Date: Mon, 28 Jul 2003 22:07:37 +0100
From: Gerry Taylor <gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Changed Life - Chapter 8 - Gay - Authoritarian

This is the 8th chapter of Part One of a trilogy of novels of gay sex.

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

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 is 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 8 -- Histories

     When I got to my bedroom suite followed prancingly
by Food and Drink, the dossiers on the six slaves were
already on a side table.

     I indicated the bathroom to Food and he ran in
there. The tinkle of piss soon sounded. Drink helped me
undress and then followed me into the shower in the
bathroom suite. Food disappeared, I presume, to get my
clothes and shoes down for laundry and cleaning. Drink
lathered me up and shampooed me down. He was slowly
massaging the shampoo into my scalp when Food appeared
again and took over the job.

     Drink was merely standing there, eyes down, and I
motioned the toilet to which he ran and pissed and shat.
I was beginning to wonder if slaves have to be told to
do everything, and what would happen if they were not
told to do bodily functions which as you know,
frequently, have a mind of their own. However, Drink had
been trained well. He took the douche nozzle from the
toilet wall, and slipped it into himself. He did this
twice until he was satisfied that he was totally clean.

     Drink knew how to flush the toilet which he did
ensuring the water washed every bit of excrement and
every drop of piss away, then taking the tube of KY off
the shelf came into the shower and took over from Food.

     Taking a good dollop of it on his first two fingers,
Food slipped them into Drink who did not miss a beat as
he was by this time wiping my upper body with a cloth.
He had merely bent forward a little, and Food had done
the rest in totally lubricating Drink's anus.

     Drink patted me down with a fluffy white towel. When
he got to my right wrist, he kept touching it gently and
then glancing at me, and then the wrist again. He
clearly did not want to harm the previously broken
wrist. I made my way out of the bath suite, leaving Food
in there to his own self-preparing self-douching
devices.

     I took the dossiers from the side table and lay back
on the bed to read them. Drink just stood there. After a
minute or so, I indicated my feet and how to massage
them. He said, `Yes, Master,' in Arabic which were the
first words I had heard him utter. He ran to a dresser
across from the bed and taking a small jar of some type
of oil, proceeded to massage each of my feet. In some
minutes, he was joined, by Food and they shared the job
half and half as their was their wont.

     The dossiers made for interesting reading.
Essentially they were four pages per slave. Two were of
photographs of the slave, one of the history of the
slave as it was known before coming into slavery, and
one of what had happened to him since being enslaved.

     The pure blond guy was Czech, twenty six years old,
76.5 kilos in weight and 5 feet 11 in height. Each box
on the page contained another measurement or
description, no marks, no tattoos, a mole in the middle
of his back the size of a small coin. He was uncut.

     A quick thought and I flicked through the
corresponding box for each of the others. Three cut,
three uncut. Interesting.

     My Czech's name was Radek Pachlik and he had been a
draughtsman in Prague. He was straight, having had a
girlfriend and daughter by her, but they had not
married. He had spent two years' military service in the
Czech army in transport, whatever that meant, belonged
to a gym, and was an anal virgin.

     He had been invited to a party by some new friends,
been suitably and deliberately pissed out of his mind,
and lifted four months previously. His `lifters' had
been paid $2,000 cash and had been given the impression
that it was his girlfriend's family who wanted to settle
a score for him getting their daughter pregnant.

     The second page, showed that the Dahran dealer had
put him into training seven weeks earlier. He had lost
six kilos in weight during his training following the
rigorous standard exercises and the slave diet (in
brackets, four a day). This seemed to be the norm, I
though remembering the instructions given to me by Gus
Jennings for Yuriy.

     Radek had not been branded or marked but had been
given a SIN (Dahra's Slave Identification Number
according to a footnote - Aha! So that is what the
initials meant!) on the sole of his right foot. The SIN
number was 473114.

     He had been given shots for nine different diseases,
had been seen by the dentist for three fillings and a
dental descaling. The attached half page doctor's report
had ok ticks in every box, one of while said `Fertile:
very'. Further boxes `Flaccid: 8', `Erect: 18' and
`Circ. 13'.

     I was about to think that I had been given a pony,
when I saw that the measurements were in centimetres.
The `Circ.' box had me thrown for a moment until I
realised that it meant his cock was 13 centimetres in
girth. Nicely long and nicely thick. Psychologically,
obviously for a buyer, the centimetres sounded much
better. I thought to myself that there was a lot of
psychology and learning about human behaviour to be
found in slavery.

     Further boxes said `Foreskin: u/c', `Anus: virgin',
`Status: tight', `Prostate: small'. And that about
summed up Radek. His pictures in full colour did him
proud.

     The second guy whose colouring was light to fair was
Swiss German, twenty four years old, 72 kilos in weight
and 6 feet in height. He had had his appendix out and a
small scar remained, no tattoos. He was missing the nail
on the big toe of his right foot. He was cut.

     His name was Rolf Hanzer and had been a ski lift
operator in one of the ski resorts. He was presumed
straight, no known girlfriends and single. He had given
two years military service as a hospital orderly, knew
how to ice skate, ski and jogged and was by his own
admission an anal virgin.

     He had gone to Italy on holiday and had simply been
lifted out of his pensione just off road going down to
the beach in Rimini. His `lifters' had been paid $4,000
cash and had been told that his lover was jealous and
wanted him back, before he found an Italian lover.

     His second page, showed that the same Dahran dealer
had put him into training seven weeks earlier. I
wondered if they had come in the same consignment. He
had lost seven kilos in weight during his initial salve
training. The standard exercises and the slave diet (in
brackets, four a day), very clearly work. He had not yet
been branded or marked but had been given a SIN on the
sole of his right foot. The SIN number was 473123.

     He had been given shots for nine different diseases,
had been seen by the dentist but required two fillings
and had also received a dental descaling. A note in the
box underneath said `Extremely sensitive teeth and
terrified of dentist's drill.' Rolf had not been able to
hide that weakness which was now noted down to be used
against him, should ever the case warrant it.

     The attached half page doctor's report also had ok
ticks in every box, His sex boxes, as I had come to
think of them, said, `Fertile: very', `Flaccid: 11',
`Erect: 16', `Circ: 18'.

     Nicely hung, I though.

     Further boxes said `Foreskin: cut', `Anus: virgin',
`Status: very tight', `Prostate: hard nut'.

     Rolf Hanzer looked sort of lost and frightened in
his pictures colour pictures. Without a doubt, the best
one was that of his anus, clenched so tight that the
hands spreading his cheeks had their fingers digging his
the flesh of his buttocks.

     The third young man was the one with the permanent
five o'clock shadow and the darker complexion was
Italian, twenty five years old, 82 kilos in weight and 5
feet 11 in height. He too had his appendix removed and a
small scar on his lower right belly and he had a tattoo
of a small rose just below the bikini line as it is
called.

     His name was Flavio Pinelli and had been a lorry
driver in Naples. He had said he was straight, but had
been known to go with guys. He was single. He had been
in the `mili' for a year, had been assigned to kitchen
duty for the most part and had hated of it.

     He crashed his firm's lorry one day into another car
and had injured the woman occupant so that she was in
hospital for over three months. The woman's husband has
complained to the local head of the Camorra, the
Neapolitan Mafia.

     His `lifters' had been paid $5,000 cash and had been
told to hand him over to someone who was going to give
him the thrashing of his lifetime for injuring his wife.
Of course, it was not the husband, at all, to whom he
was handed over.

     His second page, showed that the one and same Dahran
dealer had put him into training five weeks earlier. He
had lost six kilos in weight during his initial slave
training. His diet was in brackets `three' a day. Was
the dealer trying to trim him or get him to lose some
fat? He had not been branded or marked but had been
given a SIN on the sole of his right foot. The SIN
number was 473421.

     He had been given shots for nine different diseases,
had been seen by the dentist, given a filling and a
descaling.

     The attached half page doctor's report also had ok
ticks in every box, His sex boxes, as I had come to
think of them, said, `Fertile: very, very', `Flaccid:
13.5', `Erect: 21', `Circ: 19'.

     Very long and thick, I said as I wet my lower lip at
the thought of the pleasure that this Italian would
bring

     Further boxes said `Foreskin: u/c', `Anus: used',
`Status: not tight', `Prostate: large and soft'.

     Flavio Pinelli glared at the camera in his photos.
There was anger, there was hatred and there was fire in
his look.

     The fourth slave, the one with the pert nipples, was
Slav as I had guessed. He was in fact Moldavian, twenty
eight years old, 75 kilos in weight and 5 feet 10 in
height. He had no marks or scars on his body, apart from
two small moles almost in his right armpit.

     His name was Dumi Bod and had been a general
labourer in Chisinau. He had been married with three
sons. He had no military service and had been on the
Republic's second national soccer team, but had never
actually played for the country.

     His `lifters' had been paid $1,500 cash and had
merely found him in the bus station waiting for a bus
home. They had put a Rhohypnol -- the date rape drug --
into his beer when he was not looking and pretended that
he was not well when they brought him out to the waiting
van. These `lifters' were some of the dealer's most
regular supplier from all over the Danube basin.

     His second page, showed that the Dahran dealer had
put him into training six weeks earlier. He had lost
eight kilos in weight during his initial slave training.
His diet was in brackets `three' a day. He had not been
branded or marked but had been given a SIN on the sole
of his right foot. The SIN number was 473372.

     He had been given shots for nine different diseases,
had been seen by the dentist, given four fillings, an
extraction of a rotten tooth which he had not had money
to have attended to previously and a descaling.

     The attached half page doctor's report also had ok
ticks in every box, His sex boxes, as I had come to
think of them, said, `Fertile: very', `Flaccid: 15',
`Erect: 17', `Circ: 24'.

     Extremely thick when both flaccid and erect.

     Further boxes said `Foreskin: cut', `Anus: virgin',
`Status: tight', `Prostate: walnut hard'.

     Dumi Bod was the guy with the very small teat-like
nipples. His photos showed again a spark of defiance,
but there was a shadow of resignation in the eyes.

     The fifth slave was Russian and his name was Vitali
Belov. He was twenty three years old, 70 kilos in weight
and also 6 feet in height. He had an appendix scar and
he had a tattoo of a black wavy line all round his upper
left biceps.

     His occupation was listed as factory worker in
Belgorod. He was straight and single, but had a girl
pregnant at the time of his lifting.

     His `lifters' had been paid $2,000 cash merely to
get him to assigned spot and he had been manhandled into
a waiting lorry

     His second page, showed that the Dahran dealer had
put him into training five weeks earlier. He had lost
four kilos in weight during his initial slave training.
His diet was in brackets `four' a day. Here the dealer
seemed to trying to put weight on him. He had not been
branded or marked but had been given a SIN on the sole
of his right foot. The SIN number was 473428.

     He had been given shots again for the nine different
diseases which might have arisen in Dahra, had been seen
by the dentist, given two fillings and a descaling.

     The attached half page doctor's report also had ok
ticks in every box, His sex boxes, as I had come to
think of them, said, `Fertile: very, very', `Flaccid:
10', `Erect: 21', `Circ: 21'.

     Very long and extremely thick, but most
interestingly of all he was the one whose cock was
almost perpendicular when stroked, and whose nipples
were ultra sensitive.

     Further boxes said `Foreskin: u/c', `Anus: virgin',
`Status: drum tight', `Prostate: medium sized nut'.

     In Vitali's eyes, there was the resignation of
acceptance, with a small touch of defiance.

     The last dossier was that of the college type jock,
who was a Canadian, Bob Conrad, twenty years old, 90
kilos in weight and 6 feet 4 in height. He was cut very
neatly.

     He was a college student doing his second year of
engineering, straight, a college girlfriend in his first
year at university and single. He had played lacrosse,
ice hockey and football and was by his own admission an
anal virgin with the word `Definitely' beside the last
statement.

     He had been hitch hiking on back roads in France
during terms, had accepted a ride and had been taken for
one which had `lifted' him to Dahra. The price of the
lift to him had been nothing. To those who had ordered
his type, it was $4,000.

     His second page, showed that the Dahran dealer had
put him into training seven weeks earlier. Again, I
wondered if they had come in the same consignment. He
had lost just seven kilos in weight during his initial
salve training. The standard exercises and the slave
diet (in brackets, four a day), had also very clearly
worked on him. He had not been branded or marked but had
been given a SIN on the sole of his right foot. The SIN
number was 473129.

     He had been given shots for nine different diseases,
had been seen by the dentist but required no fillings
and no descaling. His teeth were perfect.

     The attached half page doctor's report also had ok
ticks in every box, His sex boxes said, `Fertile:
infertile' (this was circled), `Flaccid: 9', `Erect:
15', `Circ: 15'.

     Not bad, but not great

     Further boxes said `Foreskin: cut', `Anus: virgin',
`Status: extremely tight', `Prostate: hard nut'.

     The half glance that I had had of him an hour
previously, showed that Bob Conrad was a frightened
young man. The side view of his body showed up his
superb gluteal muscles which gave his behind the bubble
butt format so loved by Americans.



     Enough of facts and figures, I thought. 6 slaves had
been lifted for a total of $18,500, a little over three
thousand dollars a head such were the value places on
human bodies and human lives. I had not time to read the
dossier on each of them about their slave training since
arrival, but that could wait another day.

     Food and Drink saw me putting down the last file.
Food took them off the bed by scooping his hands under
the lot and balancing them on his arms over to the side
table. With one bounce, he was back on the bed. Their
joint massage of my feet and lower legs for the previous
three quarters of an hour had produced a sizeable
erectile response.

     I pulled down a pillow and patted it in place. Not
indicating which of the two I wanted first. I glanced at
both of them. I glanced away. I patted the pillow again.
Drink who was nearest to it, dived on it with a squeal
of delight and put his ass up in the air, his knees
splayed almost three feet apart.

     As I positioned myself for some renewed anal
activity on his butt hole, I brought Food over and
showed him how to tweak both of Drink's nipples. My
entry was slow and easy. Drink was fully lubed and
delightfully warm all up past his sphinctered entrance.
I knew where to look and thrust and soon was touching
his prostate both on thrust and withdrawal. His whispers
of `Master, Master, Master,' each time were driving me
fast towards the edge, but I kept my head.

     I was actually riding Drink a lot harder and with a
lot greater force that I would ride a lover, but he
apparently did not mind or notice, and was a clearly
well trained catamite, a worthy successor to the
mythological Ganymede, cupbearer to the gods of Olympus.

     Within two minutes, Drink had exploded with a force
that might have suggested he had not come, - which I
doubted -- since last we had played our sexual romps.

     Food took his place and I had Drink feel up `Food's'
nipples as had been done to him. Food did not last more
than a minute and a half before the bed was rocked with
equally forceful, if not more, ejaculations.

     After Food had come, they both saw that I had not
come at all and they became very seriously concerned. In
their long sexual experience with Masters, Master
clearly came first, and the slave was irrelevant after
that. It did not happen the other way round. They were
unprepared and confused.

     Drink, who was more rested, tentatively reached out
to take my still engorged and glistening penis in his
hand and went to put it in his mouth, all the time half
fearfully looking at me. However, I motioned him to sit
down on my hard and upright member and to lower himself
on it. When he was in position, a knee on either side of
my hips, and the warmth of his anus was felt all up my
cock, with my hand I made a clenching sign. He got the
message. I clenched my hand again and again a third
time. The muscles of his sphincter did likewise. I
motioned him to rise up and just when I might have
popped out of him, I instructed him to lower himself
again. He was a fast learner and did this for all of
fifteen minutes, gently rising, falling, clenching three
times, rising, falling.

     Food was kneeling to one side, not doing a thing,
but waiting for any instruction of mine. After fifteen
minutes of Drink's fast learned skills, I motioned him
off and had Food now start a similar ride on my erect
cock.

     Drink stayed at his side and when Food had lowered
himself down on me for the first time, Drink brought his
fist up before Food's eyes and clenched it three times.
Talk about the pupil becoming a teacher!

     Food was in heaven. After some ten minutes, I knew
that I was going to come and putting my hands behind my
head waited for the imminent ejaculation. Food clenched
as never before.  My balls were tightening and beginning
to spasm warning of an ejaculation, and I could not
longer hold back and shot four or five loads into Drink.

     I went back into the shower and I was quickly washed
down by Food. When I got back out to the bed, I was
surprised to see that Drink had freshly made it up and
was just rearranging the pillows. I smacked him hard on
the bottom and with my thumb indicated the shower.

     Getting into bed, I had Food spoon up in front of
me. Five minutes later Drink was spooned behind.



     It appeared to be just a fleeting second, but  I
blinked my eyes open and it was morning. The shower was
running and Drink under it. Food had started to play
with my cock. I gently slapped his hand away and got up
to be shaved and to dress.

     Whether it was the exercise of the previous night,
or the excitement of being given six slaves, or the
climate itself of Dahra which is so dry it lets you
sleep on the top of bedclothes, I felt thoroughly
refreshed. Looking at my watch it was just 6.20. As Food
slipped my shoes on, the door of the bedroom suite
opened and breakfast was being served.   How they knew I
was up early was a mystery, but clearly a Palace runs
not only with servants and in this case slaves, it runs
on reactions to every strange noise such as the rising
and shower of an early morning guest.  London hotels
could learn a lot from that.


To be continued...