Date: Thu, 24 Jul 2003 14:49:18 +0100
From: Gerry Taylor <gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Changed Life - Chapter 4 - Gay - Authoritarian

This is the 4th chapter of part one of a trilogy of
novels of gay sex.

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

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.

If you are underage to read this kind of material or if
this material will be unlawful for you to read where
your live, please leave this webpage now.

Contact points:
eMail: gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com
Web:  http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Erotic_Gay_Stories

The Changed Life by Gerry Taylor

Chapter 4 -- Yuriy Obov

     Twice the following day, Wednesday, Tariq rang the
Bank to see how I was. Would he send his own personal
doctor over - it would be no trouble at all? Did I have
any after effects? Had I slept well? The questions went
on and were obviously from a genuinely concerned
person. Arab courtesy at times knows no end.

     The second call was, in fact, to see if I would join
him for dinner that evening at his Palace. It had not
occurred to me to think where or how he lived. As I had
nothing on that evening I relented and finally said
`Yes', because otherwise I felt there would be more
phone calls of enquiry. He would send his own car to
collect me at six from the Villa where the Bank had
installed me. The Villa had been Tommy Elford's family
home when he had been here and with six bedrooms, all
mod cons, with a driver and a cook thrown in, it was
more than spacious enough for my needs.

     At five minutes to six, Tariq's limousine arrived
and my own driver informed me as I was finishing
dressing. It had taken me an age to take a shower
without wetting the light plaster of Paris type
dressing on my wrist and I had felt dreadfully squalid
and dirty after the day of rolling in the dirt among
other things. My own driver seemed put out that he was
not driving me, the national hero, but I calmed him
down and said that he would be driving me each and
every other day.

     Tariq had sent not only the limousine and driver but
also an elderly Arab in traditional dress who
introduced himself as the head of Tariq's household.
Having made the traditional Arab of touching forehead,
lips and heart, he took my hand and raised it almost
tremblingly to his lips. The driver did likewise on
impulse, and the head of the household rebuked him with
some words I could not really hear, but I did hear the
driver reply, `But he is my Master's saviour'.

     It had not struck me until I was getting dressed to
go out, that six o'clock was very early for eating in
the Arab world. My Cook had said that dinner would
always be ready for me at eight at the Villa, whether I
had told him I would be there to eat or not.

     The limousine surged ahead, there being little
traffic on the road and soon we had left the capital
far behind. I could have easily put a double bed in the
back with me where I was more reclining rather than
sitting. I finally pressed the intercom and asked the
head of the household, whose name turned out to be
Ahmed, how far out of the city we were going.
     Ahmed replied that it was about an hour's drive from
the city. As we were speeding along the freeway at what
appeared not less than 70 miles per hour, I felt a bit
surprised. He also said that his Master, again that
term, had spent the whole day preparing for my visit,
and I felt there was a trace of worry in his voice.








     The limousine appeared to me to be hardly moving
with regards to the flat desert landscape. The only way
you knew it was moving was that cars in the distance
came closer and passed by on the other side from time
to time. With the air conditioning on in the car, there
was absolutely no outside sound, so I put an easy
listening CD in the player and sat back to enjoy the
ride.

     At precisely seven, the limousine, having left the
main road some minutes previously and headed toward a
white dot on the horizon, drew up towards the gates
which must have been all of twenty feet high. The white
dot had become an equally high wall stretching away as
far as the eye could see on either side of the gates.

     Inside the gates, the desert gave way to a paradise
of green vegetation, crops growing, trees, palms and
plants. It took us a full minute's drive still at what
appeared to be almost the same speed from the gates up
to the Palace, which was equally brilliant white in
colour.

     Having pulled up, I was just moving to get up out of
the seat, when the driver was around at the door
holding it open. He must have moved in less than two
seconds. Again this time, he took my left hand, my
right being in the sling the hospital had given me, and
kissed it, but this time kneeling on the ground. Ahmed
barked something, and the driver scuttled away.

     Immediately, Tariq was out to greet meet followed by
three other men. He went to embrace me but seeing the
sling did not know what to do, so in true Arab style I
put out my left hand and holding his hand, I kissed him
on both cheeks.

     The three other men who had been following him each
in turn kissed my hand, each saying `Thank you, Master,
for saving our Master's life.' It was not until the
surprise had worn off, that I realised that they had
each spoken in English, unlike Ahmed who apparently
only had Arabic.

     Ahmed was standing to one side in the doorway of the
Palace and turning towards him, I said to him in
Arabic, remembering his worried voice earlier on,
`Thank you, Ahmed, for bringing me safely to your
Master.' He appeared astonished and bowed deeply from
the neck and shoulders.

     If I for some reason had astonished him, on going
into the Palace I was the one to now be astonished. On
walking into the foyer of the Palace which alone was
more the size of a tennis court, everyone walking
around there, moving too and fro was totally naked,
stark bollocks naked! The second thought of
astonishment was that they were all male, of various
heights and nationalities and colours. I could not see
any what generally you might term Orientals or
Africans.

     I realised that Tariq was talking and I caught the
drift of what he was saying in welcoming me to his
humble home and that he and his slaves were there to
serve me. I had been so astonished at seeing the naked
members of his household, that the word `slaves' did
not sink in for a moment. I thought that as he was
speaking in English, he might have misused the term
`slaves' when he should have used more appropriately
the word `servants'.

     I also realised that, not only was he trying to say
thank you in the manner and custom that he knew how,
that he was doing me the courtesy of speaking in
English.








     `Tariq, tonight one favour I ask. We are going to
speak only in Arabic. I have forgotten a lot of what I
learned in Cairo years ago, and if I do not make the
effort while in Dahra, I am never going to learn to
speak it as well as you do.'

     Tariq clapped his hands with joy, and those who were
listening all started to smile. It was if a cloud had
lifted and it hit home that this guest was not going to
make life impossible for them.

     I had somehow thought that dinner at Tariq's Palace
would have been with his family or at least with some
family members present. But no, it was only the two of
us.

     I was settled on a divan of cushions by two dark
haired young men in their early twenties whom I took to
be slaves, as they were naked save for a silver
coloured bracelet on their right ankles, one of whom
placed a pile of down soft pillows under my arm and
taking the arm in the sling between his hands, as if it
were Meissen porcelain, laid it down so gently that I
did not realise it was resting on the pillows until I
glanced over at it.

     I said I would take off the sling and just leave my
wrist on the cushions. The other body slave looked
frightened not knowing what to do, so I merely slipped
off sling over my head and with a smile gave it to him,
again resting my arm down on the cushions.

     As I could not use my right arm, not being
ambidextrous, the two took turns in feeding me and
giving me sips to drink, while I chatted with Tariq. I
complimented him on the splendour of his home, how well
trained his household was and that he was a lucky man.
     He said that in their tradition these things were
willed by Allah, and that it was not luck I was with
him the previous day.





     This I now realise was a second direct intervention
of Fate in my life. I was going to ask something, but
stopped as if not finding the word. He noticed and
said, `Tell me about yourself and your career.' It was
a courtesy because everyone more or less loves taking
about themselves.

     I gave him the shortened version of my life,
omitting what to some might be the juicier bits, so
that finally I said, `And you, Tariq, how is it that
you are at the Ministry of Finance?' His career took a
bit longer than mine to relate, first, he had done a
far wider range of things than I and secondly, he was
talking in his native tongue which gave him a full
range of vocabulary.

     He was a second cousin of the Sheik whose family was
directly traceable back to Saladin the Great. He was
the fourth of seven brothers, five of whom where still
living. He had four wives and fifteen sons. At that I
spluttered as if I had swallowed down the wrong way.
There was immediate alarm with my two attending body
slaves, one of whom went on to wipe my lips with a
cloth.

     `Tariq, you look no more than late thirties. Fifteen
sons?' I had noticed that he had not mentioned
daughters.

     `I am thirty eight,' he replied `and I married my
first wife when I was eighteen years of age. First
wife, three sons. Second wife, five sons. Third wife,
four sons and youngest wife, three sons.'
     I looked at him with my mouth open.

     `Jonathan, you are thinking like a European. Here
marriage is different. It is to breed good sons and
continue the line. My eldest brother, who is fifty one,
has thirty eight boys.'

     I thought he was joking, but obviously he was not.
     `May I ask you some questions, Tariq, and although I
am used to Arab customs, please do not feel insulted if
what I ask feels impertinent to you. Slaves. You have
used the word a number of times. Are there slaves in
Dahra?'

     `Yes, all who are here and do not wear clothes are
slaves. Those who wear cloth are either servants or my
employees. Slavery has always been in Dahra and always
will be. It is our way of life.'

     `Ahmed and the driver? They wore clothes'

     `Ahmed was a slave for fifty years and is now a free
man. He serves as head of my household. The driver is a
slave.'

     `But he wore clothes!'

     `Only when in the city. We are a modern nation in
the capital and there use western ways, but here in the
true country, we are a traditional nation.' He asked me
what else I wanted to know.

     I said `Do you have daughters?'

     Tariq began to laugh so much, that a tear came down
his cheek. A body slave immediately jumped up to dry
it, but was waived away.

     `Yes, I have daughters. Twenty of them, I think. We
do not count daughters in the same way as we count
sons.' He barked an order, calling for Ahmed who
arrived in at the same time as the driver who was this
time now naked.
     The driver went on his hands and knees before his
Master and his forehead touched the carpeted ground.
Tariq said something I did not catch. I still had in
those early days some difficulty in understanding
comments in Arabic particularly when they are in a low
voice or in dialect.


     The driver drew close to Tariq whose right foot went
between the man's legs and he raised and lowered his
private parts a couple of times, and sort of rubbed the
short hair on the slave's head. It was a profoundly
erotic moment, because it showed a complete Mastery of
an owned animal whose head had just been petted. Tariq
pushed him away with a half gesture and instead of
going away, he scuttled on his hands and knees the few
paces over to me and kissed my feet.

     For the first time, I saw a thunder of anger in
Tariq's face at what he must have perceived as an
impertinence to a guest. But I smiled down at the
driver, gently raised my right foot as Tariq had done
and nudged his balls and cock twice, and the same time
giving his bristly hair and rub and a pat.
     Tariq's anger was gone just as soon as it had come.

     I said, `he is quite affectionate towards you,
Tariq, and I suppose as I am your guest he is
affectionate towards me.'

     `Jonathan, I do not think that is the reason for his
affection towards you. He knows like the others here,
that had I been killed yesterday, they would have been
distributed among my brothers, whom I can tell you are
not as kind to their slaves as I. My sons, the eldest
of whom is just 19, would of course have my wealth
divided among them, but the handling of slaves is
always best left to mature men.'

     `Tariq, how many slaves do you own?
     He looked at me as if I had asked him how many
shirts or pairs of socks he possessed. Ahmed coughed
and Tariq looked up at him, `Five hundred and seventy
three slaves, Master, and twelve servants here at the
Palace,' Ahmed said.

     My mouth must have really dropped open, because
Tariq said, `Jonathan, you are thinking like a
European. Here it is the way of life.'

     Ahmed coughed again in the back of his throat and
barely perceptible to the ear.


     `Yes, what?'

     `The Master has twenty three daughters, the last one
being born three weeks ago.'

     Tariq smiled broadly. `Now you see why I need a good
head of household'.

     But in my mind, I think he was smiling because his
head of household, had not just given a fact, but had
pointed out the sexual prowess of his Master at the
same time without it being too explicit.

     He barked something and the driver and the head of
household disappeared. The two body slaves who had been
feeding me and giving me to drink became more
attentive. I had noticed how they seem to sulk somewhat
when I had fondled the genitals of the driver with my
foot.

     The one who had taken my arm to rest it down on the
cushions had been giving me sips of a sweet drink from
a glass, while the other had taken care of the food. I
noticed that when the food body slave went to feed me
again, he placed his knees on either side of my foot
and when he had finished giving me a morsel to eat, his
privates were just over my shoes. I therefore gave his
genitals a stroke or two with the tip of my shoe and he
positively beamed. Out of the corner of my ear, I
noticed the slightly jealous look on the face of the
body slave who had been giving me to drink.

     Tariq said in an annoyed voice `Are they bothering
you?'

     `Not at all, Tariq, they are doing their job and
very attentive.'

     Switching to English, I said, `At times, I think,
you must have problems of jealousy between your slaves
as they seek your favour.'

     He laughed and said `How right you are!'


     He was silent for a minute or so, like a man who
wants to say something but can't find the right word or
moment in which to say it.

     `Jonathan, I want to give you a present, but I hope
that you are not going to be offended by it. In fact, I
want to give you two presents.'

     I was going to interrupt but he put a finger halfway
up in the air, as if trying to give himself space in
which to say the rest.

     `You have done the Sheikdom a great service
yesterday in saving my life. My work here is important.
The Finance Minister is a first cousin of the Sheik and
is a figurehead. He represents the families of western
province. My direct boss as you would call him, the
deputy Finance Minister, is again filling a post
specifically created for him. He too is a cousin of the
Sheik on his mother's side, who herself comes from a
very powerful tribe, and he also a figurehead. It is I
who actually make the decisions on finance here in
Dahra.'

     `I wish to transfer some three billion euro of my
personal assets for management to Deckams private
banking service. I know the Bank does very well for
some others and will do the same for me. I will
transfer more in time, but at present, my other assets
are either maturing or in long term commitments. This
10% I am transferring is what I have in cash at the
moment.'

     My head was reeling. I do not think it was the drink
as it was not alcoholic. It was the sheer size of the
transfer. If Tariq was transferring 10% which was three
billion euro, then he was valuing his total personal
assets at thirty billion. And he was just one of some
hundred members of the Sheik's family. He was also
making me privy to his wealth, which Arabs never did
except to the closest of their advisers.


     `Secondly, I wish to make you another gift.' And he
clapped his hand twice sharply.

     The doors through which we had come earlier in the
evening open and a slave walked in. He was naked,
Caucasian, a little over six feet two, superbly fit,
and it left me puzzled. He walked in with his hands by
his sides and up to Tariq and made obeisance, going
down on his knees and letting his head touch the
carpet. I did not see him carrying in the present Tariq
was talking of and presumed that he would now rise and
get it.

     Instead, the naked man rose and coming over to me,
he again went down on his knees and his head touched
the carpet at my feet. He then stood up, stepped back
about two paces, putting his legs about two feet apart,
put his hands behind the nape of his neck and pushed
out his chest. He was truly awesome.

     When I said naked, he was totally that, but for a
centimetre wide silver looking band around his right
ankle. I subsequently discovered, having noticed it on
others as well, that this ankle bracelet was of pure
titanium, impossible to cut without a very special type
of tool of which there were only two in the Sheikdom,
and in the band there was a GPS - global positioning
satellite -- code which could locate the bracelet, and
therefore its wearer, within two metres with ArabSAT
IV, one of the Gulf's geodesic satellites.

     Now up so very close, every vein could be seen under
the slave's skin which was slightly oiled over
perfectly even tanned. His musculature was superb, with
perfect arms, hips and a narrow waist. I could feel
myself getting an erection there and then just looking
at him.

     `Well, Jonathan, do you like my present or not?'
     The penny dropped. The man in front of me, this
ultimate specimen of Caucasian manhood was the present.

     For a third time in as many hours, I was speechless
but then somehow managed to find my voice.
     `Tariq, I am an Englishman! Englishmen do not own
slaves! How can I accept your present? How can I refuse
it without hurting your feelings? You have done more
than sufficient for me this evening.

     `Jonathan, Jonathan,' he spoke as if chiding a
child, `you have a lot to learn about slaves and even
about those Englishmen who own them, I can assure you.
He is yours to do with as you please or as you don't
please. He is my gift to you. I could not think of what
else to do at such short notice, until I remembered
what you had said when you were in the hotel foyer,
about the your type of perfect man, the Aussie rules
football type, I believe you said.'

     `Tariq, that was a comment, a phrase. I did not
think you would do this. Where could he live? What
would I do with him?'

     `Jonathan, you are still thinking like a European.
When in Dahra, do as the Dahrans do. I will not answer
those questions for you, because you will have to find
answers for them not just for yourself, but in
yourself.'

     `So, if I tell him to do something, he will do it,'
I asked.

     `Yes, he will. But I must tell you that he has only
been trained for three months, so must be considered
still half wild. Fresh slaves are never really deemed
to be really trained until after two years. With this
one, you may have a slight problem, and for this I
apologise, but he was the best that I could find among
my stock today and there is no market until next week.
He is a Kazakh, so he only speaks I am told Russian,
Kazakh and only a few words of basic English. I can
have him speaking English for you in 30 days if you
wish.'

     I had to laugh at the apparently absurdity of the
moment. Here I was being given a slave, considering
owning a slave and being told that he could be taught
English in thirty days. As they say, I know people who
can't speak English after thirty years.

     I looked up at the Kazakh who seemed to be looking
at some spot over my shoulders or some such place.
Pointing to a spot on the carpet in front of me, I said
`Sit.' It was my first command to a slave of my own or
of anyone else's for that matter and a defining moment
in my life.


     To be continued...