Date: Sat, 09 Aug 2003 14:48:21 +0100
From: Gerry Taylor <gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Kazakh's Story - Chapters 2 & 3

These are the 2nd and 3rd chapters of The Kazakh's Story, a novel about
slavery and gay sex in modern times.

Key words: authority, control, loyalty, slavery, punishment,
re-training, 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 Kazakh's Story

Chapter 2 -- Afternoon

The exercises over the next three hours were nothing strenuous, some
running around the inside of the indoor horse ring, press-ups, sit-ups. I
ran up a light sweat now and then. The overseer sitting on one of the
benches as I went through each. Sometimes, with both hands, he would
signal another ten or twenty of the particular routine.

As we were inside the stables building, out of the heat of the day, I had
no way of knowing the time, but my stomach told me that it must be around
time for food. I have a very loud stomach and at one stage it churned
when the overseer was close to me.

`Ok, Yuriy, come.'

I understood the universal `ok' and `come'. The overseer also knew my
name `Yuriy'. I must have looked at him surprised, because he pointed
to me and said again `Yuriy' though it sounded strange on his lips, and
pointing to himself he said `Guss' or what with his accent sounded like
that.

We walked over to the kitchens and I stood outside as he went in. He came
out with five of the slave biscuits and two large containers of water. We
normally have two slave biscuits in this Palace in the morning, one after
midday and one in the evening. They taste as nothing and we then have to
drink lots of water. But once you have eaten the biscuit or biscuits
after an hour, you are never hungry and with the water they seem to fill
you. They must be like field rations, I have always supposed, full of
goodness but tasting like dry camel shit.

We sat under the portico. Overseer Guss on a seat and I on the stone
floor. He put the biscuits on the seat next to him and motioned to me to
help myself. I needed no second invitation and helped myself to one. He
surprised me by taking one himself, and hoisting one of the container of
water with practised ease on to the crook of his arm drank deeply after
taking a bite and a chew of the biscuit.

I know that every morsel of the biscuit is precious, so I make an effort
to lick my teeth to get out any and all crumbs from between my teeth, and
I drink a lot of the water. Overseer Guss has finished perhaps two thirds
of his biscuit and sees that I am looking at him. He sort of looks over
at the remaining three biscuits and then looks at me with a half smile,
and then laughs as I follow still hungrily his look at the biscuits.

`Ok, Yuriy, help yourself.'

I understand again the `ok' and my name, as indeed the gesture of his
hand, and take another biscuit, which this time I eat more slowly.

When I have finished my second biscuit, Overseer Guss has taken his
second one, but broken it in half and left the second half on the seat.
Surely, he is not going to leave the other biscuit and that half for me!
But so it was to be. I ate like a czar that day. Two biscuits early
morning and three and a half at midday! I felt full and sated as I had
not been for a long time.

When we finished eating, Overseer Guss told me `come' and I followed
him expecting to do more exercises, but no, we walked back to the slave
quarters and he indicated a pallet to me and said something. I did not
understand but he pretended to snore and I knew I was being told to
sleep. He held up one finger. I was to sleep for an hour.

The slave quarters were totally quite and a number of things you learn in
the army is to shit and piss when you can, to eat when you can, but most
of all to sleep when you can. That thought was in my mind when a hand was
roughly shaking me, and Overseer Guss was telling me to get up. I had
slept for an hour and not really known it. I felt as if I had been on
pure oxygen, I felt so refreshed. He beckoned me to follow him which I
did over the courtyard to the overseers' quarters. I had never been in
there but followed where he went.

We went down various passageways. At times, codes had to be put in doors
to get them to open. We passed various closed doors and finally, to a
last door which Overseer Guss opened, again with a code on a keypad. I
walked in behind him.

The room we were in and those off it appeared to be his quarters. He
started to undress. There was not an ounce of fat on his body, which I
would have said was that of a man in his early forties. There was some
grey hair on his groin pubes to match the steel grey of his head. He took
all his clothes, on which there were various perspiration stains, and put
them in a what appeared to be a laundry basket. Going into one of the
other rooms he came out with a white towel on his arm and said, `Come,
Yuriy.'

I was learning English fast. I understood him immediately.

We walked out of his quarters and further down the passageway, through
another room, and into a very modern gym. It looked like the ones I had
seen in American keep fit magazines. Another overseer was there running
on a treadmill, and Overseer Guss and he greeted each other and we went
towards a door in the wall, and walked into a sauna area, complete with a
small pool of water which was raised over the ground.

Overseer Guss went over to a thermometer on the wall of the sauna, tapped
it, grunted something, appeared to be happy and like a doorman in a
hotel, held the door open for me to go in, with a mock bow.

The heat hit me in the face. Outside in the courtyard it is always a dry
heat. Here it was humid and it hit the back of my throat immediately.
Overseer Guss spread the white towel which was almost two meters long
along one of the pine wooden seats and sat down at one end of the towel,
pointing to the other end for me. I was sitting in the presence of an
Overseer. I looked across at him, but his eyes were now closed as he
breathed in and out deeply and let the heat pummel his body with its wave
upon wave of moist convection. I did likewise and closed my eyes

Twenty minutes later, I had to open them. The perspiration was running
off me in rivers of sweat. My throat was as dry as the desert. The sweat
was now warm in my eyes. Overseer Guss was looking at me. While he was
perspiring, he actually looked cool. He was used to this. I was not. I
flapped my arms to indicated the sweat pouring off me. He gave a little
laugh, and with a finger merely indicated me to follow him.

We exited the sauna and walked across to the raised pool of water
opposite, climbed some steps and Overseer Gus walked down three little
steps into the middle of it. I started to follow. It was like walking
into a recently unfrozen river. Overseer Guss with a laugh pointed a
single finger downwards, and I completed the journey into the middle of
the pool. He put a hand on the top of my head and pushed me underwater.
When I surfaced, he was surfacing as well.

If I had been refreshed after my earlier sleep, now I was invigorated! He
pointed down again. I `submarined' again and yet a third time. It was
like nothing I had experienced before.

I followed Overseer Guss out of the plunge pool I suppose you would call
it, and out into the gym proper.
I noticed that another slave had at some point entered the gym. I say
slave because he was tanned all over, as opposed to the overseers who
while tanned above and below the waist, had a band of white flesh around
their hips. The slave was on his elbows and knees and the overseer whom
we had seen earlier on was ploughing away into the slave's backside,
quite unconcerned that he now had an audience.

Overseer Guss must have seen me looking at the man and the slave, because
with a frown, he gave my backside a swipe and indicate that I follow him
to a leather table to one side of the gym on which I was to get up.

The black leather was cool to my chest and belly and I lay there some
moments while Overseer Guss went over to a phone on the wall and made a
call. Indicating that I should stay where I was, he went back into the
sauna for a second session of heat.

I must have been lying there some three or four minutes when I felt
rather than heard the gym door open. Perhaps my old army reflexes. The
love-making noises from the other two elsewhere in the gym had ceased.
Footsteps approached the table and a slave appeared before my eyes with a
tray of bottle and what for al the world looked like cosmetics which he
place on the floor.

Locking his fingers as if he were a concert pianist about to start an
overture, I heard a knuckle or two crack, and placing a hand firmly on
the back of my neck, the next thing I felt was a firm smack across my
backside.

`Ok, Russian, we begin' he said in miserable Russian.

I found my voice and said, "I'm not Russian. I'm Kazakh.'

`I'm not Russian. I'm Hungarian. You still lie quite.'

I was not going anywhere.

The Hungarian slave masseur started on my back and neck and shoulders and
I was back floating like a cloud over the steppes of my beloved
Kazakhstan. I don't know how long this went on for. I did not want it to
stop. It was my first bit of pure and sheer luxury since way before my
sale as a slave, way before my capture by the Taliban, way before my
training as a Speznaz officer, way before...

`Ok, Kazakh, overturn' this disembodied voice said.

And I turned over.

Fleecy white clouds continued for a long long time.

I heard Overseer Guss's voice say something and I came out of my dream
world. The Hungarian and he were talking in English. The Hungarian
pointing to me, nodding, pursing his lips, wagging his head to each side
as if to say, `the best I can do at short notice.'

Overseer Guss disappeared again and the Hungarian said to my ear `30
minutes. Kazakh, you important. You gift to new friend of Master. New
friend save Master Tariq's life. You present of thank you.'

Well, as they say, that made things a bit clearer than they were. I was
about to drift back into my dream world again, when I felt the Hungarian
touching my manhood. He was skinning back the hood of my penis. Unlike
most Kazakh, my parents had not wanted me skinned like those with
religious beliefs and I have always been grateful to them for that,
because the sessions of masturbation I have engaged in, when young
recruits were not available to suck my manhood, have always been enhanced
by that hood which had protected my most sensitive spot. Well no, that is
not true, my glans is my second most sensitive spot. My most sensitive
spot is and has always been protected by two firmly clenched buttocks!

The Hungarian was covering my cockhead with an oil and working it under
my hood and down my shaft. I was getting immediately hard.

`Kazakh,' he said to me and I looked down my body at him between my
legs only to see a grin on his face and his middle finger flick off his
thumb just in time to hit my sensitive cock-head and killed there and
then any engorging of my manhood.

I almost jumped off the table and had Overseer Guss not finally come out
of the sauna just then, I might have had more than words with that cheeky
Hungarian.

By this stage my body had been massaged and oiled and while I tried to
smell myself, I had no fragrance, so it must have been clear unscented
oil which had been used on me.

The Hungarian slave stepped back from between my ankles and legs, and
raising his two arms and palms towards the ceiling, with this gesture to
Overseer Guss intimated `well there you have him.'

I was told to come down off the table. The Hungarian was dispatched with
his tray of oils. Overseer Guss walked round me. He ran his hand over my
recently cut hair. Ran the back of a finger down my shaven cheek to check
for stubble. I am fair and light haired so I would not really have
stubble until another day and an half.

He said `display' one of the 15 command words in English which I do
understand no matter what the accent is. Again, his finger over the hair
in my armpits and down my smooth chest.

I was hoping that he would not be that gentle with me lower down because
I could feel my knob already getting moist. I am fatal when anyone
touches me gently as one or two of my young conscripts found out and used
frequently to their sexual advantage.

But no he did not squeeze my rising shaft but merely weighed it in his
hand checking that it was well oiled as indeed my ball-sack which I felt
would burst if touched too gently.

Overseer Guss then had me kneel up on the table with by backside toward
him, and he felt my legs and calves and down to my feet and toes that all
were well oiled.

My buttocks were open to his inspection and I felt his hand run up my
choad which like everywhere else on my body had been shaven. His finger
was so gentle that I knew I was going to get hard. His finger then
circled that spot which only a handful of recruits had ever been allowed
touch and which only two had ever been allowed lick. He must have sensed
my tension, because I felt a soft breeze blowing on the centre point of
my hole, and then a tongue circling and touching it. It was like a
feather and just as dangerous. It caused delirium, and then it stopped.
And I was given a slap on the backside.

Overseer Guss was looking at me looking at him. He brought up two of his
fingers and made a jabbing motion indicating by backside.

I uttered a very clear `Nyet. Nyet.'

No Overseer I had never been anyone's and no one had ever gone up there.
My emphatic `No. No.' was as clear a denial as I could make that I had
never been taken.

While a Major in the army had had me transferred to his unit and had me
trained in the Speznaz, it was for my skills with my mouth that he had
had me in his bed for three years, but he himself unable to maintain an
erection for even the shortest period of time, my anal virginity had been
safer in that unit than in a Pasha's harem. But Overseer Guss was not to
know any of this, other than I was as intact back there as I was the day
I was born.

My incipient hard-on still persisted, so Overseer Guss opened the door of
the sauna again and indicated the plunge pool. I hit the water running as
we used say in the army and like a sea-lion in the zoo, I was up and down
in the water three times and out again, before you could have counted to
ten.

Overseer Guss was shaking his head and laughing. With that the phone on
the wall rang. The conversation must have been serious, because we strode
out of the sauna and gym, me leaving a trail of wet footprints on the
floor.

Back in Overseer Guss's quarter he threw me a towel, the first that I
was to use in over five months. I lingered in dying myself as he towelled
himself dry and dress in fresh clothes. While the towel took the moisture
off me as indeed the surplus oil from the massage, I was still glistening
and was shocked to see a reflection of myself in a mirror on a back of
door in his quarters. Modesty apart for my nakedness, I looked better
than I had ever looked far more fit than even on the happy day of my
promotion to Speznaz Captain.

But there was obviously no time to waste, Overseer Guss was being called
somewhere. As we came out of the building, I could not believe that it
was already becoming dusk. The most wonderful day of my recent life had
passed so quickly. We walked back into the Palace, again through a warren
-- to me at least -- of corridors and passageways, when suddenly, I was
again facing the double doors where the pantomime with Ahmed had taken
place earlier in the day.

Overseer Guss pointed to a stool beside the wall and indicated that I
should sit on it and wait. He disappeared. I waited and waited.


=======

Chapter 3 -- Evening

I must have waited about an hour when Ahmed and the driver of the Master
whom I had seen around the Palace courtyard came from somewhere.

Ahmed told me in mime to stand up and face the doors. I was not sooner in
position, when there was the sound of two hands clapping. Ahmed and the
driver opened a door each and I walked into the bright light of the room.

No, I did not walk in. I marched in, but with hands to my sides, with the
distant shouts of a drill master in my ears. I was a Kazakh and one proud
to be a Kazakh.

The Master was seated to my left and I went to him and prostrated myself
in obedience to him for five seconds. I noticed that there was not a
sound to be heard in the room.

I stood up, erect and proud and marched over towards the person sitting
on the divan-sofa. He had two of the Master's body slaves looking after
him, one located beside an arm which appeared to be in a sling, the other
at his feet with some food on a plate in his hands. The man on the divan
looked puzzled.

I prostrated myself before the stranger, counted off five seconds, and
stood up and back and went on display as I call it.

The room was still deadly silent. I hope it was not ominous of something
bad. But I stood as I have never stood on display before or since, and
the ages of Kazakhstan were at my shoulders and at my sides, as I proudly
stood for them as well.

`Well, Jonathan, do you like my present or not?'

The Master was speaking. I do not know what he was saying but it appeared
he was speaking to the man in front of me who appeared to be speechless
and surprised.

`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.'

The stranger was speaking to the Master in Arabic. He was an Arab. He had
all the tones and mannerisms of an Arab though he was clean shaven and
was dressed in light coloured Western cloths, not Arab dress.

`Jonathan, Jonathan,' the Master said 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.'

Ah! to have known what my Master was saying. Was he still my Master, or
was this my new Master before me? I knew not.

`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?'

The stranger was entering into some form of argument with the Master and
the Master was replying patiently. I could hear the tone in his voice as
if speaking to a child who did not understand something.

`Jonathan, you are still thinking like a European. When in Dahra, do as
the Dahrans do is what we say here. 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.'

Now the stranger was laughing and then he stopped. Although I was looking
into the middle distance as you must when on display, I could see from my
peripheral vision - as my old sergeant used say -- that the stranger was
looking at me.
Then me spoke and said a word which sounded like `Siss'. I did not
understand and he pointed to the floor beside his feet. I hunkered down.
He repeated the word and I now understood that he had said `Sit' in
English. It was his accent. He wanted me to sit.

I was slightly confused. If he was an Arab, why was he speaking in
English to me, when I had my basic commands learnt also in Arabic. But I
sank down on my crossed knees and looked up for the first time at my new
Master, awaiting his next command, and kept looking closely at him.

I just hoped that it would be one of the 15 commands I had been taught in
both Arabic and English. It would not do the house of Master Tariq any
good at all if I were to appear stupid.

The stranger started to talk again to the Master in fast Arabic.

`Tariq, I am astounded at your generosity and thoughtfulness. But I have
learned a lesson. I must be very careful what I ever say in your presence
ever again. I accept your present, though I am not too sure what use I am
going to make of him.'

There was more conversation behind my back between the Master and Ahmed
whose voice I recognised, but I did not take my eyes off the stranger for
a second. The strange could be my friend or my foe, if the latter, like
an approaching snake, never let it out of your sight.

Master Tariq clapped his hands and Ahmed came in with the three overseers
men. I recognised one of them as the man who had been in the gym fucking
the slave, another whom I did not recognise and Overseer Guss who looked
very pleased with himself for some reason. I just hoped that I was part
of that reason. But over the three, Ahmed seemed to be more important
than any of them in some way which I did not clearly grasp.

It was clear that the evening was coming to an end. The sling which the
stranger had taken off in the course of the evening was being put back on
again by one of the body-slaves.

Ahmed came over to me than motioned me to get up and come with him. The
stranger intervened and seemed surprised about something or other. They
spoke, almost argued for about a minute, clearly about me, I was still
half hunkered between half way up and half way down.

The stranger gave a command, and the direction of his good hand indicated
that I was to get up. My eyes never left him for a split second.

Then he spoke to me directly in English. I did not understand what he had
said.

He touched my chest and said in atrocious Russian `Ivan? Sergei?
Vasili?' I got the message immediately and replied `Yuriy'.

With a crook of his finger and some comment he indicated to me to follow
him. Indeed, I do believe that I had been given to a new Master. But if
so, it was strange, the new Master had not even been told my name.

The two body slaves were looking rather deflated for some reason. Ah, I
got it. I was being chosen over them, but the new Master motioned them to
follow him and they brightened up immediately with big white toothed
smiles.

We made a procession up the stairs, the new Master, Ahmed, myself, the
two body slaves and into an enormous room.

The new Master and Ahmed spoke of what I do not know and then Ahmed
seemed to give a warning to the two body slaves. I am good at reading
body language. And a warning it was. Then Ahmed was clearly talking about
me as he nodded in my direction to the new Master, and giving a little
bow and backed out of the room.

The new Master started to undress himself with one hand. The body slaves
rushed to assist. I just stood there at display. They went into what was
a bathroom which would have housed a dozen recruits and I heard the sound
of pissing. Which reminded me that I had not pissed in almost half a day,
and which immediately started to annoy me. Bladders have a mind of their
own as every soldier will tell you.

The new Master came back into the bedroom, looked over at me. How he knew
I really had to piss I do not know, but he pointed out the toilet in the
bathroom and then the shower opposite it, and he pointed me inside. The
new Master wanted me to use the same toilet as himself and then take a
shower.

Was I to shower alone or wait for him? But first to piss. I did not close
the door of the toilet as the Master had not done so, and soon a stream
of my golden piss was hitting the sides of the porcelain toilet to my
great great relief. In for a rouble, in for two roubles! I took a quick
shit as well, before anyone caught on and quickly got under the shower.

I usually shower quickly at the best of times and thought that this was
pure Western luxury -- I dared not use the bar of soap that was here
thought I smelled its fragrance -- and finished in extra quick time.

I did not wish to use the Master's towels so I planed off the water on
my body and started on the Kazakh Air Force on-the-spot exercises. I
stopped immediately when the Master came in followed by the one of the
body slaves. He motioned me to continue my exercises and went under the
shower. I could now see that his arm was in plaster and the body slave
was very nervous about showering him and the arm as it was.

Not really looking but my new Master was very fit. No sooner than the
shower had started and the body slave soaping him down - the fragrance of
the soap was almost too much in the enclosed space of the bathroom -- but
the Master got a most healthy and virile erection of which any Master
could be proud. I say that because he was the same size and length and
thickness of my self at 20 or so centimetres when erect and a fine girth
into the bargain as well.

The body slave went immediately on his knees in the shower to take the
Master in his mouth, but he knocked the slave's hand aside almost in
annoyance. Now the second body slave had appeared as well, and they
contented themselves with drying the Master off with two large white
towels.

I, too, was now fully dry as well. The Master with his finger beckoned
all of three of us into the bedroom, and while I moved to go in, one of
the body slaves ran over to the toilet bowl, and slipped a nozzle up his
rectum, shat, and repeated the performance twice before I had reached
bedroom door. It was a well rehearsed performance but raised a question
in mind as to its need. Was the Master going to fuck all three of us, and
hence, his not wanting to be sucked off in the shower or what?

The Master looked at me and I think I knew what he was thinking but I was
putting nothing up my rectum unless ordered directly. But it was
something I would do if ordered but only if ordered. That is the only
part of me that is truly mine, apart from my mind.

I thought on going into the bedroom that the Master was a bit odd. He
threw a pillow on the floor beside the bed and then started rooting for
things in the presses. Why did he not say what he wanted to the Arabs --
at least I presumed they were Arab -- body slaves whose language he
spoke.

He obviously found what he was looking for in a light quilt which was
tossed down beside the pillow. And then he stopped, sat on the end of the
bed and looked at the two body slaves and then at me. This new Master is
indeed a bit odd.

He beckoned me over and said `Display' in English which I understood.
He touched my chest with the tips of his fingers, and ran them over each
of my nipples. The touch was electric and as light as the strand of a
spider's web at the one and the same time. My nipples, which are always
sensitive, hardened without even being pinched or pulled or teased.

He touched my pits, and I gave an involuntary tickled reaction, but he
was merely using with the tips of the fingers of his left hand. He was
neither trying to tickle nor to hurt, merely to touch. He was no threat
to me or to my pits or to my nipples -- well I hoped not to my nipples,
where a single hard pinch can actually bring me to my knees.

The Master touched my rippled six pack abdominal muscles and wetting his
middle finger touched the deep trough of my hard navel, where my belly
button is always such a sensitive central part of my stomach. It caused
an immediate and full erection My uncut cock-head was peeking out between
the folds of my prepuce. I just knew it was. It was always like that even
when I touched myself as the Master had touched me. If I knew myself at
all a hint of pre-cum, a small translucent pearl of juice, would now be
seen at the tip of the urethra.

The Master my ball sack in my hand and lifted it. It was tight and almost
hard up against my lower pubic bone, clearly full of the seed in my
testicles. The Master bent forward a little and a finger down the inside
of my legs. My gasp was audibly.

My erection was now leaking profusely and, stealing a glance down, I
could a long drip of pre-cum was now hanging down from my cock. The eyes
of the two body slaves on the bed were wide open, their eyes more white
than iris. I could see them looking at me and at the Master who took the
strand of the slave's pre-cum on the tip of his finger and put it
between my lips and touched my tongue.

The Master was giving me what was mine and at the same time trusting me
with his finger in my mouth. I sucked it for a moment until he withdrew
his hand.

Then, to this day I have remembered well that moment, the Master merely
using two fingers of his good hand pressed my shoulder and turned me
round facing back to the bathroom. My clenched buttocks were locked
together by straining muscles. With one hand on the small of my back, the
Master bent me over, and with his feet ever so gently tapped the inside
of my ankles until they were over a yard apart.

At that width, no amount of clenched muscle could keep my buttocks
together and I think I rewarded him with the first sight of the quarry he
was seeking, a firmly clenched drum tight arsehole, pink and puckered,
telling him what he must have already half guessed, that I, Yuriy Obov of
Kazakhstan, was an anal virgin.

The Master brought his nose up to the cheeks of my backside and blew in
between them with his pursed lips. I half jumped, half flinched as if I
had been hit a blow I was so sensitive there. He blew again and this time
I did not move. The Master let his tongue touch half way between my balls
and my hole, right in the middle of my choad, in the centre of my
perineum just under my anus and with the nails of his fingers lightly
scratched the perineum.

I groaned deeply as his fingers frottaged the tight skin between my upper
legs and down and around the shaven and hairless sack of my balls. Again,
I groaned deeply and another strand of pre-cum was hanging down between
my legs.

Those two bloody useless two body slaves had come around to look at what
was going on, looking at one another and grinning hugely.

The tip of the Master's tongue touched my clenched rosebud and I
literally shuddered.

His left hand was now up between my outstretched legs and the head of my
penis now fully engorged was resting in the palm of his hand. I could
feel the wetness of the strands of pre-cum coming from my own cock.

While two favourite recruits had rimmed me before none was like the
Master in expertise or consideration, as he touched the extra sensitive
areas between my legs and backside. I was a mass of jelly at the hands of
my Master, or rather at the simple tip of my Master's tongue and the
touch of my Master's fingers.

Suddenly, he stopped all action behind me and I got a light slap on the
cheek of my arse to be turned around again with the use of two fingers on
my hip bone. My cock, released from restraint of the Master's palm had
risen higher than its former right angle to my body, to now a definite
forty five degree upswing.

The Master looked up at my face and my eyes must have been glazed. I was
in penile torture for long enough, so when the Master took my straining
eight inches in his mouth and having sucked up and back my foreskin, as I
so love having done, and the tender area behind the corona of my glans,
as well, a mere three times, a groan slipped out from deep back in my
throat, a shudder ran through my body and a cry came from the very bottom
of my throat as I shot four solid loads of sperm into my Master's mouth
and down his throat.

Anyone expecting less would have gagged, seeing my build-up to this
climax, but I can proudly say that my Master did not loose a single drop
of my cum.

The two body slaves were looking at the Master in amazement. It was clear
that one, they had not seen this type of rimming action between a Master
and a slave before, and secondly, they had not, I guessed, ever seen a
Master suck off a slave.

I stood before the new Master, my hands now down by my side. My belly and
chest heaving as if I had run a mile around the indoor horse arena. I
could not figure out this new Master.

And then he did the strangest of things, he pointed to the quilt and
pillow on the floor and said `Sit. Sleep.' `Sit' I understood.
`Sleep' I did not, so he put his hand to the side of his head and
closed his eyes as if asleep. The new Master wanted me to sleep covered
by a quilt and with a pillow. I had had neither in over five month here
or when a prisoner of the Taliban. He also wanted me to sleep and I had
not pleasured him as he had me.

I dropped to the floor in confusion and started to cover myself clumsily
with the quilt, unused as I was to using any form of bedclothes.

The Master was speaking to the body slaves in Arabic and I appeared that
he would use them for sex that night.

Then I did something dangerous, I got up from the right side of the bed,
still with a half tumescent cock after my ejaculations, and walking round
the end of the bed with my eyes not daring to look at the Master, I knelt
down at his feet and showed my obedience to him -- though dangerous
disobeying his last order of going to sleep.

I took each of my Master's feet and kissed them and with my head
touching the carpet, I took my Master's right foot and placed it on the
back of my neck. I could think of no other way of saying that I was his,
now and forever. He could have abused me and he had not. He could have
hurt me and he had not. He could have taken my virginity and he had not.
All of twenty seconds must have passed before my Master moved. He took
the foot I had placed on the back of my neck off my neck, and catching my
arm, he said `Up'.

When I arose, it was clear that my eyes were wet and a single tear
started to roll down my right cheek. I had made my submission in my own
way.

My Master wiped the tear away. He took my right hand and put it on his
own penis and ball sack. He let me grasp him, but I applied no pressure
to the grip, rather a balancing of his balls in the palm of my hand.

He said `Yuriy, Master'. I did not get the message, so he touched my
chest with his finger and then touched his own chest. He repeated
`Yuriy, Master' to indicate the allegiance he wanted me to give him
voluntarily.

The thought clicked in my mind, and I slowly said `Yuriy, Master' and
bending down I kissed the tip of his penis as I had seen two of the
slaves do to Master Tariq the first time ever I saw him.

To be continued ...