its own. We
realise that without your water, it has little value, but that with your
water, its value is a lot more.'

 `You do realise, Khalid, that my water agreement was with your father.
It would not necessarily extend to others were I not to buy the land and
someone else did.'

 `Two years ago,' I continued, `I bought the land of this Palace,
eight hundred hectares in all, without water, for a million dollars. That
is a thousand two hundred and fifty dollars a hectare. For your land,
without water at the same price, would be one and a quarter million
dollars. However, with water it would be ten times that value, or around
twelve million dollars. If you want, I will make you an offer now of six
million dollars for the land.'

 `Sir Jonathan, that is most generous of you,' the younger brother
blurted out, `Khalid said ...' and then he realised he had said too
much.

 `What did Khalid say?' I laughed as I asked him.

 Khalid was looking at his younger brother somewhat annoyed.

 `Well?'

 `He said, Sir Jonathan, that we would be lucky to get three million.'

 `Khalid speak with the lawyers if your family is happy with the offer.
I would suggest that you also get a separate opinion as our lawyers are
the same firm. But the offer is solid. What has the farm being
producing?'

 `Mostly dates, Sir Jonathan, and some figs,' Khalid answered, `and my
brother and I accept your offer. It is very generous and there will be no
need to consult elsewhere.'

 `May I also suggest, Khalid, that before you dispose of any of your
father's property in the capital city or in al-Qatim, that you talk to
Mr. Ahlson at our Bank, and his people will advise you on the what is
best to do, if you are trying to re-structure or eliminate debt.'

 `Yes, Sir Jonathan, thank you.'

 `Talking of property, what are you going to do with the slaves on the
farm next door?'

 `We shall send them to al-Qatim for next week's auction, Sir
Jonathan.'

 `How many are they?'

 `Two supervisors and twenty seven farm slaves.'

 `Will you sell them to me now?'

 `You have not seen them, Sir Jonathan.'

 `Is it a case that I need to see them, Khalid?' I said laughingly.

 `It is not that, Sir Jonathan. I have not even seen them lately. I do
not know what they are like. I would not know what to ask.'

 `Khalid, a farm slave makes anything from fifteen to twenty thousand
euro, a supervisor a little more. If you want, I shall take the lot of
them for half a million euro, and that will save you the auction fees and
their transport.'

 Khalid looked at his brother, Abu, who nodded, and the deal was done.

 `Now can we continue with our meal and enjoy the dinner.'

 The two young Dahrans seemed to relax, and then Khalid al-Shaad said
something which has always remained with me, `Our father used say, Sir
Jonathan, that good friends were most important. You have been a good
neighbour and a good friend to our father and to our family, and now to
us. That is something we shall not forget.'

 I told them to have the property papers and the slave documents sent
round to be at the Bank for signing and that I would have their cheques
ready for them.

 I was already calling it the Lemon Palace in my mind because of a clump
of knotted desert trees which were growing on the edge of the Aloe Palace
close to the boundary with the al-Shaad property. Aziz, my head of
household, had commented to me once that they were laymum trees, which
would have been the forerunners of the Mediterranean's modern lemon
trees. While these bore no citrus fruit, their light green leaves which
lasted nearly all year round were beautiful, contrasting with the poplars
around the Palace. So, the Laymum or Lemon Palace stuck in time in my
mind as a suitable name.



 I invited the two brothers to stay the night as it was late when the
dinner ended, and while Abu seemed willing to accept, Khalid declined and
the two left.



 As it happened, their late father's property portfolio was solid
according to Gustav and with the disposal of a series of smaller and less
profitable properties, the overall debt would be eliminated in six
months.

 I also received from the brothers a piece of polished black onyx, a
small sculpture really, which still stands on the shelf of my office at
the Bank.

 When the papers and documents of the Lemon Palace were ready for
signing, it was Abu al-Shaad who rang me from our mutual lawyers' office
to tell me.

 `If you tell me when you are at home, Sir Jonathan, it will be my
pleasure to deliver them myself and perhaps, it might be possible to see
your beautiful home. We only really saw very little of it when Khalid and
I had dinner.'

 We agreed the following evening, and Abu al-Shaad arrived punctually.
Seated in the study, I signed the purchase documents on the slaves and
the transfer papers on the property. The cheques were handed over.

 `Business done, Abu. What would you like to see of the Palace?'

 `Anything you wish to show me, Sir Jonathan.'

 As we walked through the grounds and gardens, I put my arm firm over
Abu's shoulder and then around his waist. The young twenty year old just
looked at me with his soft brown eyes, more like the eyes of a young
antelope than of a human they were so gentle.

 `I have never been with a man before like you, Sir Jonathan. I don't
really know what to do to please you.'

 `Abu, you will please me in a hundred ways and I will please you
equally. Do not worry. I am your friend, am I not? I will be both a
strong and a gentle lover for you.'

 Abu al-Shaad was a young man who needed an older man, a stronger and a
more powerful man in his love life. I filled all three categories.



 Later on, in the bedroom suite, I undressed Abu unhurriedly. His body
was almost hairless except for a substantial bush of glossy black hair on
his head and in his pubic region. He shivered when I ran my fingertips
through his head of hair. He trembled when I ran my fingers though the
luxuriant pubes and up over his hip bones.

 As I stood behind him at one point, with my arms loosely around his
body, the fingers touched the softness of his belly button and his solar
plexus. Abu was no athlete, but whatever sexual experiences he might have
had previously quite clearly had not prepared him for a more expert lover
who frottaged his skin and who touched with wet tips of middle fingers
the nubs of his sensitive nipples.

 He groaned when I squeezed those nipples even ever so lightly; he
groaned even more when my nails flicked against their hardening points
and his back and buns pressed back against me, my stiffening cock finding
a nestling place between the softness of the cheeks of his ass. He cried
out loud when I turned him over and bit his nipples and caused his penis
to rise in erection.

 When I laid Abu on the bed and pushed back his legs over his head, he
smell of youth rose from his balls and the enclosed areas at the back of
them, and from a dark brown butt-hole which was still clenched tight.

 My mouth suckled each of his balls, and I saw the first dribbles of
pre-seminal fluid drip from the wide and gaping hole of his urethra, so
large, yet so common in many a young Arab.

 His penis was hard in its light sugar brown length, turning almost to
black half way up where the skin of a childhood circumcision had not been
excised. It left the unprotected next two inches of pink skin to lead to
a corona of purple flesh with its acorn shaped head.

 My tongue played hide and seek in all the now exposed recesses behind
and beside Abu's balls and when it passed just so lightly over the
clenched tightness of his back passage, his hands gripped the sheets as
if I had electrified him and his breath hissed in and out.

 Abu was a young man who was in urgent need of being taken sexually. He
wanted to be taken. He was offering his body to a lover.

 I moistened his back passage with some bedside lubricant on one and then
on two of my fingers. He was not a virgin. I worked them one after
another into his tightness. One slipped in fine; two, I could feel the
tightness of the anus trying to grasp them. Finally, I inserted three,
which took a couple of minutes to widen the entrance. I expected him to
object, to say stop, but he was mute on that score.

 Half-an-hour into our love-making, he finally begged me to take him
harder and that I did for over an hour. He would have been sore, as I
guessed that it was his first time being actually fucked for such a long
time, as opposed to the usual quick Arab in and out after a rapid
ejaculation. Well and truly fucked and plucked he was that night.

 That evening and night was the first of a regular monthly visit for a
double fuck of Abu al-Shaad by me until he went to do post-grad work in
the United States, by which time he was quite an experienced lover in how
to pleasure and how to be taken in pleasure by an older lover.

 Abu's friendship stayed with me over the years, long after the passion
had died, but what I always remember of his was his trust of me as his
lover and those eyes. Yes, indeed, those eyes!

  To be continued...