Date: Thu, 22 Jan 2004 18:40:02 +0000
From: Gerry Taylor <gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Dahran Way - Chapter 7 - Gay - Authoritarian

This is the seventh 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 7  The importance of fear

 Zeki Kemal / Berk Onur

The purchase of the al-Shaad farm from Khalid and Abu, the two eldest
sons of my dead neighbour, brought with it a number of problems, which
had to be addressed and addressed quickly.

I had the two overseers of the farm informed that I would inspect them
and their slaves early one morning in March.

It was an opportunity for me to try out in true working conditions the
new sand buggy, which Stan had bought for me and not merely just run it
up and down the avenue between the Palaces. It was really more like a
golf cart with a special type of wheels and seated two people.

When Aziz, my head of household, saw the buggy the first time, there was
a gleam in his eye, which I pretended not to notice. I tried it around
the courtyard and then handed the driving over to Komil, who for all his
size, manoeuvred it expertly from the word go, former mechanic and all
that he was.

Accompanied by Komil on the buggy and a camel-cane under my arm, we went
down the straight road between the Lime and Aloe Palaces and stopped at
the start of the land of the Lemon Palace.

Komil was looking at me.

`Komil, would you like to be stables Master here?'

`Master, if you think I can do the job. I am here to do it for you.'

`Reach behind the seat. There is something for you there.'

Komil pulled out an extra large size khaki pants and belt.

I saw him swallow a couple of times.

`Well, Komil, how many times do I have to tell a stables manager to get
dressed?

`Just once, Master, just once,' he said very quietly. I was sitting in
the buggy, so he could not do anything by way of obeisance, so he leaned
over and took my right hand and kissed the back of it.

`Climb aboard, stables manager of the Lemon Palace, we have a job to
do.'

The land looked good, but under-worked, or not worked at all and I asked
myself how twenty seven slaves could ever hope to cope there attempting
to do what six hundred were hard pressed to do at the Lime Palace.

There were abundant groves of date palm trees -- the Phoenix dactylifera
--, which abound in the area and do so well under proper cultivation. In
separate groves, there were rows and rows of fig trees -- the Ficus
carica -- with their large smooth light green leaves.

However, what was patently clear even to my untrained eye was that there
was neglect in the groves. Figs had dropped to the ground. Fronds of the
palm trees had not been collected from where they had fallen.

I could not fathom out why the overseers had not made reports on all of
this to the former owner, the late Mohamed al-Shaad. Despite enquiries, I
never really did find that out to my satisfaction. The supervisors said
they had, but had received no reply.

The two supervisors were standing in shorts before two lines of poorly
clad slaves as I arrived with Komil. The supervisors were a pair of
Turks, Zeki Kemal and Berk Onur, aged 32 and 31 years according to their
supplied files, admittedly now out of date. Zeki Kemal was according to
his file, an anal virgin, while the other supervisor, Berk Onur, was not
so, but by the same token had not been extensively used.

I got out of the sand buggy. The supervisors and slaves just stood
there, not knowing what to do. They did not even make an obeisance in the
presence of their Master. I gave them something to do.

`Strip! Get out of those clothes. My slaves do not wear clothes.'

The supervisors looked at each other.

`You two as well.'

They were sharing my anger at not either having properly trained their
charges nor instructed them to greet me in the manner proper to my
station as Master.

`Yes, Master,' they both quickly said and dropped their shorts and
stepped out of them.

Handing the camel-cane to Komil, I said to him, `Five to each of the
former supervisors.'

Komil obliged in an instant. The cane rose and dropped five times in
quick succession across the backs of each of the two supervisors . The
morning was cold with fear.

`When I order something done, it is done immediately as you have seen
your new farm manager do just now. His name is Komil. Do not forget it. I
do not wait to repeat myself,' I said addressing all.

`I am your new Master. Some of you may have heard of me. I am the
retrainer.'

One of the slaves in the first line simply dropped to the sand in a dead
faint. No one moved to help him and I let him lie there.

`I see you have indeed heard of me. From now on, you will do things in
the style of my Palace. Have you any problems with that?'

There was a faint murmuring of `No, Master' from the ranks. I took the
cane from Komil and swished it in the air and demanded a clearer answer.
The morning air resounded with a firm and clear `No, Master' from all
but the one on the sand.

I walked up to the two Turks, who both had heavy nipple rings and told
them, `you two are now both slaves again and I shall see if within some
months you are worthy to be assistant overseers again.'

`Yes, Master. Thank you, Master' was twice repeated.

The twenty seven slaves had not been purchased specifically by the
previous owner, Mohamed al-Shaad, but simply had come with the estate
when he had bought it some years previously, just as was now happening to
me as well.

They were heavily ringed, in the sense that not a single one of them did
not have less than a single ring either in the septum of the nose,
piercing their nipples, scrota or ear lobes. There was no general
pattern. Many had one or more tattoos and four had genital cinches and
one some sort of contraption separating his balls about three inches from
each other with some sort of funnel up the scrotum to the cock itself. It
did not look either pretty or comfortable.

What concerned me however more was that there were clear signs of
physical brutality and abuse on all twenty seven slaves.

The general manager of my Aloe production firms in the capital city, Gus
Jennings, when he had been a stables supervisor, had taught me a little
trick in checking out slaves.

The human skin is the largest organ of the human body and a strange one.
It can deceive the human eye by appearing smooth when it is not. It also
can conceal subcutaneous matter quite well, but a ridge of muscle or even
fat under the skin, which has been subject to force, feels different.
Don't ask me why, it just does.

I ran my hand down the back of each of the slaves, almost as you would a
frightened animal. I would feel ridges under the skin of each,
particularly of the lower back and buttocks.

None of the slaves appeared to have been flogged recently, but all had
been extensively used anally. I asked each when they had last been
flogged and then when they had been fucked and by whom.

None had been flogged in the previous six weeks and almost all had been
fucked by one or other or both of the supervisors in the past month. One
pitiful specimen of a slave, with an arm, which looked strangely out of
joint, had not been fucked in over three months and then, it had been by
another slave.

When we came to the fainted slave, I indicated to Komil to get him on
his feet and two of the other slaves supported him as the came to.

`Why did you faint?'

`Because I am going to lose my balls, Master.'

Fair enough, I thought to myself. So would I, under the circumstances.

`Komil, take the slave's hand and put it under your cock.'

Komil did as instructed and placed the slave's hand on the crotch of
his khaki shorts.

The slave's eyes never left Komil's face whose eyes were piercing in
their glance.

`How many balls do you feel in your hand?'

`Two, Master?' he replied half in statement, half in question.

`Do you know why he has two?'

I did not wait for an answer to my question but answered it myself.

`Because he is a good slave and he is now the stables Master of this
farm, which I am now calling the Lemon Palace.'

The slave dropped his hand from Komil's balls, as if they were red hot.

`Good.'

This statement was as much to the slaves present as it was to Komil.

`We are going to get this farm working and you will be my slaves here.
You will find that I am different to your former Master and that my ways
are different to those of those, who have been your overseers here. You
will all be trained in the ways of my Palaces, beginning this very day.
Do I make myself clear?'

There was a chorus of `Yes, Master' from twenty nine voices.

As we drove back to the Lime Palace, Komil was very quiet as he can be,
but as we drew close to our destination, he said, `Master, just tell me
what you want and it will be done.'

`I know that Komil. That is why I chose you. It does however mean that
I'll have to get someone else to look after me at night.'

`Yes, Master, but perhaps not forever.'

I never had to worry about Komil or the lands of the Lemon Palace,
though it was just a farm for the first two years with its basic
outbuildings for the slaves. The building of the Lemon Palace proper is
another story.

The two former supervisors and twenty seven slaves were sent to the
medical facility of the Lime Place and one by one passed very quickly
through the retraining room with Greg and Jess.

Komil had a very simple way of securing loyalty in that he copied Yuriy
Obov -- fucking each of the slaves until there was total submission. He
started with Zeki Kemal, who had never been taken up the arse and, who
hated every minute of his first fucking according to Komil.

The Turk instead loved being a top with the other slaves, Komil had
learnt, so he took Zeki in the middle of the sleeping quarter the very
first night of his return from the Lime Palace.

As Komil's cock was all of ten inches and usually hard as warm granite,
it took a long time for Zeki to take it full length the first evening.
But Komil was in no hurry. He took two of the other slaves then the same
night as Zeki recovered from his first fucking and then before the
evening was up, had Zeki on his back on a table, having his open gullet
fed with inch after inch of Komil's unwashed appendage.

Komil told me that when Zeki Kemal, living up to this name in Turkish --
Zeki meaning smart -- saw that Komil was not either trying to
deliberately hurt or overly humiliate him, relaxed little by little, even
having to accept going to sleep with Komil up his now distended hole.

Another of Komil's little tricks, which worked for him very well was to
appoint the very weakest and most miserable looking of each group as the
head of the work detail of five slaves, with the instruction that the two
laziest slaves were to be reported to him every day, each of whom got two
strokes of a camel-cane.

But the best of Komil's procedures was to tell Zeki Kemal and Berk Onur
that he would observe their performance over the next months, as they
would be working on the farm and perform in his bed whenever called for.
For the less satisfactory of the two slaves, he would recommend to have
one or both of the slave's testicles removed.

From that day, the two former overseers were the most hard-working
slaves of the whole group I had purchased from the al-Shaad brothers.

It showed me very clearly the importance of fear as a means of training,
though not the best of means, I must admit, but a means that works with
some very effectively. There were never two more hard working slaves for
that particular month.



One month after the first EU prisoners had come out of training, I was
inspecting the Lemon Palace slaves one evening as they came back from the
fields and Komil lined them up.

`I have said, Master, that one of these two slaves is to be
half-gelded. I cannot decide, which as one is lazy in the fields and one
is lazy in bed.'

`Why not let all the slaves decide, which of the two is to be gelded?'

`Yes, Master,' and speaking to the slaves, Komil said, `Which of the
two Turks is to be half-gelded, Zeki or Berk? Put up your hand if Zeki is
to lose a ball?'

Fifteen hands went up.

`Put up a hand if Berk is to lose a ball?'

Eleven hands went up. One slave had not voted. I was about to say
something when Komil spoke my mind, `Who did not raise a hand?'

One of the slaves took a step forward; he was small and dark.

`Why did you not raise a hand?'

`Because they are both the same and each should lose a ball. They both
hurt me when they were supervisors.'

I could only smile at that. Neither of the Turks had any friends in
their hour of need. I walked over to Zeki, who was now perspiring freely
in the evening sun.

`Fifteen of the slaves say that you should lose a ball? Are they
wrong?'

`Mercy, Master. No, Master, they are not wrong but please have mercy.'

I put my hand on his ball sack. His balls were full and round and hard
in the scrotum. I firmly pressed on each. He did not move and I squeezed
until his breath hissed in.

I went over to Berk, who was as solid and firm looking a slave as his
Turkish name implied. I asked him the same questions and he too begged
for mercy as his balls were squeezed, literally hanging in the balance
and in the breeze, as he half closed his eyes as the pressure became too
much.

`Komil.'

`Yes, Master.'

`The gelding of these two slaves is put off for three months during,
which time on alternate days they will be on water guy duty and rock duty
here at the Lemon Place and by night they will offer themselves to any
slave, who wants them. If no slave wants them that night, the following
morning they will get five strokes of a camel-cane. Is that clear,
Komil?'

`Yes, Master' Komil said, with a grin.

Speaking to the assembled slaves, I said, `You have heard what I have
said to the stables Master. These former overseers are now to service
your sexual needs by day and by night. If at the end of three months,
three of you say that either of them is to be half-gelded, it will be
done.'

There was a cheer from the slaves, with clenched fists up in the air, as
they looked on the former overseers, who had tormented them and, who were
now to be theirs for their service and pleasure.

For some reason, maybe because of the higher vote against him, but for
the following three months Zeki Kemal lived in constant fear and I can
honestly say that his personality changed from one of overbearing to
almost pleasantly human. Berk Onur was not far behind in finding ways to
service the slaves at night, as many as two or three a night at times.

At the time of writing this diary entry, both Turks are still in full
possession of both balls, because both got two votes each at the end of
the quarter. The slave, who could not make up his mind and did not vote
previously still does not know, which way to vote. Therefore both Turks
lived on the edge of fear as they tried even harder to service their
fellow slaves.

If the Turks lived in fear, it was my resolve to help Dieter Schaffer
come to grips with his own demons in the area of sex with anyone other
than his buddy Georgi.

Because of Dieter's rape by Rashid al-Akhri, on those evenings when
Komil could not be my bedroom body slave, I had Dieter present to witness
my performance and handling of my slaves in bed. Normally when sex is
finished, due to the humidity of the Dahran night, there always is a lot
of perspiring. While my playmate of the night would wash me, I would
always made a point of having Dieter come into the shower with me, though
he would not have been involved in the sexual activity, to have him look
at me being washed down by the playmate of the night and to get him
accustomed to my touching of his more sensitive and intimate parts as I
reciprocated.

It took, I remember, just three sessions in the showers, for Dieter
finally to take up a Loofah one night, move my playmate aside and
speaking in perfect Arabic said, `Allow me, Master, to wash your back.'

He started washing down my back with firm strokes of the hard fibrous
surfaces of the Loofah. When I smiled over my shoulder at him and
complimented him, as much for his Arabic as for his initiative finally,
he smiled back at me and I felt some progress had been made on his sexual
training and in his ability to trust me as his Master. I felt that his
fears whatever they might be were dissipating and that trust being built
up between us would pay handsome dividends in time.

End of chapter 7. To be continued...