Date: Wed, 01 Oct 2003 21:42:17 +0100
From: Gerry Taylor <gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Market Offer - Chapter 13 - Gay - Authoritarian

This is the thirteenth chapter of part three 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:

e. gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com
w. http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Erotic_Gay_Stories

The Market Offer by Gerry Taylor

 Chapter 13 -- Prisoner-slaves

 All too true to their word, the ambassadors had informed their
respective governments of my willingness to take their prisoners who
would then become my slaves at the Lime Palace. The first fifteen had
arrived in late September two weeks before they were due--such was the
unholy haste by the EU countries to get rid of them now that they had
been paid for.

 Perhaps I had made a mistake in saying that one million euro each would
be my price for taking them for life. To myself, I called these wretches
whom no one wanted and of whom all were ashamed, the orphan-slaves,
though in fact they were now prisoner-slaves. In the pecking order of
institutionalised beings, they were on the lowest rung.

 So as to put a number of issues at arm's length, I had each
prisoner-slave sent to either the slave-dealer at al-Qatim or al-Mera for
processing for one week, whereupon arriving in Dahra, each one had a
bracelet put on his right ankle.

 I do not know what actual arrangement was made between the EU
governments and that of Dahra itself, but I something was agreed on, and
I was told that a lot of new equipment went into schools where there were
only now twelve pupils maximum per class and into the four main hospitals
where public wards were abolished. But clearly some price for the
agreement of the Sheikdom had been paid.

 I made a point of being in al-Qatim for the arrival of the first five
prisoner-slaves. The various governments were processing them at
different speed and these had arrived by air. At the cargo airport in
Dahra, which is separate from the passenger one, the prisoner-slaves were
simply taken off the plane in neck-restraints, I was informed, down a
connecting tunnel into a waiting blue transit van, and hooked onto its
walls. Within the hour they were being unloaded into the delivery bay at
al-Qatim without them ever having seen the airport or even the
countryside.

 I always still very mindful of Gus Jennings' original warning when I
first came into the ownership of slaves that a truly obedient and
submissive slave was the product of two years training. So, a mere one
week stay at all-Qatim would do little for them but serve as a mere
introduction to the subject of being slaves.

 They were stripped naked of all clothes and on my prior instructions
completely shaven from neck to toe, with the exception of axilae and
pubic hair, which were trimmed, and a standard `high and tight' given
to all.

 It's strange the things you notice, but three were wearing glasses
which were taken from them. One had dentures which were taken out.

 When a sizeable enema was given to each, there was a bit of commotion
in the case of one French prisoner-slave. He became very distressed when
the enema shot out `mon plan' as he kept calling a small two inch
smooth piece of wood which would not have appeared on any x-ray machines.
It looked for all intents and purposes like a small piece of bamboo but
was in two halves one screwed into the other.

 It must have been inserted very high into the gut of the rectum for it
not to have been felt in the probing manual searches to which all the
prisoner-slaves had been subjected, or at least, so I had been assured.
It just went to prove that you could not take anything for granted in the
case of the prisoner-slaves.

 The `plan' when washed was brought over to the slave-dealer and
myself, and when we unscrewed it with some difficulty I might add, as I
was using a handkerchief not to touch the wood, considering where it had
been lodged. There was nothing more nor less than a small colour
photograph inside it, folded in four, showing an elderly couple and
between them a young child of five or six. There was writing on the back
of the photo which we could not read as the ink had run, but what we took
to be a date was some ten years earlier.

 In time, I got around to finding out the story behind the photograph.
The slave's name was Louis - the child in the photo, his son and the
elderly adults, his parents. It is quite amazing how much sentiment we
can attach to small things. Louis was very emotional when I showed it to
him again about two months later. But he cried, when I showed him the
report I had had done on his family, where the Buddy Foundation had
bought his parents vineyard, but kept his father on as a manager.

 At the auction-rooms and slave centre, each of the slaves was told how
to stand, to be at `rest', to `display', and over the following week
were given fifteen basic commands in English and in Arabic. One
understood English. None, Arabic.

 After a week, the first five were transported to the Aloe Palace which
would be their temporary home for some months yet, pending the completion
of the Lime Palace.

 Each prisoner-slave had been given an exhaustive medical prior to
departure, or so I had been led to believe, but I did not actually trust
some of the governments to send only healthy prisoners, so I had Yves
Fournier repeat the same, with dental and optical check-ups from Cal and
Nacho. Nacho operated on the two who had glasses previously to correct
their myopia, and Cal spent a full week on their teeth. That alone seemed
to have an extraordinary calming effect on them, as I was told, in the
absence of mirrors, they would just inspect the teeth of the latest slave
coming out from the Cal's treatment. Cal had found it best to simply
keep the slave overnight in the hospital ward until the anaesthetic wore
off fully.

 The new slaves were then brought to Greg and Jeff for retraining.
Nothing had prepared them for the short sharp shock of having their
bodies, freshly shaven from neck to toe, with their buzz cut hair style
and trimmed pubes, tied to the retraining table and given just one stroke
of each of the first five training procedures. The combination was just
as effective as the longer and more individual ones.

 Yves Fournier had introduced a new product, French, of course, which
was the newest and most sophisticated hair remover on the market. Applied
for fifteen minutes one a week for three weeks, body hair would never
grow there again.

 It had delighted me to find such smooth bodied slaves, my own original
slaves, at inspection after some weeks, where their only body hair - as
was my preference - being a trimmed rectangle of pubic hair, their axilar
hair and the `high and tight' or crew-cut on their heads. I found it a
real pleasure to be able to fondle the very smoothness of balls devoid of
all pubes.

 Each and every one of the prisoner-slaves did quickly what they were
told after a single day's retrainer. They were not professional
criminals in any crime sense of the word and in that way were not
`hardened' as the term is so often used.

 I believe there was in many case for some a fear of a totally new and
alien environment. But also a strong element of prison
institutionalisation had set in for some. I found it quite extraordinary
that prisoner-slaves would arrive at a closed door and actually wait for
someone to open it for them, such was their forced ingrained
institutional conditioning.

 The prisoner-slaves were then brought in to the showers, shit and
douched, and then given their first sex training session, which, at
times, required all the strength of the two mentors to deliver
particularly if the prisoner-slaves were being introduced to prolonged
anal sex for the first time, as to opposed to any quick fucks and gropes
they might have endured in their respective European prisons.

 Among the first five, was Jens Johanssen and as untypical of each of
them as each of them were of him - a thirty-two year old computer hacker.
He was the one who understood English, and he had brought down a
country's entire Scandinavian government's systems not just once but
twice - just to prove he could. And he had compounded matters by swearing
to do it again.

 He was stated to be a total nerd, unsociable in his habits, a loner,
unresponsive to social interaction, quite apart from being a genius,
amongst other things. According to his government, he was never to be let
near a computer or a modem or a telephone line. At the Aloe Palace, that
was easy, as we had none, expect in one triple-secure communications room
near the entrance -- a room of which no one knew but myself and Aziz --
not even Jack. Aziz knew of its existence, but not the code to get in
once the concealing bookcase had slid out of the way.

 Jens, like the others when he arrived, looked dazed, but then I
realised it must be glare of the day or the sun coming out of the van.

 `Welcome to your new home,' I said. `You will address me as
`Master', and as of this moment onwards you are my slaves.'

 Raoul was to hand to repeat in French what I had just said for the
benefit of three slaves and Rolf, in German, the same for another
Austrian.

 Their eyes just widened as they tried to take me in and the courtyard
and their surroundings, standing there naked with the wrists velcroed to
their neck restraints.

 `You will be processed and we shall speak again later this evening.'
I nodded to Greg and he led the first of the prisoner-slaves away to piss
and shit, to be showered, shaved, and then broken.

 Very intelligent people are always frightened by needless or
thoughtless violence, hence the bastinado, as in the case of the Dane, to
Jens's feet and the targeting of his anus and balls with the corded whip
would have appeared doubly frightening to him. Greg said he broke very
quickly and had begged him to stop when his anus was hit fair and square
just once.

 Later on that evening, after I had given him a good butt and prostate
examination with three lubricated fingers in the slave quarters - his
heretofore untouched prostate a joy to finger - he had ejaculated all
over the examination table on which he was kneeling.

 Now he was sitting at my feet of the veranda. I had him explain what
had happened to him. All he knew was that one minute he had been in
maximum security and the next he had awoken in the hold of a plane -- a
mild sedative had been put in his food - strapped to a gurney with a
catheter up his urethra.

 I told him that Fate had brought him here and that here he would stay,
that slaves were not ever let out of the country. I pointed out the
titanium bracelet that was as now on his right ankle, put there on his
arrival and monitored by GPS satellite.

 I also told him that he would be assigned two buddies with whom he
could have sex and who would have sex with him when he wanted it. He said
that he was not gay. And I countered by saying that gay had nothing to do
with it, that when he wanted sex at night there would be two buddies
available to him and vice versa. He looked frightened more than he had
been before.

 His two buddies would do everything for him, shave him, shower him,
feed him, and he likewise for them. That if one of them was punished that
most like he would be punished as well, and vice versa, and that from the
following day, he would be working on our farm and following the routine
of the Palace. I did not think that he took all in there and then.

 On Aziz's advice, I assigned one of the new Aussie Rules types who
would be house-broken so to speak and one of the opal mines slaves who
would know all about hard work. The mine slave was an Iranian called
Mirzan and the other gift Aussie type, was a Chechen called Vasili, but
Vaz for short, sold on to `lifters' after that internal civil war.

 I had Aziz explain to them their duties and how they should care for
their buddy, and they were to report back directly to him and to me, like
each of the other buddy teams. They did.

 The Iranian sucked Jens off the first night and, later on, Jens told me
he was afraid to move a muscle in case something further happened to him
of a sexual nature. Had he had basic Arabic, he could have had the
Iranian stop, or the Chechen - well maybe not the Chechen - from licking
him all over.

 They slept on either side of Jens till morning when they taught him how
to piss, shit, to stand still while being shaved and sucked off. The
Chechen then did the same to the Iranian to show Jens again what was to
be done to a buddy, and then they fed him his two biscuits before
bringing him out to Dumi to go out to the fields.

 Dumi had sun-block with him and Jens's two buddies, much to their
amusement, first covered his white naked body with sun-block from head to
toe, even working it down between the crack in his ass for good measure
and slipping a finger of it up his anus.

 For the Iranian former mine slave, working among the vegetables in the
fields would have been like a walk on the beach compared to his former
work. He had been in the mine for just six years and would have known how
to pace himself.

 It would have been clear to all the original slaves that these new
prisoner-slaves for some reason appeared to be important to the overseer
and Master. Though none of the overseers and slaves in the Palace knew
the details yet other than that their common denominator had been their
status as a prisoner of an EU state.

 Jens had been given a hat, and working beside and between the two of
them his body soon glistened with sweat and the melting of the sun-block.
The other two were simply very healthily tanned all over.

 I was afterwards informed that that second night the Chechen wanted to
be sucked off and the Iranian wanted to be fucked. It was as if it was
their night off from being tops for Jens, but he obliged with man-sex
ending up sucking both off and despite being Danish, it was a first for
him in his entire life. But between two trained slave-oxen so to speak,
Jens' life had been harnessed.

 Another reason why I remember the details of Jens Johanssen so clearly
was that among his papers sent to me in his dossier was that a copy of
the `death' certificate having been left in his file by mistake between
two other documents. He had `died' in prison, and had been
`cremated'. This I subsequently discovered was to stymie any form of
investigation, journalistic, public or private.

 By the time his thirty days between his two `oxen' were up, he was as
submissive in sexual matters as any well-trained slave with no
inhibitions in doing sexually what he was told to do.

 Jens had been prohibited when sent to jail from ever going near a
computer again for having brought down entire countrywide systems. I
spoke to him at length one evening a little over a month after his
arrival at the Aloe Palace.

 `Is there anything you would like, Jens? A helicopter and a modem are
excluded,' I said with a smile.

 He seemed to be at a loss for words and then he said which in a way
surprised me.

 `I haven't yet been a assigned a fixed buddy here, Master. I mean not
after the first buddies on arriving here. I would like to have, just a
friend.'

 `Jens, I think you and I are going to have to do better than that.
What you need is someone who really sets your world on fire, not just
something like your love of computer systems.'

 But in fact, without meaning too, Jens had put an idea into my mind.
After this thirty days out working on the farm, he looked much healthier,
having put on a little weight and acquired an all over superb tan. After
the first week, he had had no longer any need of the sun-block. His eyes
were bright and his skin looked less hanging on his thin frame than it
had. Nightmares, which he had been suffering from, had stopped, he said,
after about the third week.

 The loss of his anal virginity he said had been gentler than he had
expected and was as exhausting on him as on both the Iranian and the
Chechen, who both well knew of the Master's interest in the blond
prisoner-slave. Jens, over the years, was to prove invaluable to me and
to the Lime Palace as in the case of Aziz.

 Aziz is the head of my household. I had `inherited' him from the
previous owner and he had lived his entire fifty plus years at the Palace
as far as he could remember or his file could tell me. He reflected my
authority throughout and his mere presence, though a slave of small
frame, was enough to send slackers scattering to the four corners of the
property where they should have been working in the first place. He and
Yedo, his giant Bulgarian assistant, saw their work eased by the
installation of a human resources program on the computer, created by
Jens Johanssen.

 Aziz was reluctant to use the system, as he could not type, until he
found that it was voice activated, after which there was no problem. Yedo
was shown how to type in four or five lessons by the computer itself and
never looked back.

 Yves Fournier, the doctor, also got a mirror program for the health
care of all those at the Palace, with the generic conditions of regular
checks, the removal of blemishes, body imperfections and tattoos, a
myriad of other medical things which I did not comprehend.

 Summer was coming to an end and my nephew, Jack Tuttle, was supposed to
start his world tour. He seemed reluctant to leave after two and a half
months in the Palace. He did not bring up his departure so, I told him to
get his ass in gear as our American cousins can so succinctly put it.

 `Uncle Jonathan, you know how Mum and Dad want me to have a career.
Could I do that here in Dahra?'

 `What a career in slave management?'

 I was being particularly obtuse and sarcastic that evening.

 `No, Uncle Jonathan, at the Bank. You said I could in London. But
could I do it here in Dahra?'

 `Jack, it is always better to get the broadest experience in a large
office. While the office here is very well run by Gustav Ahlson, we do
have very limited functions.'

 `It doesn't matter, Uncle Jonathan. It doesn't matter. London would
be so boring' -- and he said the word as if were on a par of being
condemned to the gallows -- `after Dahra and everything you do here.'

 The `everything' was emphasised.

 I did had a word however with Gustav and it was agreed, Jack would come
in for an interview with him.

 Gustav pulled no punches at the interview and told Jack that he
expected him in at work every morning at eight, and that like everyone
else there starting new, that if he missed one day for any reason in the
first six months, that was it. He would be out.

 Jack came out of that interview with a very humbled opinion and
viewpoint of himself and his potential as a future banker, and started
the following week pushing the post cart around the Bank delivering the
morning mail. My estimation of Gustav went up a grade, as I could not
have pulled Jack down to ground level better than he did.

 As Jack had to be in the Bank by eight, it meant that he either got an
apartment in the capital or that he would travel in with me from the
Palace in the mornings. We decided on the latter, and as if to emphasise
that this was work, he travelled up front with Faisal, the driver, while
I read my reports in the back.

 Also I warned Jack that from the time he set foot in the limo to the
time he got out of it again in the evening, he would address me not as
`uncle' but as `sir' like everyone else at the Bank, that family was
family, but business was business. When he replied, `yes, sir' and
`thank you, sir,' I thought that he might just make it.

 The Lime Palace was really coming on superbly. I had had a straight
road put - exactly a mile in length -- between the two palaces.

 Apart from the main palace building itself, with a larger sports and
gym complex attached to it than at the Aloe Palace, there were six almost
identical three storey buildings to the rear of the palace where the
slaves would be housed on the upper floors and, on the ground floors, the
service areas for each building and the palace itself. One of the
features of the slave housing areas was that they would no longer be
sleeping in open areas when fully trained, but in large rooms who took
two large pallet beds and basic furniture for four slaves.

 The six buildings had some interesting features in that they were all
inter-connected by glass corridors on the second and third floors, so
that in theory a slave in the most westerly building could walk through
four other building and their inter-connecting corridors and end up in
the most easterly building.

 Secondly, between each building and the next was a courtyard with a
number of fountains and some small gardens with pergolas against the hot
sun. Various of the gardens were being designed by the slaves themselves
with plants from the local desert flora.

 Overall, the building programme was taking shape and I was a happy
camper.

 Another problem pressing on my mind was the staffing of the new Lime
Palace, where the most pressing issue was to find out who would transfer
across there immediately -- a reduced number to run the Palace itself,
but the bulk of slaves to start tackling the new farmland itself and to
reclaim the untilled tracts of desert lands. It would be wrong to think
of the desert lands as being tracts of sand like you would see in the
Sahara. Desert simply meant poorly fertilised, poorly drained and above
all, no water. All of these aspects and particularly the latter were
being well and truly attended to.

 It was little surprise that Dumi Bod, the Moldavian, was the unanimous
choice of the various overseers as the new stables' overseer for the
Lime Palace, if Yuriy at the end of the day decided not to move. Dumi was
a happy slave and never shirked his duty, and was always on hand to help
anyone who got into difficulty out on the Aloe Palace farm. It was clear
that all who knew him trusted his word and his work.

 It was then a question of deciding on five new assistant overseers for
the farm work. I was not that surprised when young Jiri, the Czech slave,
was again named. We had ruled him out when appointing the last assistant
overseers.

 But I was surprised when I heard my two now cactus garden slaves -- the
layabouts as I still regarded them -- Mamoud and Mehmed being
recommended. Apparently, they were now quite responsible workers.

 I was delighted when Todd -- even though he was helping Yves Fournier,
the doctor -- and Raoul were also mentioned. As no other names were
forthcoming, we settled on these six for the time being.

 With Yuriy, the stables' overseer present, I had him call Dumi Bod and
told him of his new position. I also told Dumi that I would have him in
my bed that night. As Rolf, the gym overseer, was his lover and a very
fit lover at that, I wondered how the sensitivity of his walnut sized
prostate had fared and if it was as rough to touch as when I had first
had him.

 Dumi said, `Thank you, Master. If I am to share your bed tonight, can
I have Rolf share it also with you?'

 And so it was. That evening I was rather tired and told the two just
to make love as I looked on. Rolf was about to say something, but the
wiser Dumi put a finger to Rolf's lips and started a bout of love-making
which went on for over an hour, as each touched the other in a hundred
places eliciting the whimpering groans of lovers on the permanent brink
of orgasm. Neither had fucked the other but their cocks were straining
hard and leaking copiously after the hour, then Dumi said `Master, will
you suck Rolf and me off.'

 It was my pleasure as they say, but when I had sucked both Dumi and
Rolf off, although their arms were touching me, their eyes were on each
other, as the eyes of lovers should be.

 The five other new assistant overseers, Jiri, Mamoud, Mehmed, Todd and
Raoul were called in. Jiri just opened his mouth at the news, but no
words could come out, other than `Yes, Master.' Mamoud and Mehmed
rushed over to kiss my feet. Todd and Raoul just said `Thanks, Boss'
and Todd added, `I won't let you down.'

 The following morning at inspection they were presented with their
ivory fly-swishes which seemed to intrigue some of the newer arrivals.

 Their most urgent task was to each choose twenty slaves who would be
the buddies -- the oxen-slaves to calm down the new prisoner-slave
arrivals from the auctions rooms of al-Mera and al-Qatim.

 At this stage, the overseers and slaves would not know of any of my
dealings with the EU governments, but merely this was another number of
slaves from to the Palace.

 The initial processing was to see that their sex-training was started
immediately by a quick double fuck on the first or second night, and a
compiling of a weekly report to each of the assistant overseers on the
progress, adaptation, and submissiveness of each of the prisoner-slaves.

 The system worked a treat and by the end of the year one hundred
prisoner-slaves had been transported to me at the Lime Palace, each given
two oxen-slaves and under whom they would be trained in. For each of the
prisoners, I received a million euro transfer for their keep for the rest
of their lives.

 None of the prisoner-slaves lasted more than three retraining sessions
with Todd and Jess. Those who had lasted three sessions were put among
oxen-slaves with the largest cocks to be made truly submissive by the end
of thirty days. And the groans at night of quite a number of virgin asses
being taken and plundered were eloquent testimony of the oxen-slaves --
whether farm slaves who thought all their Christmases had come together
or the `gift' slaves taking their task really and truly to heart.

 Not one single complaint of mistreatment was heard from any of the
prisoner-slaves after thirty days, and they were happily working the
lands of the new Lime Palace by early in the new year.

 The medical staff of surgeon and physician Dr. Yves Fournier, to whom I
gave a new assistant in the American, Randy Tait, who worshiped the
ground Yves walked on, dentist Cal Thorson who was still infatuated by
the Brazilian slave, Sérgio, and the optometrist Dr. Nacho Cuesta, were
working flat out. Nacho still did not have an assistant slave, but always
said he would choose one in due course.

 In early October all the medical professional transferred to their new
medical wing at the Lime Palace. `Wing' might be the wrong word for it,
as it was an entire floor of one the six new buildings, where they all
shared a common small hospital ward, and had their private quarters
overhead. It was all so brand new and shiny that it seemed obscene that
any one should need medical treatment or be sick there. Most of their
equipment transferred over from the Aloe Palace, and what did not was
replaced.

 Despite all the expenses of building the Lime Palace during the year
and its total refurbishment, my finances had improved dramatically during
the course of the previous twelve months. Revenues for water from the
neighbours were never less than six million euro a month, even after
deducting Jalal al-Hamdi's five per cent `handling' fee.

 The income from the prisoner-slaves was now never less that an average
eight million euro a month, and from during late in the month of
September of my second year in Dahra, they had started to be lodged in
the slave quarters first of the Aloe Palace and then in the six new slave
quarters buildings of the new Lime Palace.

 In the first batch of fifteen prisoner-slaves with which Jens Johanssen
came, a reduced number went for retraining for one day, with great
dramatic effect on their overall attitude. The psychological fact that
they themselves had it in their power not to return to the training room
for a second day, let alone a total of a further eighty plus days, was
the decisive factor for most, in choosing to acknowledge me as their
Master.

 Actually, the prisoner-slaves seemed overpowered not by the fact of now
being slaves - a fact which did not truly register with them in my
opinion - but by being so free to effectively come and go in the Palace
grounds.

 They had to this point in their own countries been in cells and close
confinement and under twenty-four hour surveillance for. Here, there was
no such technical surveillance, just the watchful eyes of the `oxen.'

 The farm work by its very nature was not hard work. Hot perhaps, for
those not accustomed to the Dahran heat, but each morning their white
bodies were smeared down with the aloe sun-block into every crack and
orifice and cranny, and this continued for a fortnight, some for less,
until their first permanent tan started to kick in.

 After three weeks, most were beautifully tanned and their fully shaven
bodies -- I had insisted on the removal of all body hair like the other
slaves except for a small amount of pubic hair over their penises and
axiliar hair in their armpits -- became slowly hard and lean and muscled
with the farm-work and then under Rolf's careful supervision in the gym
and in the pool. The new cream recommended by Yves which was coming in by
the barrel load constituted quite a savings on the original disposable
razors.

 It was perhaps the introduction to sex that took most of the
prisoner-slaves by surprise. I had introduced sex training for all those
who would be mentors and `oxen', each having to practice for a full
fortnight on a variety of basic sexual techniques on the other companion
slave.

 I had paid particular attention to having both of the oxen-slaves
taking the virginity of the new arrivals as soon as possible and to
introducing them to deep-throating, with the obligation to return as much
pleasure to their partners as they could within reason, or else go in for
a session of retraining.

 Each morning at inspection, it became a second skill at seeing who had
been well and truly fucked and plucked the previous night among the
prisoner-slaves. At times, they did not want to look me in the eye, but
with soft words of encouragement and `well done', the newness of this
form of sexuality, in companionship if not in wanted sex itself, was made
clear to them.

 At the end of the first thirty-day period for each new prisoner-slave,
I would go to see him having sex with his two mentors and `oxen', and
the enthusiasm with which he went about it. Those who were still not
enthusiastic about man-sex were then handed over to Komil, or to Mehmed
or Mamoud who would then exercise them with their very sizeable or `beer
can' cocks, as Bob the Canadian slave so quaintly put it to me one time.

 Any one who had been faking it up to them, was soon confronted with a
no-holds-barred session of fucking, and deep-throating, which Komil and
the two newly appointed assistant young bull overseers loved. But this
happened very infrequently it must be said.

 A strange thing also happened at the end of September -- that is not to
say that anything else that had happened was just ordinary. A little
mystery was solved. Since about February, a small container, a punnet
really, of beautiful sweet figs would appear at different times every
Thursday morning on the balustrade of the veranda in the Aloe Palace just
down from where I would have my breakfast. Flavio, the cook, had
commented upon it. But I gave it no attention and it had gone out of my
mind. The figs were very nice and formed part of the bowl of fruit that
was usually on the breakfast table.

 I had gone into partnership with a local Dahran Arab small business
man, who had been handling the deliveries of seaweed being made to the
Aloe Palace and he had suggested their burning down into potash not at
the Palace itself but at a venue just off the beach at al-Mera, where it
would be better and simpler.

 It had suited me fine, and for a very small investment, which I think
went into the purchase of an incinerator, a proper lorry and some
machinery, the Palace would get all the potash we wanted each week,
initially to be free for two years and then at a price to be agreed after
that. The Palace paid only for the transport and the surplus production
at the little plant was sold to other vegetable growers and coast
farmers.

 I had written off the investment in my mind and saw the delivery of the
potash even over a two-year period as more than a return on the small
amount of money paid out. The other thing that I had liked about the
small businessman -- Abu Ben-Azri was his name -- that every two months
unrequested and without fail, I received in an envelope a two page
handwritten account of the income on what had been sold, less the
expenditure mainly on wages and diesel for the lorry. My partner in
seaweed and potash was an honest man.

 Now with the latest `set of accounts' to the end of September, there
was a note from Abu Ben-Azri requesting to see me. I had the chauffeur
carry back a note, I don't think that Abu was even on the phone, that
Thursday of that week would be fine with me, if it was with him. Faisal,
the chauffeur brought back an affirmative reply.

 When Abu Ben-Azri arrived with another young Dahran, it was in the
`potash' lorry and he parked it at the far side of the Palace
courtyard. I was sitting on the veranda enjoying one of Bob's proverbial
limejuices when the two approached and I went down to meet Abu.

 I had not actually seen him at all since the first time, we had met,
and although he was obviously dressed in his best white dish-dash and
ogal, the traditional long white Arab garment of the region and headband,
he looked gaunt and even worried.

 I, uncharitably though to myself, how worried can you get running a
seaweed plant -- but I went down the veranda steps to greet him and his
companion, whom he introduced as his son, Abdul.

 We seated ourselves on the veranda and Bob poured out some more
lime-drink for the two new arrivals.

 Having enquired about my health and the Aloe Palace and the talk of me
having bought the Lime Palace land, and all the polite noises that are
necessary to make first in Arab society before getting to the business in
hand, I had to enquire about him and his family and the plant.

 He seemed a little wistful, but stated that as in the accounts he just
sent, the plant was going well. That his two brothers and some of their
sons were now working for him -- the wages bit, I seemed to remember --
and with the plant all was well, that, unless I objected, with the
profits being made a second lorry might be bought. I stated my total lack
of objection. But I had noticed that he had not spoken of his family as
such -- relations working for him, yes, nor of himself, so I repeated
that part of the question.

 `That Sir Jonathan is why I am here. I am dying of stomach cancer and
the university Hospital professor tells me it is a matter of months.'

 I looked at him and at his son who appeared to be looking at the
ground.

 `Abu, I am very sorry to hear that. Are they sure? Is there anything I
can do there?'

 `No, Sir Jonathan. It is definite. I know my body and I know that
something is very wrong. It is not one of those cancers that can be
quickly treated with chemotherapy. I shall be dead in some months. The
hospital is correct, and you do know we have a free better health service
than in Europe or America.'

 That point I had to concede. The equipment at the university Hospital
had either been borrowed or stolen from galaxy class star-ships it was so
up-to-date and beyond.

 `The reason why I am here is to ask you a favour and in return I shall
give you my half of the business. I want to ask that you allow Abdul live
at the Aloe Palace.'

 I looked at him and again at Abdul who lifted his face up when he heard
his father speaking of him. He had a perfect smooth face of small
features, very light almost pale brown satin-like skin and the two most
beautiful doe eyes of perfect brown that I had ever seen. He smiled and
he had almost perfectly natural brilliantly white teeth, but there was
something amiss and I could not quite put my finger on it.

 I had not responded, so Abu was continuing to speak.

 `My wife died at childbirth giving birth to Abdul. It was long and
difficult, and medicine could neither save her nor correct Abdul.'

 `Correct Abdul?' I did not understand what he meant.

 `Abdul is a perfectly healthy young man, but his mind is that of a
person younger than his nineteen years and he will never grow older in
his mind. That is what the doctors tell me.'

 The message clicked Abdul Ben-Azri was mentally retarded brought on by
oxygen starvation at birth! He did not look or appear so, but if his
father said he was, he must be.

 `Abu, I am not sure how to address this issue. I do not have the
facilities here to care for a beautiful young man like your son. Surely,
your brothers, your family will be able to take care of him, even the
Sheikdom itself.'

 `My brothers children make fun of him because he is not as intelligent
as they are, and he himself is not comfortable with them. He comes here
each morning with me our first load of potash - which always come to the
Lime Palace - and he loves meeting your slaves here. He knows many of
them by name and they have never been anything but kind to him and very
patient with him as he helps unload the bags from the lorry.'

 All of this was news to me. I knew the potash was delivered each
weekday, but I was always gone to the Bank early, so would not know the
ins and outs of its delivery schedule.

 `First and foremost, Abu, your partnership share is yours and yours
alone. Do with it as you wish. I shall not take it. Will one of your
brothers be able to run the installation in the future?' -- I had almost
said `when you are dead'.

 `Yes, Sir Jonathan, one of them will be able to do this, but that
still does not solve the problem of Abdul.'

 Turning to Abdul, Abu said, `Abdul, my son, stand up and let the
Master see you. Take off that dish-dash.'

 Abdul smiled stood up immediately before I could say `yea' or
`nay', and pulled the white dish-dash over his head dislodging his ogal
in the process. He put it carefully on the chair and slipped out of his
sandals.

 If his face was perfection, his body was that of any angel. It was pale
pale brown without a trace of body hair except under his armpits where
black twirls of hair were peeking out.

 He must have been all of six feet, standing on two firm trunks of legs,
almost hairless, and between those trunks hung a branch almost as thick
as my forearm, of a penis so well proportioned that it would not have
been out of place on a young bull. It was thick like a hose at the top
and ran down all of ten inches, and it was totally flaccid, to large
corona, which rose directly off the shaft and made a flange such as I had
only seen in exaggerated art. But here it was in live flesh. His cock
head was the size of an egg and his piss slit a good half-inch long and
slightly gaping.

 But nestling behind that beautiful penis were two testicles the size of
small oranges which back up against his body pushed the penis out so that
it was not tumescent or anywhere near it, but rather a large and long
gentle curve out and down.

 `Turn round, Abdul, and let the Master see your back.'

 I held my breath, as the pale pale brown skin of the front was replace
by the total smoothness of a curve of the body which went from neck to
hips and rested above buttocks on which there were sensually globed and
racing down to thighs of sinew and muscle.

 Wars had been fought over less!

 `Go closer to the Master, Abdul, so that he can feel your skin and
body parts.'

 Abdul drew close, and with one portion of my mind, I saw my hand reach
out and stroke his skin which was warm and smoother than any satin. He
turned and his privates were before my eyes. No visual feast was richer,
and from the warmness of his body, the slightest scent of manly musk!

 I dared not touch any place on his body front below his neck otherwise
I would not have been responsible for subsequent actions.

 `Sir Jonathan, you can see that there is not a blemish on his body,
which reflects his mind. He is a good son. He is an obedient lad. He is
patient, kind and hard-working. He has also a virgin never having been
with woman or man.'

 `Abdul,' I heard my voice-box say, `put your clothes back on.'

 I had not yet heard his voice, and I was afraid of what would happen to
me when I did hear it.

 I was going to say something more to Abu, but he beat me to the punch.

 `Sir Jonathan, I beg to you to take in my son. I know he would be
happy here to work on your farm, or in your Palace or as a body servant.
You could have him do what you wish and he will obey, such is his
nature.'

 `Abu, you must surely realise that apart from the medical personnel
here, all my staff are slaves.'

 `Yes, Sir Jonathan, male slaves, that I know and can see each morning.
But what I have also seen and heard since I first started to deliver the
potash is that not a single slave has ever spoken badly of you. Not a
single slave has ever appeared with a whip mark on him. Not only that but
I have observed that metal decorations have disappear off those who have
arrived here and the infidel tattoos as well, and that soon after
arriving all have perfect teeth given by your dentist.'

 And then Abu Ben-Azri stunned me.

 `If you will not take my Abdul as a worker, then I shall sell him to
you.'

 At that moment, time took a holiday. Space converged and I felt what
only those who suffer from claustrophobia must feel - the walls of the
courtyard closing in on me, the ceiling of the veranda pressing down on
me, the rush of blood in my veins as I though of such simple ageless
beauty being mine and in my arms.

 `Abu Ben-Azri, how could you sell me your own son? Let us all think
clearly and calmly about this. Is it possible in Dahra to sell a family
member?'

 `Sir Jonathan, I can sell him to you because I love him more than life
itself. I have thought clearly and calmly about this. And yes, it is
possible to sell a family member. I know of many who have been sold for a
variety of reasons. If I had the time, I would think of other options. I
have less than ninety days.'

 `And what does Abdul say to all of this?' -- I was asking the father,
not daring to look at the son. Abu had his son give me the answer.

 `My son, would you like to live and work at the Palace, with the
Master here?'

 `Yes, father, I would.'

 `And what would you do for the Master, Abdul?'

 `I would work for the Master every day and love the Master forever.'

 I closed my eyes and before I could stop myself, I heard my disembodied
voice of before say `Abu, I give you my word as an Englishman that I
shall always look after you son here in my home.'

 I looked across at Abu Ben-Azri and said `Let us see what is the best
way to do this, Abu.'

 He did not reply, but was looking out into the courtyard.

 `Father, ask the Master about the figs. About the figs' -- Abdul was
speaking and it broke my own reverie.

 His father smiled and said, `Abdul wants to know if you like his figs.
He leaves the small box of figs for you every Thursday morning to say
`thank you' for having given me permanent work in our joint-venture.'

 I must have looked puzzled, for Abu continued, `before the venture,
life was very hard. I am not really a businessman, but a vegetable farmer
who saw the opportunity of delivering the seaweed and then the potash to
you, Sir Jonathan. Now we are all able to eat fish or meat every day. So
Abdul picks a box of figs for you every Thursday from our fig-tree in the
garden and leaves it for you. It is his way of saying thanks.'

 I looked at Abdul whose doe eyes were gleaming bright, and I said
`they are the most beautiful figs in all of Dahra, sweeter than sugar.'

 He laughed and his smile brightened the walls of the courtyard, `No,
Master, not sweeter than sugar. Nothing is sweeter than sugar,' he said
shaking his head again with his ear to ear smile.

 Who was I to contradict?

 That evening I saw the full humanity in a father who would do anything
to help his son. We agreed that Abdul would become my slave and from that
evening on, he would live at the Aloe Palace.

 When he heard that bit, Abdul said `Can I now be like Mehmed and
Mamoud?' -- he was referring to the two cousin layabouts who looked
after my cactus and succulent beds.

 `I suppose so,' I said not thinking, whereupon he whipped off his
clothes again and sat on the ground. I clapped my hands and Bob came out.

 `Bob, will you find Mehmed and Mamoud for me. We have a new slave at
the Palace from his evening.'

 The two layabouts upon arrival were over the moon at having their own
slave to look after and train. In the presence of Abu, I warned them
both.

 `He is an angel. See that he remains one. See that you look after him
as you look after me.'

 `Yes, Master. Yes, Master' were the happy replies.

 I agreed with Abu Ben-Azri that Abdul would want for nothing in the
Palace and that if at some stage he wanted to be my body slave, that he
could decide on that in his own time and in his own way, but that for the
moment he would just assist inside the Aloe Palace.

 We also agreed that Abu's shareholding in the potash installation be
divided between this two younger brothers to prevent fights and to ensure
hard work on their part.

 My last agreement with Abu was that the slave-dealer in al-Mera would
prepare the necessary documentation on Abdul, who had to travel one day
to al-Mera to get his titanium slave bracelet put on.

 It was the last time Abu Ben-Azri and I spoke. He was dead within six
weeks, as if having fulfilled his last important mission in life, there
was nothing more for him to do.

 When I told Abdul of his father's death, he did not seem to be moved,
as if I had told him about the weather or some such thing. He merely said
`My father is now in paradise and he is no longer in pain.'

 When he looked at that moment into my eyes, I merely wished to dive
into the soft brownness of his and be enveloped in their lack of guile
and utter simplicity.

 I put Abdul on a light gym training programme with Rolf in the gym, who
strangely enough had to teach him to swim properly -- though he had lived
all his life near the sea. In time, he became one of the most beautiful
bodied of all my slaves. But not one of them, absolutely none of them,
could hold a candle to him for his simplicity of soul.

 When I saw how well Abdul was settling in and working so well with
Mamoud and Mehmed in the cactus gardens, I decided to invited to my bed
one evening because an idea was germinating in my head. If something
happened between us, fine, if not then so be it.

 It was an extraordinary evening that I shall never forget for two
particular reasons. Abdul's skin was velvet soft. It was more like
touching velour or combed silk.

 The second thing was that after a long session of just touching many of
the sensitive spots on his body, his cock was massively hard and had
begun to leak pre-cum. He was trying hard to mimic what I was doing to
him.

 He said "Master, I love you'.

 I could not resist more and I started to suck the tip of his cock-head
-- it being practically impossible to get it all in my mouth -- Abdul
started the same with me.

 While my experience normally allows me a certain control over coming or
not, or holding back or not, such was the gentleness of his sucking and
the touching of my entire genital area, as if from the experience of his
own body alone he knew just where to touch and how, I knew I would not
last long at the rate he was exciting me.

 Therefore with all my skill, and I mean, all my skill, I sucked as no
one since Casanova himself had sucked, and Abdul giving half a sigh, half
a groan, came and came and came in my mouth. I lot lost count after
thirty ejaculations. But I would say that I had swallowed well over a cup
of semen.

 No one had sucked him or pulled him off before. He had never pulled
himself off before. It was as if his whole life he had been waiting for
that moment.

 The only negative, if that be told, was that after such an outpouring
of semen, he fell asleep as if a switch had been thrown and never moved
until morning.

 I had him as my bed companion for over a fortnight and taught him all
the basics of sex that he would need to know in the Lime Palace for what
I had in mind.


 The road I had built in a straight line between the two Palaces came
into its own the first weekend of October when two large open backed
lorries helped in moving any items that need to be moved from the old
Palace to the new one.

 First in were the medical team into their new facilities and what were
now extremely well furnished apartments for the paid servants in one of
the six blocks.

 The straight road actually solved a number of issues. Randy was Pete's
buddy and lover, and so stayed in his overseer's quarters in the Aloe
Palace. Each morning he merely walked up the road to the Lime Palace to
assume his duties with Dr. Fournier, greeting Stan and company who were
walking down the road to take care of their early morning duties in the
palleting of the vegetables for the market in the capital city.

 The Swedes moved across to the new Palace by merely walking up the
one-mile road in pairs, their curious individual straw hats aflutter in
the evening wind that always blew in from the direction of the distant
sea.

 On the evening of the first day at the Lime Palace, my own quarters
were essentially moved over in full. Some filing cabinets and like would
be moved in due course.

 When the bulk of the slaves and all the overseers, with the exception
of Pete, now effectively the new head of household at the Aloe Palace, I
ordered a small celebration be held.

 While the grounds of the Palace had been totally cleared of all
builders rubble and materials, the gardens were still to come into the
own, and without the surrounding vegetation to give a proper acoustic,
the new fountains sounded hollow with their splashing waters and
incomplete garden beds.

 But no one could take from the cheerfulness of the evening. It had
taken all of three days to fill the Olympic sized pool and it was being
used for the first time.

 The buddy system for both overseers and slaves had worked out without a
flaw. Only seven or eight slaves, depending on their duties, were working
at the Lime Palace, while their buddy would be at the Aloe Palace. The
solution could not be simpler, each evening they went `home' to their
buddy and lover at the Aloe Palace, and each morning came up the straight
road to work at the Lime Palace just like Randy.

 Flavio, my cook, had trained in Ivan, the Crimean slave, to work in the
kitchens of the Aloe Palace. I was not too sure that he would be a
long-term success, as originally he had said he had hated working in the
kitchens of the Ukrainian army. But he had basic cooking skills and Pete,
the new head of household there, seemed happy for the moment.

 Why was I not surprised when Stan approached me and said that he was
thinking of asking me to appoint Bob, the Canadian slave, as the property
overseer of the Aloe Palace. Bob was Ivan's lover and buddy.

 `This, Stan, is totally your own idea?'

 `Actually no, Master', he said with a grin, `I have been persecuted
for the past week with requests from both Ivan and Bob.'

 `And Bob, could he do the job?'

 `Yes, Master, no problem.'

 `Ok, Stan, have him found and come and see me.'

 Stan merely raised his voice and said, `You can come out now, Bob.'

 Bob has been waiting inside the kitchen doors all the time. I found it
hard not to laugh at the set-up.

 `Assistant overseer for property, Bob, a bit of step, eh? This would
have nothing to do with the fact that Ivan will be based at the Aloe
Palace?'

 Bob blushed and with a swallow said `Yes, Master, it has everything to
do with Ivan. I just want to be near him and know that he is near day and
night.'

 I fondled Bob's generous genitals as I thought of what to say, but am
I to stand between star-crossed lovers? The Aloe Palace got its new
assistant property overseer.


 I finally got around to having a heart to heart talk that weekend also
with Jens, the Danish slave and computer expert.

 `What do you miss most, Jens?'

 After a moment's hesitation, he said `My computers.'

 There was a wistfulness and wishfulness in his voice.

 `Do you know what the first sentence in the Hippocratic Oath is for
doctors?'

 He shook his head.

 `Primum, non nocere -- `first, do no harm.' If you were to be given
a computer again, would you do harm? Would you do only what I would tell
you.'

 A sheen of perspiration was breaking out on his forehead and face, like
when an alcoholic has a drink passed under his nose after a year and a
day on the wagon.

 `You know the court said I was never to get near a computer ever
again?'

 `Forget about European courts. That was there. This is Dahra and here
in the Aloe Palace I am the law. You are now my slave and I make the
rules in this Palace. But my rules must also respect any number of issues
in this country and around the world. So, again the question, would you
do harm, or would you do no harm or only what I would tell you.'

 `Is this a trick question, Master?'

 `No, Jens, it is an honest question.'

 He wet his lips.

 `I would do only what you would tell me, Master.'

 `Again, Jens, no trick question, would you do harm, if I told you
to?'

 `No, Master, first do no harm and I would do only what you told me,
Master.'

 Jens was getting very nervous.

 `Why would you do no harm, Jens?'

 `Because I have seen the harm I can do. I can stop entire countries in
their tracks, stop traffic lights, shut down airports. You name it. Once
the hacker bug is in control, you become another person and the real you
seems just be a spectator.'

 `So, Jens, let me tell you. There are no phone lines in the Aloe
Palace, no communication devices, no modems, no outside or satellite
lines' -- well the last bit was a little white lie but he was not to
know that or where it was located.

 `If I were to give you a stand alone computer and asked you to design
a personnel program for the Aloe Palace, you certainly would be able to
do it, but one, would you? And secondly, would you able to do it without
it turning you back into a computer nerd?'

 `Primum, non what, Master?'

 `Nocére, Jens.'

 `Primum, non nocere. A program about the personnel here at the Aloe
Palace, a piece of...'

 And then he stopped and swallowed and continued, `I was going to say a
piece of cake, Master, but it won't be. It will be like a heroin addict
handling the drug again but not injecting. Like a diabetic handling the
bag of sweets, not eating them and knowing that something nice can kill
him with their sugar. Tell me what do you want, Master, and I'll do it.
A piece of cake, it most certainly will not be.'

 I told him the type of database I wanted for Aziz and Yedo. He looked
at me and said, `This can be bought in any computer store.'

 `But not one designed by the world's best computer hacker with all
the time in the world to make it ten times better than any generic
product in a shop.'

 `Not the world's best computer hacker, Master, that guy is still out
there, somewhere.'

 `Maybe, Jens, maybe. Now write down what you need by way of a
computer. Jens, I am also going to set you up with your own computer
system. It will be a stand alone one, I am afraid, and you can do on it
anything you like, as long as you do not connect with the outside world.
Perhaps you can dream up a couple of programmes to help run the new Lime
Palace. Would you like that?'

 He came across to me. I thought he was going to make obeisance, instead
he said, `Master, just this once, I want to say thank you, my way.'

 And he have me a hug and then kissed my hand. That had been the start
of our computer based systems at the Palaces.

 Within two weeks Jens Johanssen had came up trumps with an integrated
system for new medical facility in the Lime Palace which interfaced with
Aziz's own personnel system, all of which was voice activated. I had had
him install a Personnel Programme first of all on a stand-alone system,
which showed the brilliance of the former hacker and it was a system that
never failed once in subsequent years.

 I then had him make an improved copy of it for the full running the
Lime Palace, and without compromising anything, I had the two systems
linked up. This new programme provided for following the progress of
every new prisoner-slave and his two buddy slaves, his `oxen' so to
speak who would ease him into slavedom and into the ways of the Lime
Palace.

 Each of these three slaves formed a training unit. Five training units
or fifteen slaves in all were the responsibility of an assistant
overseer. Every five assistant had a household overseer of whom there
were five. In this way, the Lime Palace would at half capacity be able to
handle some six hundred slaves overall, of whom I estimated in time some
two hundred and fifty would be prisoner-slaves, subject to a head of
household.

 However, it was a scheme dreamed up by Stan that showed Jens true
brilliance. Stan had the overall responsibility for the Palaces, in their
fabric and security, and he wanted a control system to allow him monitor
the entire grounds of the Palace.

 `A surveillance system, Stan?' I remember saying to him. `The
prisoner-slaves have just come away from that'.

 `No, Master, it is just that we are not well protected here. We are
relatively safe in that we are sixty miles from the capital city and a
mile from the main road west. But not safe in the strict sense.'

 I contacted the German firm which had put in the safe rooms into the
new Palace and they said that what Stan had been saying was correct. They
had just the new equipment for the job, which came with a price tag of
over half a million euro. Well, they would, wouldn't they?

 It was simplicity itself. An infrared monitor was put just under the
lowest reach of the windmill blades, eight feet off the ground on every
windmill which surrounded the Palace grounds. The only fly in the
ointment, the infrared monitors had to be connect by a computer programme
to a central system -- that was when Jens was brought into the picture.
He took one look at it and suggested four modifications. The German
engineer asked him there and then did he want to patent the
modifications. Jens looked at me. I shook my head and nodded to Jens
giving a half-jerk of my head towards the engineer.

 `Why don't you patent them?, Jens suggested to the engineer.

 The engineer was so astonished that he suggested two further changes
which involved as he said `two small dishes'.

 I noticed the sheen of perspiration on Jens' face, but he made no
reply to the suggestion.

 `What do you think, Jens?' I queried.

 `Master, it will do no harm,' he gave in coded reply.

 The overall effect of the installation was that anything that moved at
more than twenty miles an hour on the grounds of the Aloe or Lime Palaces
would raise a silent alarm in the control room of the Lime Palace, and if
Stan was not in the room itself, a sound and vibrating alarm would be
activated on what looked like a wrist watch on his right wrist and on the
wrists of the other overseers.

 It was quite ingenious and I had Faisel drive the limo out on to the
west road and then come back first to the Aloe Palace and then up the
straight road between the two Palaces.

 As soon as the limousine came within range of the monitors, Stan's
little wristwatch hummed and vibrated and a small map of the road in to
the Aloe Palace appeared with a moving dot on it. The map changed and the
dot was seen to move on a line between AP and LP -- the straight road
between the two Palaces.

 When the limousine drew to a halt in the courtyard of the Lime Palace,
the dot and little map disappeared from the wristwatch. Ingenious! It
worked!

 When it was all over, I looked over at Jens. He looked grey under his
tan and I went over to him.

 `Jens?'

 `The two dishes,' and he pointed to the two barely visible at either
ends of the Palace, `you do know what they are -- not just monitoring
apparatuses.'

 I made no reply.

 `They are latest in sat dishes. It like asking a racing horse to pull
a wheelbarrow. Have you any idea how many satellites I could reach with
those two?'

 We were standing at the edge of one of the half created gardens between
two of the slave buildings. I bent down and picked up a small stone.

 `Jens, I am not a particularly good shot, but have you any idea how
many windows I could break with the stones in this flower bed. I don't
do that because I know it would be wrong. You must simply learn not to
throw bigger stones which can stop nations in their tracks.'

 `Some stones, Master, some stones.'

 `Jens, are you still on the lookout for a buddy?

 He nodded his head not sure of where I was going with that non
sequitur.

 `I have the perfect buddy for you. He is an angel. His name is
Abdul.'

 I had one of the slave go find Abdul and introduced him and Jens to
each other. Jens was looking at me strangely, trying I think to figure
out what was going on.

 `Jens, your mind is filled with knowledge, but your soul has yet to
really experience true love. Abdul is a slave whose soul is full of love,
but his mind will never have more knowledge than what it has at the
moment. I think he is the perfect person to teach you about love and also
help you improve your Arabic.'

 Abdul was just there standing beside us and I said to him, `You know,
Abdul, how every slave here has a buddy to look after' and he nodded his
head.

 `I want you to meet your new buddy, Jens. You will look after washing
him in the morning and shaving him. Will you do that?'

 Abdul nodded his head again.

 `And will you love him just as much as I love you?'

 At this he smiled and said, `Don't be silly, Master, I will always
love you most of all, but I will love my new buddy just a little little
bit less,' and with that he went over to an astonished and bemused Jens
and gave him a bear hug of an embrace.

 When Jens was finally released to the amusement of those who saw what
had happened, I said to him, `I have tell you now, Jens, of a technique
which you are going to need every night without fail.'

 His eyes opened wide when I let him know the expected number of spurts
Abdul could produce on any given occasion.

 The mismatched pair were a perfect match, like two pieces of a broken
jig-saw making between them a full and true pattern. Like anyone who ever
came in contact with Abdul, Jens in time became utterly protective of
Abdul, who in computer matters never understood more than the pressing of
the big black button to one side of Jen's computer keyboard, after which
he would put his arms around Jens until the start-up programme stopped
running and the colours had settled down on the screen.

 But Jens as told me after a hundred and one sessions of love-making as
he put it, which never involved in either case penetrative sex, he had
yet to find the a boundary to the love in Abdul's soul.

 To be continued..