Date: Tue, 07 Oct 2003 17:56:38 +0100
From: Gerry Taylor <gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Market Offer - Chapter 19 - Gay - Authoritarian

This is the nineteenth 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 19 -- Prisoner-slaves again

It was now November and the transfer of the majority of the slaves and of
all the facilities had taken place to the Lime Palace. The builders and
architects, fair dues to them after their upbraiding by Stan and his
eagle-eyed assistants Marek and Jerzy, brought the Palace in on time.

Like any new building its interior decoration would take more time to
finish at our leisure and pleasure, but the slaves were particular
pleased at having sleeping quarters on second and third floors with fine
views of the desert landscape the majority of them from quarters which
now housed only four slaves each. Also the early evening views of purple
and red sunsets, so unusual in the Gulf area, had to be seen to be
appreciated.

A new larger type pallet had been installed throughout to allow for a
comfortable night's sleep for two buddies and an another slave where
that might be required during the initial thirty-day training.

I have always believed that there are three great restorers of
equilibrium to the human condition, which must be extended to slavedom as
well, sleep, sex and tears. All three in their own way wash away the
cares of life and restore us all.

Whether it was the combination of manual labour of the farm work and the
clear desert air, but I had heard of no one who slept poorly at the Lime
Palace or previously at the Aloe Palace after their first few weeks
there.

I placed a high level of importance on twice daily sex as a norm, and at
the morning jerk off or suck off in the showers at a required minimum.
But after sex, there is the desire to sleep at night, and after sex in
the morning, there is that delightful feeling of being alive.

Tears on the other hand are the floodgates of the soul which can no
longer hold things together and once released invariably bring peace and
restore equilibrium to the soul.

Eight months had passed between the first meeting with Sir Graham and the
diplomats and the arrival in September of the first prisoner-slave at the
Aloe Palace. And what happened to Jens Johanssen, the first of the EU
prisoner-slaves to arrive in September, happened in the following weeks
to four others, and a month later a further fifteen and then to a
constant flow.

None had to be retrained by Greg for beyond a morning or evening and he
expressed disappointment at that as he was only getting past using his
first five techniques, which he had now thoroughly mastered with all
successes and no failures.

The diet regime, the early morning work, the gym training, the buddy
system, learning either English or Arabic or in half the cases learning
both, the evening swim, all created a lifestyle totally different to what
some had endured for many years.

The placing of the prisoner-slaves between the `oxen' worked well. They
were being jerked off regularly. They were being trained in the ways of
the Lime Palace. Even at work in the fields, they seemed to be doing
well, even if at times, one or other of them just stood still to look a
high-flying hawk and going on his hands and knees to look at one of those
pink desert flowers which grew in clumps in the area.

A blind eye was turned to some of their antics, like one falling on his
knees to look at a worm unearthed in the soil, or another going across a
couple of lines of slaves for no apparent reason and then bursting into
tears, clutching himself around the chest as he saw some desert flowers
growing beside a rock. It was a time of adapting for them, coming all of
them from a régime of close surveillance, to that of the open
companionship of the two `oxen-slaves' and the company of others who
would become their friends.

One of the side results of the first well of water not being able to be
capped for almost half a day and it covering so much of the surrounding
land under water, which did disappear totally after two days, was that
within the month the entire area which had been submerged in the water
took on a verdant hue as seeds dormant of years sprouted. The
prisoner-slaves, in particular, kept bring back plants such as the local
Ledebouria bluebell and the Adenium obesum, a type of desert rose as it
is called, to put into the gardens between the buildings and around the
fountains.

I did have all the slaves stay assembled after that first evening meal at
the Lime Palace -- we had taken to having a bowl of soup at this stage
with the two evening biscuits. It was most relaxing to see so many slaves
just sitting down and feeding their buddies. But on this occasion, I
wanted it to be more for all of us, a kind of inauguration of the new
Lime Palace.

I had Bob making gallons of his limewater and Marko spend a day making
ice-cream. I thought that together with the soup, it would be as much as
stomachs unaccustomed to bulky food could take. There was almost an
absolute and unworldly silence as slave just sat and ate and offered sips
of limewater to their buddies.

In the silence of the desert evening, noise carries a considerable
distance. Jack's stereo more than filled the acoustics of the new
courtyard with `easy listening' music.

But more than just an inauguration, I did want to hear how they were
getting on, and strange as it may seem, I did want each of the
prisoner-slaves, in particular, to be as settled as each could be in the
forced circumstances. I felt that they had lost out doubly in life,
first, the betrayal within their own countries and second, a life of
slavedom due to hypocrisy. Maybe in time, they would be able to consider
the Lime Palace as truly their new home, and not a place to which they
had been sent.

It was slow going because of the number of languages involved, but with
several of the other slaves to hand, the reason for the Arabic and
English classes became clear to all. I do believe in emphasising the
positive side of things with my slaves.

The first question asked in general was what do you like most about being
here at the Lime Palace?

The answers were simple - the sky, the lack of cameras, the sex -- that
was mentioned quite a lot, the freedom to walk around in the evenings,
the gym, the swimming pool, the sauna. There was quite a variety of
things mentioned.

When asked about their companions, I wondered if many wished to change.
Of the over one hundred slave present at that session, some five of the
prisoner-slaves said `yes'.

What surprised me was that all of those they wished to change were not a
change from farm slaves who had been assigned to them at various points,
but my so-called `gifts' from my neighbours.

On that evening, there were for various reasons six slaves who were not
or had not been assigned a buddy.

We made the changes there and then. I made the five prisoner-slaves
changing their companions stand up, and then stand in order of height.
Starting with the smallest, I told him to go up to his former companion,
kiss him on the cheek, shake his hand and say `thank you.' Then and
only then to choose another companion from among the six available.

The first prisoner-slave did as he was instructed and the `gift' slave
he chose had wide shoulders, a narrow hip and a quite large flaccid
penis. If anything, that penis was the largest of those on display.

Each of the other prisoners followed suit and chose a new companion,
having thanked the old companion. I noted that two of the old buddies had
been chosen afresh by others. As they say there is no accounting for
taste.

There was one quite touching incident as all of this sorting out of
buddies drew to a close. One prisoner-slave was left without a buddy. He
was Belgian and in his early thirties as far as I could judge. Raoul who
had spoken to him told me that his name was René and had been in solitary
confinement for far longer than his official dossier suggested. He looked
slightly tanned from being on the farm, but his physique looked poor and
undernourished.

I said I would assign him two buddies for the next thirty days again, but
he looked distressed when I said that and mumbled something while staring
at the ground, which only Raoul grasped - `Master, it is not sex I want.
I just want to hold someone and someone to hold me.'

When Raoul said it aloud, those slaves from his slave quarters moved
closer to him and started to hug him. He started to shake and just put
his arms around those near to him. I heard afterwards that each night
different buddies would take turns just to hold him tight until he slept.
It was such a small request from someone who had lost everything in an
old life.

Although there was a very wide variety of professional talent among the
new prisoner-slaves, I thought it more prudent to let them get accustomed
to simple farm work and a relaxed environment before trying to apply
their talents to anything -- Jens was the one exception in the early
stages.

I had Aziz keep an eye on their buddies while in the Palace area and I
had Yuriy and Dumi keep an eye those in the fields.

While it would have been very easy to bring in mechanised machinery and
tractors to do various things, I preferred, in every sense of the word,
the human touch.

Various of the prisoner-slaves were told by Dumi to ease themselves into
the farm work as they were not at all accustomed to physical work over a
consistent number of hours--although those hours -- at four -- were not
long--nor indeed how to pace themselves while doing it.

For each of the prisoner-slaves, each in their different ways, it was a
time of adjustment. Just as their bodies reacted to the tanning process
of the sun, their bodies strengthened week by week with the regular work,
and sleep, after the first few weeks, that was not interrupted by
nightmares of confinement, and when they did occur, two buddies were
there to hold, sooth and report the event to Aziz in the morning.

I had taken each of the gift slaves again to my bed and I enjoyed one per
night on successive nights. When I would finish dinner, Komil would
excuse himself to get one of them ready for me, so that arriving in my
bedroom suite, one of the gift slaves would be there fresh and lubed
awaiting my pleasure at `display.'

Of the twenty gift slave who had been given to that night at the Aloe
Palace, six were virgins, which given their previous owners was a wonder.
Each of these on differing night, I took them on their backs, their legs
resting on my shoulders, with Komil to the side a container of more lube
in his hand should it be needed, which only on one night it was.

I tried to make my time with each slave different. Finding some erogenous
zones on each one and playing a sexual score on each. My greatest
pleasure was to hear the groan of a sexual impetus being unchained, a
reaction of sexuality about to be uncontrolled, a lover albeit for a
single night, being brought to the edge of passion and back a number of
time, all the time keeping eye contact with the lover to ensure that that
night he was mine and mine alone.

If on each occasion I was pleasured by the tightness of their anal
passages, I was equally pleasured by the virgin heat which their hot
recta gave off, until they climaxed first spewing out their
uncontrollable semen in burst after burst, and then, I in a more
controlled fashion would let mine fly into their surrendered bodies.

Then, in each case, I would invite Komil onto the bed to take each one
again with his ten inch cock, his favourite trick being to take each
around the waist and sit each `buttered bun' down on the distended
member, invariably at a forty-five degree angle, and keeping a hold
around the slave's waist simply raise and lower him on the impaling
member.

If the gift slaves had groaned as I worked their prostates, they shouted
with pleasure when finally being allowed climax after Komil's perfectly
controlled bedroom gymnastics.

In every case, I asked each one with a little bit of malice, `Well? Who
is the better lover, Komil or the Master?'

The efforts of each to avoid giving an offending reply to either of us
was part of the fun of the night and usually involved taking out a long
feather to help a positive answer.

After I had taken all the gifts to bed, only one slave really was on my
mind -- Wik Kootens, the young Dutchman who had such trouble adjusting.

The night I took him, he was at `display' when I came into the bedroom
with Komil at `rest' beside him.

`Nervous, Wik?'

He nodded and gulped a number of times.

`Don't be. This will be a night of pleasure for you more than any other
thing,' I said leading him to the bed.

With Komil taking one foot, and I the other, we each licked a foot, his
toes, in between his toes, up his ankles, gently rubbing the hair on his
leg the wrong way to create a static electricity. By the time, we were at
his knees, his cock had hardened to all its impressive length and all its
more than impressive girth and circumference.

`None of this hurting, Wik?'

He shook his head from side to side like a child.

When Komil and I jointly worked the backs of his knees and the inside of
his legs up to his tight scrotum, Wik started to groan. As Komil had his
tongue well in the inguinal area between Wik's ball sack and right leg,
he gave me a big wink to say that we were really turning on this slave.
My really serious tonguing was momentarily stopped by a suppressed laugh
as I returned the wink.

Up over Wik's hip-bones, I found that, without ever touch his cock, Wik
was in the agony of unreleased pleasure.

At this point, Komil got up and straddling Wik eased himself down on the
young slave's ten-inch pole. Wik's eyes widened. His cock had never
been in another man before. He had only sucked off Stan and the two
assistants and had been fucked by Stan. The heat coming from inside Komil
would have almost pushed him over the brink of restraint.

That restraint was sorely exercised as Komil with perfect gymnastic
measures raised and lowered himself on the pulsating member of the young
Dutchman, at the same time playing firmly with a pert set of Dutch
nipples.

By this time, I was at the level of Wik's face, and who was looking in
amazement at Komil taking his time contracting and relaxing his anal and
sphincter muscles on the engorged pole.

I kissed Wik deeply. His tongue responded and then with a sigh from deep
inside him, his mind responded and he kissed a man for pleasure for the
first time in his life.

Komil seeing how close the young Dutch stud was from coming, slid off him
and with a quick motion, flicked him over, spreading his upturned butt
for me.

Two perfectly chiselled and firm buttocks were before me as I slipped my
cock in between them and into the lubed passage awaiting my pleasure. I
was quick but not too hasty.

Wik gasped as I went in three inches, stopped, pulled back an inch and
then went in full tilt to my very pubic hairs. He gasped and grasped the
sheet on the bed.

Again, I said, `None of this hurting too much, Wik?'

This time he found his voice, `No, Master, just a little. It is more
strange to feel you inside me.'

I therefore picked up a rhythm and aiming in the general of the prostate
I had felt walnut hard on the way in, I hit it hard three, four times,
and as I took aim for the fifth time, Wik started to arch his back and I
hit a home run for a fifth time.

It was a baritone roar of pleasure that shook the room as he ejaculated
four, five and then a sixth strand of thick white cum as I pulled his
kneeling form up from the bed and the two of us rocking back and forth,
he pressed back against me seeking the magic touch yet again on his
innermost recesses. After that night, Wik Kootens cried no more, and
subsequently found steady lovers in Stan Mercer and his two Poles.

A second month into the presence of the prisoner-slaves being at the
Palace, I had them assembled after gym one evening, to ask them how they
were getting on.

I was surprised to hear how well they were settling in. The negatives
were the initial sex, at the beginning perceived as forced, with persons
with whom they could not even communicate, - many had said or tried to
prove they were not gay - the slave-biscuits, and the heat.

I said that the sex was a deliberate part of their re-education here to
get them to bond in time with others and to find a buddy. I also told
them that if they wanted to again change buddies they could as they had
done a month ago. It was only a matter of telling Aziz and their old
buddy - and new buddy if he accepted.

The prisoner-slaves all now saw as a positive the stress-free life out of
the twenty-four hour surveillance-camera lives they had held in high
security prisons; the regular, if forced gym -- a complaint which
disappeared as they became more fit; the morning jerk off in the showers
when their buddies either sucked them off or jerked them off as they
wished, and the walks in the gardens under the climbing creepers in the
afternoons.

I asked two questions, `Would anyone like to return back to the jail you
came from?'

I remember there was a hush the first time ever I asked that question as
if it were either a threat or as if I had asked who wanted to return to
return to hell.

There was not one volunteer for that suggestion after even a month with
this batch of slaves, nor in the following years from any other groups of
prisoner-slaves.

All of these first two batches of prisoner-slaves had not received a
family or personal visit for at least three years, before they were sent
to me. None of them had any true or real friends left in the world. Most
had been in solitary confinement for such lengths of time that not even
in the prisons were they had been were their names really known.

It is strange but I had no real desire to bed any of the prisoner-slaves.
It was not that they were not my type. The desire was simply not there.
In more than one way I regarded them as birds with a broken wing. They
generally looked pathetic on arrival and it took various months of
walking around naked to get their proper tan.

The biscuit regime helped some of them. The regular uninterrupted sleep
helped some others. The gym and exercise programme helped others yet
still. Some of them even had to be on an extra soup diet to help them put
on weight.

But I believe what helped most of them was the restoring of a sense of
dignity to them as persons. I know we do not regard slaves as persons,
but to me they were, albeit on a lower level. They certainly were not
`things' or `playthings' or `animals', though I do refer among my
household slave to the `playmates' of the previous night.

It was known among the slaves the levels of punishment that their
companions had endured under other owners, quite apart from the ringing
and tattooing and other so-called embellishments.

In that restoration of dignity, an important element was the health care
they received. Two had to be operated upon for untreated hernias, another
for haemorrhoids the likes of when I had not seen since Stan Mercer, my
now property and water overseer. The public nature, at inspection each
morning, of the announcement, of who was going to the dentist, or the
doctor and surgeon, or the ophthalmologist, showed that the treatments
were there from all.

The unfortunate who had his haemorrhoids removed received an
above-the-head slow handclap amid all the laughter when he walked from
Dr. Fournier's small hospital ward, and a prisoner who could well have
feared for this life in his former jail, saw himself being applauded by
his fellow-slaves in the Lime Palace.

One thing happened in mid-November which surprised me a little. My
private banking arrangements are done discretely out of Georgetown in the
Grand Cayman Islands. Quite literally, total discretion and no taxes
worth speaking of.

Normally, it would be I to ring the bank with differing instructions,
particularly relating to the Buddy Foundation and the direction of the
managed funds which they were looking after for me. It was generally
one-way traffic from me so to speak over to the lawyer Josh Green, though
each end-of-quarter I would get a Bank statement of how matters stood and
the investments made on my behalf.

So, it was a little surprising to get an eMail asking me to contact the
lady manager at the Bank in Grand Cayman. As soon as the time difference
was correct for both of us, I did.

The manager apologised for the eMail, but said it was the quickest way.
The accounts were all fine and that was the problem. I now had a hundred
and fifty million euro on deposit with them -- almost a hundred and
eighty million US dollars. Their management of the funds, particularly
some currency buying and selling on the South American markets had given
a healthy impetus to the accounts, apart for the regular six million
coming in from Dahra each month from the water sales, and the recent
eight million average for the prisoner-slaves.

 In a nutshell, she was having the problem that a lot of bankers have
of finding good homes for investments. I knew the problem. I had it
almost every day at Deckams. I told her to let me think about it

I immediately put in another call to Josh Green in Georgetown and I said
I would be requesting reports on almost two hundred other people. While
his curiosity I am sure must have been piqued at times at having
investigators do reports on families of people who had disappeared or now
as would be the case of people who were dead -- all of the
prisoner-slaves were being classified as `dead' and `cremated' by
their respective governments, he never voiced a query. A perfect and
discreet investment banker.

I also told him I was transferring another ten million to the Buddy
Foundation and also to get me a report on Tuttles of Scotland, the food
people.

To be continued...