Date: Sun, 30 Jul 2006 15:01:14 +0100
From: Gerry Taylor <gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Time Line - Chapter 14 - Gay - Authoritarian [The Dahran series]

The Time Line by Gerry Taylor

This is the fourteenth chapter [ex twenty two] of a novel about gay sex and
present-day slavery.  Keywords: authority, control, gay, loyalty, slavery,
punishment, retraining, sex, submission If you are underage to read this
kind of material or if it is unlawful for you to read such material where
you live, please leave this webpage now.

=============
The Prison Doctor and The Changed Life [the first novel of this series] are
now available as full novels in Adobe Acrobat format on
http://www.geocities.com/gerrytaylor_78/
===========

  Chapter 14--Authoritarianism

  Jack Tuttle passed his review with colours flying and was being offered
junior partner in Rio de Janeiro according to a memo from the Bank's HR
department. It was a posting that he could not turn down as it is one of the
plum South American jobs.
  It would create a problem for him and Fiona and their ownership of the
Scottish slaves. But in Dahra, I was sure that something would be worked
out.
  I asked Jack's cousin David who was living in the Lime Palace with me if
he wanted to buy out Fiona's and Jack's Wisteria Palace, and he declined
saying he was happy where he was--in every sense of the word. Personally, I
think he has more than a soft spot for the two slaves, Jan and Zoran, who
are at his side continually day and night. And who am I to disturb a good
set of relationships? In the fullness of time, Jack would come to me with
the problem.

  In early August, there was I in the courtyard, with two lines of slaves,
some eighteen in all, who were buddy-less, among whom I recognised Sabir
Temirov. I beckoned him forward and turned him towards the line, and
whispered in his ear `Choose one or I will choose one for you.'
  `My own choice, Master?'
  `Your own choice. Do it now.'
  Sabir surprised me by walking down the line and chose Mikey Acton by
putting his hand on the young slave's shoulder. He then walked back to me
and said, `He is my choice.'
  `Why did you choose him?'
  `I have heard that he was once impudent to you. I will teach him respect
for himself and for others so that one day, Master, he will be proud to be
your slave. I hear that he is still proud, even though he is on rock duty.
When we are dismissed I will teach him what it is really like to be fucked.'
  `Well then, Sabir, I am not going to delay you that pleasure. Take him to
the slave quarters you have been assigned and keep me informed of his
training.'
  With a flick of his fingers, Sabir Temirov indicated Mikey to follow him
across the courtyard towards the slave quarters. While Mikey had been
trained in the ways of the Palace in the compounds and in theory had his
anal virginity taken by way of training, I thought to myself that now he
would be well and truly broken, and that he would either survive his
breaking and teaching with the cock and words of Sabir, or he would need a
further and harder session in the compounds. Time would tell.
  It is strange how the mind works but as the young Mikey Acton walked
across the courtyard to meet his sexual fate and retraining at the hands of
Sabir, the shape of his buttocks reminded me of that slave at the opal mine
who had serviced my cock so well. What was his name? John, John something or
other. Yes, a bird. John Finch! That was it.
  I had intended bringing him up from the mine and had forgotten completely
about him and my intention. I had forgotten him as easily as I might have
forgotten to ask for some trivial item.
  I snapped my fingers and Jake Peoples, the Palace messenger, was
immediately at my side.
  `Tell Ben to put the file of John Finch on my desk and to ask me about it
tomorrow morning.'
  `Yes, Master,' said a happy messenger, delighted to have a message to
deliver to the Master's secretary.
  My general manager at the mine could either buy the mine another pleasure
slave or take a suitably tamed one out of the opal pit.
  A frightened looking John Finch finally arrived at the Lemon Palace. He
emerged from the back seat of the weekly helicopter up from the mine. I had
ordered the former comfort slave brought up from the opal mine. When Greg
brought him to me, the slave just uttered one word `Master', fell to his
knees at my feet and started to cry, covering the nape of his neck with his
hands. His body was racked with sobs. I looked at Greg in amazement. Greg
shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows, not commenting.
  After about thirty or so seconds, the sobbing subsided and the slave tried
to put one of my feet on the back of his neck--not a very balanced thing for
the person whose foot is being taken. Enough was enough and I told the slave
to stand `at display', which he did.
  `What's all of this in aid of?'
  `Ma... Master, I am just so happy to be away from the mine. I thought I
would finally die there. You remembered me! You remembered me! I will serve
you any way you want. Any way, but don't send me back to the mine,' he said
with force.
  I let the words hang in the air. A grateful slave should always be kept on
edge.
  `Take this slave to the barbers and to the doctors, Greg.'
  `Yes, Boss.'

  Another matter happened around this time at the al-Kadir property which I
only relate as it is half-amusing. Because my old mentor, Graham Hodson, is
so keen on his kiwifruit planting, I do make it my business to visit the new
al-Kadir project more than really necessary.
  Late one afternoon, I arrived there with Kent, my pianist, driving the
sandbuggy. I had not been able to talk to him much recently and he was
filling me in on what he was rehearsing for the Saturday performance. His
driving, let me say, is at the other end of scale to his piano playing
ability and, at times, I thought that I would be quicker walking as we went
down the Long Mile Road.
  As we arrived, I saw the Overseer in charge, Georgi Gridov make his
ungainly way over to me. My heart always warms to Georgi because he is the
most faithful of slaves. I remember asking him once why he was so clearly
happy in my service.
  `Master, when you walked into my cell at the slave centre in al-Mera and
said you were looking for a slave to look after your gardens or your farm, I
knew that I would always be your slave, and I have never regretted a moment
in your service. You, Master, have put me in charge here at al-Kadir when
there are so many other better slaves. For that I will always be grateful.'
  Now, Georgi stood before me, slightly flustered and looking back at a
slave, he snapped his fingers and the slave came running and prostrated
himself. The slave was the rock duty slave for al-Kadir, Mikey Acton.
  `What is the matter, Georgi? You look... what?....concerned?'
  `Master, I was punishing this slave because he needs encouragement to do
his job, and he said he was appealing my punishment to a higher authority.'
  `What...?' I spluttered as words failed me momentarily. `What was his
punishment?'
  `Two strokes of the cane, Master, just as I have given him every day for
the past ten days. He works, but not hard. He barely sweats as he works. The
pile of rocks at the end of the day is only half what other rock duty slaves
have achieved.'
  `Georgi, you do not have to explain anything. You are the Overseer. If you
wish to give this slave five strokes a day until the end of the year, you
can. You are the Overseer.'
  `No, Master, five strokes would be too much every day for this slave. I do
not want to break his spirit, only his lazy habits. But what is this thing
of appealing to a higher authority. I have never heard of it in all my years
as a slave.'
  `At display,' I said to Mikey Acton still on the ground, who sprang to
attention as my toe nudged him. `Are you becoming some sort of lawyer or
what?'
  `Master....Master....' he stammered, `I do work hard. I don't sweat simply
because I don't sweat. My pile of rocks each day is as many as the other
rock slaves ever did. The rocks are now just smaller from the fields.'
  I could not help but laugh at the impudence of the slave with his London
East End accent.
  `Mikey, you have not learned anything here. If Overseer Georgi decides to
flog you each day for no better reason than that, he can so order it. You
get flogged and there is no appealing it or anything else to a higher
authority.'
  `But, Master, there is. You are the higher authority here. I could come to
you, can I not any evening in the line-up and kiss your hand and speak to
you. I should have done that instead of losing my patience with Overseer
Georgi and saying that I was appealing his punishment.'
  `Slave, we are going to settle this here and now. You do not challenge my
Overseer.'
  `Georgi, get a camel-cane and double the punishment you were going to give
this slave,' and I said to Mikey Acton, `slave, get on your hands and knees
now.'
  One of Georgi's assistants handed him a three-foot cane. Georgi took up a
position opposite me with the slave in the middle and landed not two, but
four nice swipes of the cane across Mikey's nicely rounded buns. However, as
I am more than skilled in the basic use of a camel-cane, I could see clearly
that Georgi was not putting too much force into the swing or the blow
itself. I also noticed that my buggy driver, Kent Kialka, took one step back
and positioned himself behind me as the punishment was being administered.
  `All okay, Kent?' I said over my shoulder.
  `Yes, Master,' he replied a little shakily.
  `Up,' I said to Mikey Acton. `Have you learned your lesson?'
  `Yes, Master.'
  `Are you learning anything in bed from Sabir?' whom I remembered had
chosen Mikey as his buddy.
  `Yes, Master, he fucks like a train once he gets in gear. He never seems
to stop.'
  `That's why they used to call him Ironman. Bend over, let me see your
hole.'
  The young slave bent over and spread his ass cheeks. His virginity had
long disappeared and the tissue around the sphincter was clean, moist and
soft.
  `Up. You will be well trained when I call you to my bed sometime, Mikey.
But it will not be for a while.'
  The slave blinked at me at that bit of news.
  `And no more of this appealing to higher authority. This is Dahra not Bow
Street Magistrates' court.'
  `Yes, Master. Sorry, Master.'
  `Get on with whatever work Overseer Georgi has given you.'
  The slave went off nursing his obviously still smarting backside, and a
nice backside it was as well.
  For the rest of my visit to al-Kadir, I walked around with my arm over
Georgi's shoulder. There is nothing like letting slaves know who the Boss is
and who is the Boss's trusted Overseer.

  After dinner one evening, Aziz and I went for a walk in the gardens. As we
admired the water gardens which had a range of white and pink water-lilies
in full flower, Aziz suddenly asked me, `How is Master Gustav doing in his
new position?'
  `Gustav? Very well in fact. He likes Frankfurt and is working very well
there. I shall tell him at our next board meeting that you were asking about
him.'
  `I miss his company and his conversation. He had many interests. I am so
sorry for him that he had all these problems with his slaves. It was never
right for him to treat them as countrymen and equals. It would never have
worked and it never did.'
  I looked at Aziz who continued to say, `I feel that I failed him as a
friend. I should have told him how to handle his slaves better. That is what
friends must do.'
  `Aziz, would he have listened? I think not. Do not try to re-write the
past. It is over and done with, and Gustav continues on with his life and a
very successful banking career.'
  `Which reminds me, Jonathan. I have made a simple will that after my death
my slaves are not to be sold in the markets, but will revert to you. I also
now have too much money. How many dishdashas can a person wear? My money is
to go to pay for a school here at the Palaces so that all the slaves can
learn to read and write.'
  By now, we had stopped walking as we stood beside a small fountain, and I
was looking at Aziz intently.
  `What is this about death and a will? You are perfectly well and healthy,
are you not?'
  `Yes, Jonathan, I am, but it is always prudent to be prepared. You can
never know when the sands finally run down the hour glass.'
  I did not know what was at the back of Aziz's mind as most of the slaves
at the Palaces can read and write. I would have to ask Ben, my secretary, to
find out what the score was on that matter and I let it rest there.
  The conversation with Aziz left me a little unsettled as I walked back
towards the Lemon Palace. Aziz has a vision of things, founded in his past
experience, but firmly placed in the present, and with that ability to
always keep the future in focus. As I measured my steps down the road
admiring the clarity of the Dahran night skies and the absolute desert
clarity of the stars, I found that Misha had fallen into step some paces
behind me.
  `Finished?'
  `Yes, Master. Thank you, Master, for allowing me a buddy.'
  `You do not yet know who Konrad will assign to you.'
  `It does not matter, Master. He will be my buddy and I will be his buddy,
and no one else's. I am happy. Thank you.'
  Against such logic little can be said.
  It was during August that several of the Overseers came to me with their
suggestions as to the promotion to Supervisor of a number of slaves who over
the previous six months had excelled in their work. They included
Jean-Pierre who was my doctor and surgeon Yves' son, Al Vine at the
`fertiliser manufacturing unit' as he so happily calls it. Ironically Ray
Toepher, the mercenary who had come to rescue him, and had been on trial as
the supervisor of a kofila for the last couple of months was also included
for confirmation of his promotion.
  It had taken Jean-Pierre a long, long time to come to terms with his
enslavement, four years, in fact. Now he was calm and settled and happy with
his new task in life of serving me, his Master. The love of his father,
Yves, for him had not waned the smallest flicker over the years, always
hoping that his wildness could somehow be tamed, that this recklessness with
drugs would somehow be seen to be just that and that his life prior to his
enslavement had been well and truly wasted.
  For almost a year, Jean-Pierre had been resentful and truculent. Maussade,
sullen, was the word Yves had used to me. I had punished him on the
water-wheel for a long time. The repetition of work on his own had given him
a pattern and in time, Yves had been able to approach him without fear of
rejection.
  My `lifting' of Jean-Pierre might have been seen by some as altruistic.
Not really so, his conduct had been a distraction to the work of his father
in my employ, to the extent that Yves was about to give up working for me
and to return to France to try and rescue an ungrateful brat and secure his
release by whatever means from prison.
  Jean-Pierre's lifting and his enslavement to me solved many a problem in
the Fournier family and saved the French government a fortune in judicial
and prison costs.
  When his name then surfaced as a possible promotion to Supervisor, I had
him brought to the slave quarters and for over a hour, I put him through his
paces, at the end of which I could see that he was thoroughly exhausted and
incapable of doing even a further press-up. Crouched down and in his face, I
accused him of being worthless and incapable of even doing press-ups and
unworthy of being my slave any longer.
  `I am tired of you, Jean-Pierre, and of your attitudes of resistance and
defiance. You are only good for being sold in the next market.'
  `No, Master! No, Master!' he gasped, `I'll do anything you want. I'll do
more press-ups,' and he tried unsuccessfully to raise his body from the
floor with muscles which were too full of lactose after the hour long
session.
  His arms could not support him and his frame collapsed on the floor, his
head and neck bathed in sweat. His sobs racked his body as he could do no
more and between them I heard, `Master, this is my home. This is my home. I
have nowhere else to go. I cannot do any more. Please do not sell me!'
  His grovelling had made me hard and I took one of his sweaty arms and
pulled him shakily to his feet and over to a training table, over which I
let him collapse. I kicked his legs wide apart until I could see this dark
purple anus, and unzipping myself in one fluid movement, I took out my
hardness and took the slave. His exhaustion made him a useless sex
companion, but the heat in his moist hole was quite incredible after his
exertions and I felt the sap of life rising and spurting deep inside the
slave.
  It was over almost before it had begun and I pulled out of Jean-Pierre,
who half-slid off the table into a pile on the floor. He crouched up on his
hunkers and taking my flaccid penis in his hand still wet with his moistness
and my juices, he brought it to his mouth as he would have been trained to
do those years ago, and carefully licked it clean, to replace it within my
boxers and then zip me up.
  `Thank you, Master, for using me for sex. Thank you. I am yours to do with
as you please,' and his eyes were looking down somewhere in the region of my
knees.
  Three days later I made Jean-Pierre Fournier a Supervisor, and he serves
me well in that capacity. While he is biologically Yves' son and
once-a-month dinner companion, it is I the Master who looks after him and
cares for him more, as Yves has long ago given up any rights of paternity to
him. It is however to Yves' credit as a caring doctor who does no harm that
he keeps at arms length contact with his progeny in the Palace.
  Al Vine had no idea who Ray Toepher really was and stood down the line of
newly created Supervisors who had just received their opal fly-swishes from
me as a sign of their authority and office.
  When the smiles had finally broken out all around after the little
ceremony and each of the newly appointed Supervisors was receiving the
congratulations of the others in this management grade in my Palaces, I
beckoned both Al and Ray to me.
  Al always reminds me of the boy scout who never grew up, permanently
happy, well-adjusted, hard-working and reliable.
  `Al, have you met Ray before?'
  `No, Master. I just know that he was the intruder who was captured,' and
he looked at his newly appointed colleague.
  `Ray, tell Al what he needs to know.'
  `Now, Master?'
  `Now. On your knees both of you,' and I sat down in a nearby chair.
  For the next twenty minutes, Ray Toepher told Al Vine the story of his
recruitment by Al's former lover and now the husband of Al's wife and father
to his children. I kept my eyes glued on him as Ray spoke. Al glanced at me
a couple of times, but for the most part kept his eyes on Ray. When Ray
finally finished, Al looked at Ray and said, `Is Cathy happy? Are the boys
happy?'
  Ray looked at me before answering and when I nodded back to him, he
replied, `I only saw them for a few minutes because I was speaking all the
time to your former army buddy, Jim Stirling, but yes, they all seemed fine
and happy. I think Jim really cared about you, Al.'
  Al looked at me and said, `Boss, thank you for letting me know. That life
for me is now over. Jim has made up for not having stood up for me before.
He's looking after Cathy and the boys for me. I couldn't ask more of him,'
and he reached forward from his kneeling position and taking my hand kissed
it as a humble and grateful slave should.
  In that moment, I think I realised that Al Vine was one of the most
generous people I have ever met in my life. I do not know if I could ever
have been that forgiving of a family life so cruelly taken from him, so
accepting of his own slavedom, so permanently focussed on my service as his
Master. I ruffled his short hair with my free hand.
  `Now that you're a Supervisor who do you recommend for the `fertiliser
manufacturing unit'? I asked with a smile.
  `Yasser, of course, Master. I've spent a long time training him,' he said
with his cheeky boy scout grin, as he mentioned his assistant and buddy.

  A well-oiled operation in any field of endeavour allows you to cover a lot
of ground quickly. Part of each operation is the flow of information which
is essential for decision-making, and particularly in the running of my
Palaces. Ben Trant, my secretary, is one such source of information and with
his assistant and lover, Gianni.
  After the departure of three Supervisors who had been reviewing with me
the performance of some slaves up for promotion, there was still a small
pile of files on a small side table.
  `So, Ben, what have you for me now?'
  `If you are not too tired, Master, the schedule of bed companions for the
next fortnight, and some other files you asked to be reviewed at thirty
days.'
  I notice that on his knees, Ben had not moved a hand towards the waiting
files, neutrally neither promoting nor influencing my decision to look at
them.
  As Gianni came back into the study, I said with a smile, `Let's take a
look at them. Gianni would not be impressed with you, if you let me avoid
work.'
  Looking at the schedule of slaves to occupy my bed for the following
fortnight, I said `Put down Björn and Olaf for this evening and Abdul some
time next week, and Nesim also because he is so tight. You know, I seem to
be seeing him more and more around the grounds when I am out and about.'
  `Indeed, Master,' Gianni volunteered in his quiet way, `ever since you
took his virginity, he's putting in an hour extra at the swimming pool to
keep his backside tight for the Master. He keeps telling this to everyone
who will listen to his few words in English, and then he gives his backside
a little slap,' which Gianni imitated there and then.
  I couldn't help but laugh aloud and Ben joined in the laughter.
  `How do you know that for a fact, Gianni?'
  `I have heard him say that myself when I have gone to the pool.'
  `Well, all I will say is that he was a great and willing partner for his
first sex with his Master. Now, what do those other files say that they need
review?'
  Olaf and his fellow Swede, Björn, had been waiting for me in my bedroom
when I arrived. I let them stand `at display' for a full hour before I
acknowledged their presence going in to have a leisurely shower with my
slave attendants Terry and Dmitri, and then a long massage from Klaas. For a
former bulb-grower, this Dutch slave has the most marvellous fingers and
hands and touch.
  `The oil, Master, is Aloe and musk. Aloe for the skin, musk for sexual
prowess tonight,' Klaas whispered in my ear at one point.
  I drifted in and out of bliss and he deposited my floating body on cloud
after cloud and his fingers probed and massaged spots on back and front
which I never knew could be so knotted.
  When he finished, I pointed to the two slaves `at display'.
  `Do you want either of them before you go?'
  `Thank you, Master. My buddy Justin is waiting for me. That is if you
don't mind.'
  Klaas has this continental habit of sometimes saying `thank you' when he
means no, while the English speaking world means the opposite.
  I cupped Klaas's fine endowment and could feel it thicken under the
slightest pressure of my fingers. Justin Toolin is one of the water-boys
bringing water to the slaves working in the fields.
  `He takes all of this?'
  `Yes, Master, every night and then every morning, he takes me. He is a
beautiful and tender lover. He took the sex classes twice.'
  `Off you go then to your Justin.'
  `Thank you, Master.'

  Turning to the two Swedes who had not moved a muscle for over an hour
while `at display', I pointed to a spot on the floor in front of me and
ordered Olaf to his knees.
  `You can be the fluffer for the night. Get me erect.'
  `Yes, Master.'
  I closed my eyes and let Olaf's lips touch my half-erect penis and then
take it in his mouth. His tongue was working away around the circumference
of my glans, darting to my piss-slit, and then underneath the tip of the
penis itself. I was erect in less than two minutes. I opened my eyes and
pointed to the low leather table and ordered Olaf to lie on it on his back.
  `Now, you,' I said to Björn, `let me see how you sixty-nine each other.'
  The low leather table is not more than five feet long and is perfect for
intimate sexual acts. The crown of Olaf's head was almost over one end, as
his ankles were over the other. Björn placed his knees on either side of
Olaf's head and lowered himself down on his fellow Swede's rapidly extending
and rising cock.
  I let my hand run over Björn's deeply tanned back, over the firmness of
his shoulders and I felt the slave tremble at my touch. I let my hand wander
down the hollow of his back and his perfectly matched and hairless buns were
a delight to behold. Nestled between them, in a little volcano shape, was
the entrance to his body that I would invade. I could see where the anus had
been lubricated and I let my fingers touch the trench of the slave's crack
and again he trembled at that most sensitive perineum area being frottaged.
  I noticed that Olaf was working hard on Björn's cock which was now fully
erect, but Olaf was also coming off the cock every so often and up to
Björn's fine hanging balls and flicking the tip of his tongue off the
crinkled scrotum, which caused Björn both to rise and gasp each time it was
done. There was need to bring the slave down off his sexual plateau or he
would come too soon.
  I positioned myself directly behind the sixty-nining slave, bent my knees
between Björn's splayed legs, touched the tip of my cock to his back-passage
and slid in without the slightest resistance. I felt myself engorge and
pulled out with a little pop, only to thrust fully in this time to the hilt.
The slave's shoulders went down further as his head went closer to Olaf's
pubic area.
  I thrust in and pulled out almost completely some twenty to twenty five
times and then I felt Björn's prostate begin to harden under my
cock-thrusts. He was gasping and croaking as he went down on his buddy,
pulling air simultaneously into his mouth and uttering little sounds of
pleasure. He was not going to last at this rate.
  I continued my thrusting, all the time, aiming slightly down and to my
left where I could feel the prostate located. I had expected Björn to come
first from his reactions, but it was Olaf who shouted and spasmed. Björn did
not miss a stroke and from the angle I was at, I could see that he did not
release Olaf's penis from his mouth when his buddy shot his load. Finally,
he let Olaf's half-deflated cock fall from his lips. The hardness of Björn's
full prostate indicated a point of sexual no-return.
  It was not a cry but a resounding bellow that rocked the bedroom suite as
Björn shot his first load down his buddy's throat underneath my flying
ball-sack and thrusting cock.
  I pulled out of Björn but I was not finished with him yet. I slipped a
finger into him and felt the deflating prostate which was still half-full of
his seed as it passed through on the way from balls to urethra. I set up a
vigorous massage with the tip of my finger on the prostate before it fully
deflated and was rewarded to feel it going hard again. Björn was now jerking
as if his body was receiving little electric shocks which was precisely what
was happening and right from his prostate. The membranes and tissues of the
prostate filled and hardened and Björn groaned and then he shouted as
another spasm overtook his body in the fast lane of sexual intercourse.
  `Get ready, Olaf, for another load,' I said and within less than twenty
seconds, Björn was trembling under the pressure of my fingertip and started
to shoot his second load in less than two minutes into the mouth of his
lover.
  `Olaf, leave Björn's cock alone. Björn bring Olaf off again while I take a
shower.'
  `Yes, Master.'
  For two Swedes who had caused me such stress, they were obeying well.
  My two slave attendants for the night had gone into the bathroom suite as
they are trained to do when I take slaves before I go to bed. Terry had
drawn a bath in case I chose that instead of a shower, where Dmitri stood
ready with a loofah.
  `Nice pubes, Dmitri,' I said on passing him, and he beamed from ear to
ear. He is the only slave in the Palaces who actually combs his pubes for
his Master's delight. He thinks that is the way I remember him, which is
true in part. But he has other sexual talents as well.
  `I'll take a bath tonight, but come over and rub my back with that thing,'
I said indicating the long loofah sponge in his hand.
  Terry was pleased that I had chosen the bath he had drawn but I could see
his eyes narrowing when I told Dmitri to effectively invade his territory.
Palace jealousies are built on lesser trivia.
  `Tell me what you did today, Terry' and a happy slave prattled away,
delighted to be the centre of his Master's attention, albeit of a Master
with closed eyes and half-asleep in a perfectly perfumed bath.
  There was a shout from the bedroom which indicated that Olaf had come
again.
  `Tell those two slaves to come in here and take a shower before they
continue with me tonight,' I said to Terry.
  I stepped out of the bath and let Dmitri towel me down, and I finished off
drying my hair with a small towel which I dropped on the floor at the edge
of the shower for the two rapidly showering slaves to use when they
finished. I would have no wet slaves in my bed!
  The two slaves came out of the shower area and stood `at rest' at the end
of my bed. I had dismissed both Terry and Dmitri for the night. I patted the
bed beside me.
  `Up here, Björn, on all fours while Olaf fucks you. Get yourself hard
quickly, Olaf, or I'll use a camel-cane to help you concentrate.'
  Björn knelt on the bed beside me, his close cut blond hair still shiny
from the shower. His head was about at the level of my chest, and I put a
finger under his smooth chin and brought his eyes up and into contact with
mine. Eyes are indeed the windows of the soul, and his were in neutral.
There is a type of look in the eyes which I can recognise and which means
the slave is in total sync with me, his Master.
  `Björn, you are a good fuck. Do you know that?'
  `Thank you, Master.'
  I could see that Björn was having difficulty getting up an erection after
having come twice in such a short time.
  `Use a finger on Björn's hole, Olaf, and see how quickly that erects him.'
  `Yes, Master,' he replied as he came up behind his buddy and stuck a
finger into the waiting hole.
  `Björn, here at the Palace you have to be more than just a good lay for
the Master. You know that.'
  `Yes, Master.'
  `Have you and Olaf changed your attitude much since last we spoke? Where
do you stand?'
  `Stand, Master?' Björn replied. Good and all as the Swede's English was he
did not recognise the idiom. `I am on my hands and knees about to be fucked
by one of my friends after having been fucked by you, Master.'
  `Did I hurt you?'
  `No, Master.'
  `Did you enjoy it, twice, I think?'
  `Yes, Master, both times. The second time most of all.'
  `And why the second time which was only my finger up your hole? Why do you
think?'
  `I don't know why, Master. I have only reacted once before like that to my
prostate being worked over and that was in one of the compounds.'
  `You liked it, Björn, because I was in charge and you could do damn all
about it. I was the authority, the Master, and you were the subject and the
slave. That's really why you liked it. You like being dominated, Björn. You
like it.'
  With that he gave a gasp as Olaf must have hit some internal spot.
  `Find that spot again, Olaf and keep working on it and on it alone.'
  Björn started to move and gasp and squirm.
  `Master, he is now really tight around my finger and I feel something
swelling up where I am pressing.'
  `I think, Olaf, that Björn is either about to have a dry orgasm or you
will massage an extra bit of cum out of him.'
  As Björn squirmed and squirmed against the invading finger of his buddy,
he made no effort to avoid it, and from his gasps I knew that he was closer
than close to cumming yet again as his body was jerking against its internal
electric shocks. When his eyes began to close and roll, I put my hand behind
his neck and pulled his mouth to mine. The heat of my breath, the flicking
of his tongue in the ecstasy of the ejaculation rush, all combined and he
groaned down my throat as he came for the third time in less than an hour,
and his body all but collapsed on the bed beside me, his nerve endings
unable to control his limbs any longer. I signalled Olaf to stop his finger
probing.
  When a couple of minutes later Björn had regularised his breathing, I
looked at him on his belly beside me, his arms up on the pillows and told
Olaf to lie down on the other side of me.
  `Björn, this last hour summarises your life from this point on. Olaf has
learned his lesson I think. This lesson was for you. You and I can do things
together and it will cause you great pleasure at the end of the day. Or you
can fight me as you have been doing up to now, and I can cause you a lot of
pain and suffering. I really don't have time for personal lessons, but I
think out of friendship to Gustav, my friend and your former lover, I really
wanted to try to show you what life can be like with me as your Master. Do
you understand?'
  `Yes, Master.'
  `If you want to start really recognising me as your Master, you can stay
and sleep in my bed tonight. If not, you can sleep on the floor. It's as
simple as that,' I said to the slave and not taking my eyes off him.
  `Master, it may take me a little time to learn to serve you, but I want to
do that. I have only ever served Gustav out of love. Please be patient with
me and let me try and learn.'
  With that he surprised me by raising himself up off his belly, and turning
on this hands and knees towards my waist, he reached down and took my penis
in his hand, and brought it to his lips in the sign of Dahran submission to
a Master. He then looked across at Olaf on the other side of me, and Olaf as
if reading his thoughts, reached out and taking my penis from his buddy's
fingers brought it to his own lips. Two voluntary submissions in one night
was not a bad achievement.
  `Do you two now wish to stay together as buddies?'
  They looked at each other and then at me, `Yes, Master' both replied.
  `Good, now let's get some sleep and I'll want to see you two sixty-nining
each other in the morning when I wake up. Good night.'
  `Good night, Master,' each said.
  Olaf put out the side light and I felt his body come close to mine. I put
out an arm and pulled Björn to me.
  `A Master does not let his slave get cold needlessly, Björn.'
  `No, Master,' he replied and I felt his backside press up against my body.
  It was the last thing I remembered of the night, and when I awoke in the
morning, the two slaves were on the leather table and Olaf was astride Björn
lowering his morning-erect cock in the slave's mouth and a formerly
reluctant slave was having his cock sucked with gusto, and raising his hips
to fully meet every suck. It was a marvellous view with which to start the
day before going to the Bank.

  Among the unopened correspondence on my desk at the Bank that morning was
an invitation to a birthday party being given by Colin Bowman. I was
delighted to see it as it suggested that Colin was coming out of the long
period, not actually of depression, perhaps that is too strong a word for
it, but of sadness, maybe, after the killing of his lover in an botched
abduction of himself, a valuable Bank official. Such was the danger of
living in Brazil at that time.
  After the death of his lover, Carlos Freitos, his emotions went into a
tail-spin. Now, I thought to myself at least in his emotions he is finally
picking himself up. This was not a complaint in my mind about Colin, because
he is one of the hardest working junior partners I have ever encountered. As
the event was an evening and after hours once again I had Jess act as my
driver.
  Colin's house was a nice sized villa with a long medium-height surrounding
wall as is the case with many Dahran residences. It was ten miles out of the
capital city with a nice four-acre garden and a small swimming pool, and I
noticed that the entire garden area was not only exquisitely cared for, with
small patches of lawn, but also pergolas to shade those perambulating from
the sun and an abundance of water ornaments. All of this could be seen as we
drove up the short drive to the residence.
  The party was underway when I arrived and Colin was at the door to meet me
and some other guests of his own age. The house was lit up like an
ocean-going liner from prow to stern, and I had no sooner got inside the
door than I was being offered some white wine which I found was well-chilled
Chablis.
  I soon discovered that the main body of guests were Colin's acquaintances
from the other Banks, both male and female in almost equal numbers. There
were some neighbours in traditional dress and a couple of young diplomats.
Doors in the main living room led out to the cool of the evening air and a
veranda, on the corner of which a four-piece band was playing. Thankfully
they were playing low and muted stride pieces of the 1930's and 40's.
  I am not generally into astrology but I thought that Colin was well placed
as a Leo--warm and generous as a host, creative and enthusiastic about his
home and his guests, who were being served by, what I guess were some eight
slaves. I had noticed the ankle bracelets on some of them early on.
  All his slaves were impeccably dressed in light blue short-sleeved shirts
and matching knee-length pants. It was not just that their clothes were
matching, their features were as well. I had a faint memory of four of them
at least with their slim waists and almost girlish-hips and easily malleable
slave demeanours being sent for retraining when he had first purchased them.
  Colin had obviously bought more than his first four and the extra slaves
matched his first ones with their darkish North African complexions--Moroccan
and Tunisian, I seemed to remember. That is to say, all except one who was
behind a buffet table of canapés. This slave, I presumed he was one because
of this short-sleeved blue shirt, was demure. He rarely seemed to lift his
eyes higher than the roll-mops, the cream cheese filled curled slices of
smoked salmon with their accompanying quarter of lemon, and the
water-biscuits covered with dark caviar.
  The slave was certainly no more than five feet seven and of slight build.
I could not immediately make out his nationality by his physiognomy. He
could have cut a passport in any of the Mediterranean countries and even
through a number of Latin American ones. Yes, indeed Latin. He looked up
fleetingly at a guest who approached with an empty plate, and held out a
clean plate and serviette. His eyes were dark and his lashes were as long as
one would find in late teenagers, yet he was certainly in his mid-twenties.
He was a slave who had held his youth.
  The guest with his newly filled plate disappeared and the slave looked to
check that his buffet table was still in one piece and in order. I was
making a pretence of looking at the four-piece as its melodies ducked and
swerved through the great lyric and song writers of the pre-war years. My
insouciant look and the angle of my body allowed me to look uninterruptedly
at both band and canapé slave simultaneously.
  Colin approached the table with two others and the slave's face lit up
extraordinarily without changing more than a couple of facial features.
There was something between him and Colin which went far beyond the slave
and Master bond. It was in the eyes, yes indeed, in the eyes, because they
shone out in brilliance and their corners contracted in happiness. It is fun
to read body language, and the slave's involuntary body language was a
declaration of total and adoring love towards Colin Bowman.
  The party was a relaxed affair and I started to circulate. I had never met
many of the staff of the other banks and as my name was given to any small
group, I could see the reaction.
  One young lady who was clearly on more than her first glass of champagne
blurted out `Oh, yes, you're Colin's Boss who owns all the Palaces.'
  Sailing close to the winds of truth, I could only reply, `Actually, I only
live in one which is my home. But isn't Colin's villa just marvellous?'
  Thankfully, the young lady was too far gone to see the diversion and
change of tack.
  `Sir, do you really own an opal mine? If it's not impolite to ask,' one of
the young turks asked.
  `I do indeed. Down in the south desert, and it produces some marvellous
stones,' and I displayed the fire opal on my signet ring.
  There were gasps of admiration as the light caught the differing angles of
the polished stone and it showed why it got its fire name.
  The conversation slipped into sport and holiday destinations and I
circulated farther, until I got to a door and slipped out on the veranda to
take a walk around the gardens which had been lit up with thousands of small
white lights around the wood of the pergolas. I walked down the garden paths
about a hundred feet or so to the boundary wall and looked back at Colin's
jewel of a villa.
  There were no outbuilding, except for a large garage to one side and a
gardening shed. I surmised that his slaves slept in the villa--close at hand,
for any form of service that might be required, day or night. A cosy
arrangement. The evening was balmy and other couples from among the fifty or
so guests were out walking. There was polite, but sincere, small talk of the
beauty of our host's gardens and his home. I could hear wishful thinking in
some of the comments, and I knew Colin Bowman to be a fortunate man.
  I wandered back towards the villa and up the veranda steps, to come face
to face with Colin.
  `Jonathan, I was wondering where you had gone to? Please stay after the
others have gone. It must be boring for you with this younger crowd and
their constant jabber. You have made a big hit. They are in awe of you.'
  Colin was on a high.
  `I have to go in, Jonathan. Don't go. This will all be over in under an
hour.'
  `I won't go,' I replied to a pair of departing shoulders, and made my way
in to the canapé table.
  `A small plate of assorted canapés,' I ordered the slave beauty.
  `Yes, Master, immediately,' and with a serving-slice put five on a plate
for me with a folded napkin underneath.
  `What is your name?'
  `Ruy, Master, I am here to serve you.'
  My curiosity had its answer. He was Brazilian from his accent. Colin had
gone for another Brazilian! He definitely had an eye for beauty.
  I turned on my heel and picked up a large glass of lime juice and made my
way through the crowd and out the front doors of the villa. Jess was not
hard to find standing beside the Rolls.
  `Are you not listening to Country and Western?'
  `No, Boss, not when you are away from the car.'
  `And not sitting in the car?'
  `No, Boss, I don't want to crease the uniform more than I have to so that
it looks well when you come out to go back to the Palace. I really want to
look my best for you.'
  `Has this anything to do with the visit to the brick factory?' I said
handing him the glass of lime juice. `Drink it. The evening is warm.'
  `The brick factory, Boss?' and I thought he shivered in the heat. `In a
way, yes, Boss, but it has to do with a hundred other things.'
  I looked at him quizzically.
  `Boss, you may not think a lot of me with all my faults, but I want to
really, really try to please you,' he swallowed hard as he said that and
continued, `you are a really good Master to me and the other slaves, Boss. I
really mean that,' and he looked at the ground not wanting to look me in the
eye as if he had said too much.
  There was I with a plate of canapés warming up in the evening air looking
at Jess, a prime specimen of slavehood at six foot four, with his near
perfect body.
  `What has brought all this on? Do you want one of these things?' I said
holding out the plate for him to take one.
  `I suppose the shock of the slaves at the brick factory and then realising
how much I have going for myself back at the Palace and even tonight as your
driver. There are loads of little things, Boss, and I am sorry that I have
ever disappointed you.'
  `Any time, Jess, you have disappointed me, I have punished you and you
have bounced back better than before. You have not been punished in a long
time, not since that drink incident, and you took that punishment like a
proper slave should. In many ways, Jess, I am proud of you as my slave. But
when you disappoint me again, I will punish you to your limits and you
should bear that in mind at all times as a proper slave should,' and I held
out the plate of canapés again which was soon cleared and washed down by the
other half of the lime-juice.
  As Colin predicted the party-goers started to straggle away into the
evening and an hour and ten minutes after the prediction, the villa was
empty save for Colin, myself and the slaves. At a nod from Colin, a general
clear up started after the party which mercifully had not included a cake,
and offered a glass of vintage port, we sat on a settee opposite the open
side doors of the villas.
  `You look happy, Colin.'
  `I am, Jonathan, very happy.'
  `And you have bought some new slaves.'
  `Yes, a couple more of late. I have ten in all.'
  `Ten, I only saw eight.'
  `Two in the kitchens, the rest out here serving.'
  `A very handsome slave behind the buffet.'
  `That is Ruy, and that is the reason why I am happy.'
  I looked at him and smiled, but said nothing. At times, happiness can be
ruined with another's words.
  `For almost two years, Jonathan, I have been checking every catalogue from
the slave-markets and when I saw Ruy some months ago, I knew he was the one
for me, even before I saw him in the flesh.'
  `A substitute for Carlos?'
  `Yes and no. Carlos was a freeman and my life and now he is gone. I have
avenged his memory and wiped out his killers. Ruy is the balm of my soul and
now the love of my present life. He cannot substitute for my dead Carlos. He
is slave who simply lives for me.'
  With that, Colin clapped his hands, and caught the attention of one of the
slaves taking a tray of empty glasses into the kitchen.
  `Have my household come out to greet my guest,' he ordered and the slave
disappeared inside the double doors leading into the kitchen area.
  Almost immediately, the doors opened and Colin's household filed out,
naked, in response to their Master's command.
  When they were lined up in a single row in front of us, Colin said, `this
is my honoured guest, Sir Jonathan Martin. If he ever asks anything of you,
do it as if I, your Master, have ordered it. Now greet him as befits a slave
in this household.'
  The first of the slaves advanced and went on his knees before me, bent
forward and took my right foot. The slave took off my slip on and light
cotton sock, and then did likewise to my other foot. Placing my shoes and
socks to one side, the slave then bent down and kissed the instep of each of
my feet in one of the traditional Dahran greetings of a slave to an honoured
guest.
  Each of the slaves did likewise. The eighth was Ruy, and the last two,
similar to the first seven in colour and features, whom I presumed to be the
two from the kitchens, did similarly. When all had finished the first slave
put my socks and shoes back on, and I noticed that Ruy was now kneeling on
the far side of Colin to me, looking up to his Master, awaiting his Master's
least command or minimally expressed wish or desire.
  `You have a well-trained household, Colin.'
  `The first four were trained at your Palace, Jonathan,' and indicated
slaves at the top of the row, of whom I had the faintest of recollections.
  `They trained the others in all the best ways of slavedom when I have been
out at the Bank. Some of the newer ones hadn't a clue what to do in a
household. These four do the gardens and the others help out when they are
free.'
  The slaves looked happy to be the centre of their Master's attention and
that of his honoured guest.
  `Do you operate a buddy system here, Colin?
  `Yes, and I have to get another slave as Ruy here looks after me. Don't
you, Ruy?' and he playfully rubbed his young slave's closely cropped hair,
and looked up at one of the kitchen slaves who seemed a bit forlorn at being
reminded of his lack of buddy.
  `How often do you punish them, Colin? Remember a couple of strokes a week
in a small household works wonders.'
  `You have heard that from the Retrainer of Dahra. A couple of strokes each
week to the slave whose work is worst.'
  The slaves now looked worried at hearing my Dahran sobriquet mentioned,
but the first slave nodded and whispered, `Yes, Master,' and dropped to his
knees to kiss his Master's hand, which in itself produced a bout of
hand-kissing from all.
  `Don't worry, Jonathan, I have trained them all to my specific
requirements. Ruy has a natural Brazilian talent for making love to exhaust
anyone and he is slowly filling a void. You never really forget the first
true love of your life, but, Jonathan, I asked you to stay back because I
wanted to give you something,' and he nodded to Ruy who went to a desk and
brought back a plain white envelope with only my name on it.
  The envelope contained a Bank draft for a quarter of a million euro.
  `What I owe you,' Colin said. `In fact, I owe you a lot more for the
confidence you have had in me at the Bank,' and he leaned across and kissed
me on the cheek.
  `Look, Colin, I don't want to take this. Put it into your pension fund or
something. Really, I mean it,' and I folded the draft and put in it in his
breast pocket.
  Colin looked as if he wanted to say something, changed his mind and said
simply, `Thanks, Jonathan.'
  `In time, Colin, you'll find a young banker who just needs a helping hand
and a few quid to get over a bump. Remember that you were once helped.
That's all there is to it. Now I really must be going. Thank you for a
wonderful party, which I am but guessing will go on a lot longer tonight,' I
said looking at Ruy, who now was all smiles, as indeed were the other
slaves.
  An extra Master in any household is an inconvenience. So, I decamped and
went back to the Lemon Palace to the strains of three tenors singing Italian
love songs.
End of Chapter 14
===========
Contact:
e: gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com
w: http://www.geocities.com/gerrytaylor_78/
w: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/erotic_gay_stories
If not on the YahooGroups mailing list, simply send a blank email to
Erotic_gay_stories-subscribe@yahoogroups.com
The Dahran series -- a fictional adventure story about the life and times of
Sir Jonathan Martin -- comprises the following novels to date:
1. The Changed Life
2. The Reluctant Retrainer
3. The Market Offer
4. The Special Memories
5. The Dahran Way
6. The Dahran Rebuttals
7. The Seventh Desert
8. The Dahran Sands
9. The Time Line
These novels are all serialised on Nifty (Gay -- Authoritarian) and on
YahooGroups http://groups.yahoo.com/group/erotic_gay_stories