Date: Wed, 31 Mar 2004 23:01:04 +0100
From: Gerry Taylor <gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Dahran Rebuttals - Chapter 1 - Gay - Authoritarian

This is the first chapter ex twenty two of a novel -- The Dahran Rebuttals
-- about present day slavery and gay sex.

The Dahran trilogies are composed to date of 6 novels:

Trilogy one:

The Changed Life

The Reluctant Retrainer

The Market Offer

Trilogy two:

The Special Memories

The Dahran Way

The Dahran Rebuttals (this novel)

Keywords:

authority, control, loyalty, slavery, punishment, retraining, submission,
gay, sex

This story is entirely a work of fiction and all rights to it and its
characters are copyright, and private to and reserved by the author. No
reproduction by anyone for any reason whatsoever is permitted.

If you are underage to read this kind of material or if this material is
unlawful for you to read where you live, please leave this webpage now.

Contact points:

e: gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com

w: http://www.geocities.com/gerrytaylor_78/

w: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/erotic_gay_stories

Yahoo! Messenger : gerrytaylor_78

Preface and Chapter 1

Preface

My first trilogy of this series, called The Changed Life comprised of
three novels, The Changed Life, The Reluctant Retrainer and The Market
Offer. This was the background as to how I had become the owner of some
slaves, a retrainer of slaves and finally, a trainer of new of slaves.

My second trilogy in this series is called The Special Memories and
comprises again of three novels--The Special Memories, The Dahran Way and
this novel, The Dahran Rebuttals.

I have recalled those events in my diaries which made a considerable
impression on me particularly over my first two years in Dahra in The
Special Memories and an alternative viewpoint on life in The Dahran Way.

In this last novel of the present trilogy, I have extracted from my
diaries the refutation of some common misconceptions people have about
gay life, slavery and their mutual interaction.

Knowledge is the most natural and yet the strangest of things. We reflect
on what we instinctively know provided by own self-awareness, intuitions
and consciousness. These acts of introspection form the foundation for
all our other thoughts and subsequent actions, as we find out that we can
love. We then deduce that we cannot love what we do not know

However, it is on our learned knowledge, through our senses that we base
the more substantive actions of our lives, on the noble issues of
struggle, joy, hope and progress.

We base our lives on desire--always seeking something which always turns
out to be just beyond our grasp. We are constantly under the pressure of
desire, both present and future which excludes and blinds us to the true
enjoyment of the pleasure at our fingertips. Desire and pleasure are no
respecters of status and apply to us equally whether we are freemen or
slaves, determining the way we live.

My name is Sir Jonathan Martin, at your service and the matters I discuss
here, extracted from my diaries, are based on the my experiences in the
beautiful Middle Eastern Sheikdom of Dahra.

Dahra

September 200x



Chapter 1--The assumption of arrogance

I was in London for the regular monthly meeting of the Board of Directors
of our Bank--we call ourselves Partners at Deckams, the merchant bank,
where I work. It was only September, yet for me, London was freezing with
a wind coming up the Thames all the way from the Baltic and the North Sea
which made me long for Dahra's heat and sunshine after just a mere two
hours into my stay.

Perhaps, I was becoming too accustomed to the regular heat of Dahra and
being an Englishman, I could love everything my country possesses, at the
same time as forgiving her everything, except the climate.

As usual, I was ensconced at my regular hotel off The Strand. They keep
me a two-day booking each month and are the essence of efficiency in
looking after me and the soul of discretion when such is required. Well,
they should be with the prices they charge!

The Board-meeting at the Bank had gone off well. I dropped off afterwards
to see two friends, David and Mattie, whom I had set up in a shirt
business. Rather the business was David's, Mattie was the lover and I,
the silent business Partner. A solid business arrangement.

The shop just off Bond Street was booming but I did not stay longer than
to buy two shirts and get on my way again, despite an invitation to
dinner...and the offer of more...

At the hotel, I took the lift up to my floor and as I walked down the
short corridor to my room, a door opened and a handsome young man of some
twenty five or so years came out of a room and closed the door behind
him. He immediately snapped his fingers and made a grimace. He had
obviously forgotten something, went back a couple of paces and knocked on
the door.

I was just abreast of the door, when it opened and the young man said,
`Alan, I forgot my car keys.'

I looked into the face of Alan Young, now Sir Alan Young, if you please,
Chancellor of one of the universities up north. I had not seen him since
my time at Oxford. While I had only done a general business degree and
had gone into banking, Alan had done the lot. Very clever, very academic
and very adept in academic politics, he had climbed the very slippery
university pole adroitly to end up in his present prestigious position,
happily married with two teenage boys, if memory serves well.

Had we been at a distance, it would have been possible for me to have
pretended not to have seen him at all and to have continued on my merry
way. But that was not possible. There he was, less than four feet away in
the doorway of the room. Here was I, less than four feet from him in the
corridor and nowhere to feign invisibility.

`Alan, what a surprise to see you, old boy!'

`Jonathan, what a pleasure to see you!'

The young man looked at me, looked at Alan, grabbed a set of keys off the
table inside the hotel room door and said, `Got to dash. I'm late.'

Alan Young, dressed in a robe, raised his hand in half-wave,
half-benediction and saw off the young man, who was definitely not a
teenager! And definitely not his son!

`Delighted to see you, Alan. I'm only here for a couple of days. And
you?'

`Just down until tomorrow. Some urgent business in the city.'

Yes, indeed and all of twenty five years or so, with slim hips and a mop
of blond hair and other appointments to keep!

Small talk can dry up very quickly, or in other circumstances can be
reduced to the weather or family banalities. Neither seemed à propos, so
I said the next best thing and asked, `What are you doing for dinner?'

`Nothing this evening.'

`Let's have dinner here. Shall we say seven thirty?'

`Splendid.'

`Seven thirty downstairs, it is then' and I left the university
Chancellor in his robe, standing in the doorway. Only then, did I realise
that his feet were bare.

Just before seven thirty, suitably refreshed and showered, I made my way
down towards reception and the hotel restaurant.

As the linking New Concorde flight from Bahrain to London had brought me
in very early in the morning and with the taxi from the airport
depositing me directly at the lobby of the Bank for the Board-meeting, I
had not seen any of the day's newspapers and on passing the porter's
desk on the way in to the restaurant, I helped myself to one.

Murder, mayhem, political scandal, all jumped off the front page with
graphic headlines and the odd photo. As I had arrived some minutes early
at the hotel's restaurant, I was still leafing through the paper when
Alan Young arrived.

We were seated at a table really more suitable perhaps for a larger party
of four persons, so I merely folded the paper and put it to one side of
the table and engaged with Alan in the usual catching-up conversation
which takes place when school or university friends have not been in
touch, in our case for all of fifteen years.

The years had been kind to Alan and he had weathered them well. His words
however tended to be as sharp as I had remembered them to be. Academic
people tend to be that way, defensive of territory and their own postage
stamp arguments and arcane corners of science.

We were well into the entrée which was a nice piece of Charolais beef
suitably identified as being from the west counties, when Alan said,
`That's the second case in the past two months.'

I had missed the reference. He nodded to the paper on the table near my
right hand. I did not spot what he was talking about.

`That's the second case of slavery here in England in the past two
months. This time, it's a Russian billionaire, who has kept some poor
unfortunate woman as a sex-slave in his London penthouse for over a year.
These foreigners never know how to behave themselves. Imagine in a
penthouse. It's unthinkable.'

I was negotiating the Charolais, so I said, `What? Wrong nationality or
wrong floor or what?'

`No, Jonathan--the arrogance of these people who think they can own
another human being! They do not understand that nowadays, slavery is not
only legally abolished, but anything resembling it is totally
unacceptable. That Russian may be a billionaire, but what he has done
will earn him everyone's contempt. He and other persons like him can
never be regarded as respectable members of society. They are criminals
and social outcasts. Just imagine, the idea that one can actually own
other human beings!'

I had to chew on the beef a little more, or maybe it was just a defence
mechanism to allow me to marshal my thoughts.

`Oh, Alan, Alan, I disagree. Our society does it all the time. We buy a
house and we are literally owned by the Bank or Building Society for
twenty five years. That is economic slavery. We have a job which we hate,
but can't give it up. That is work slavery. We want better holidays and
clothes and our credit card company says, `no way, no further credit.'
That is financial slavery. Slavery comes in many disguises, both harsh
and benevolent.'

`Jonathan, that woman was a sex-slave for want of a better description,
for over a year. Last month is was a girl from Bali or somewhere in
Indonesia. She was bought for twenty thousand sterling. I don't know
what the price was for the woman in that article, but you can see clearly
people can now buy slaves.'

`Alan, you are an academic and as such you should be able to understand
the possibilities of what is and what can be. I am suggesting to you that
there are many forms of slaves in the world today, some bought, some
simply in life-situations as I have described, but slaves none the less.
I would even go as far as saying that you are a slave to circumstance.'

Alan Young looked at me oddly.

But I continued, `Alan, you are limited in the choices you have even
running a university. You are limited in your budget. You are limited in
the amount of time you can spend on holiday. You are limited left right
and centre, even for the amount of time you allocate to the likes of Mr.
Blondie Slimhips upstairs.'

I had gone too far.

`Jonathan, you presume too much'--Alan Young was dabbing his lips with
the serviette--`you confuse the freedom to work and play, the freedom to
think for yourself, the freedom to earn, to travel, all of which are of
course limited by time and space, but which do not make us slaves.'

`Alan, I shall refute your argument very simply. Your set of life
circumstances has you enslaved. Because if you were truly free, you would
have all the time in the world for that young man, or someone like him
and not only that but you would be free to actually own him for yourself
alone.'

`You're not condemning me for an afternoon dalliance, Jonathan?'

`Not at all, Alan. That's your business and no one else's as long as
you don't hurt yourself, or others, in the process. If nothing else, it
will keep you superbly fit if you do it twice a day. Can I top up your
glass? Another drop of the red? It really is a good bottle of Bordeaux,
if I say so myself.'

Alan Young was looking at me over the top of his glass.

`You're not condemning the lack of morality in owning a person as a
slave?'

`Alan, morality has its absolute values but the ownership of persons has
gone back to times immemorial. Just because you live in Western Europe,
please do not believe you are, have or know the universal norm of what
constitutes custom or habit on which morality is based.'

`I think, Jonathan, the wine has gone to your head. In vino veritas, as
they succinctly used say--the truth on your tongue is loosened by the
wine.'

The dinner was above average as dinners go and as dinners to go, it flew.
Certainly, the Bordeaux had loosened my tongue, perhaps to a point of
impoliteness in referring to Mr. Slimhips, but not to the point of
indiscretion. What I had however perceived was that Alan's assumptions
were based on arrogance--an arrogance which blinded him to other
realities of life.

We both opted for rice pudding with a spot of jam in the middle of it.
Why a five-star hotel would want to serve rice pudding is quite beyond
me, but when the waiter serving us the two dishes said, `Enjoy your
pudding, gentlemen. This is our most frequently requested dessert,' I
thought to myself that amid all the splendour of a great, multi-star
hotel and even following a superb meal, we still hanker after the simpler
things in life, a throwback to less complicated times.

`Wednesdays,' Alan said. `Wednesdays, we used to get rice pudding at
Commons. They never varied the menu in all of three years.'

I could not agree or disagree. Food consumed at university all those
years ago came across as a complete blank in my memory; such was its
inconsequential blandness.

`Do you know, Jonathan, I have to go out your direction next month. To
There's a conference on in Kuwait. It was a choice of either Kuwait or
Helsinki as a venue.'

`How long will you be there?'

A devious and mischievous idea was forming at the back of my brain.

`It's on for four days. But I'm really only needed at it for a day and
a half.'

Rummaging in my wallet, I produced a business card.

`Alan, here's my card and e-mail address. May I suggest that you try
and make it a week even better ten days and come down to Dahra--I'm only
less than an hour away on the shuttle . Come as my guest and stay with me
for a few days. Dahra can be a surprising country, I can tell you.'

`I might just take you up on that. I might just, that is if it is not
putting you out at all, if you've got a spare room.'

`I can provide a spare room for you, Alan. It will be my pleasure.'

The dinner ended with small talk and again the promise to be in touch.

I heard nothing from Sir Alan Young for all of three weeks and then got
an e-mail from him to confirm the dates he would be in Kuwait and if the
invitation was still on for Dahra that he would be delighted to accept.

I e-mailed him back immediately that I was already looking forward to his
company and I smiled to myself as I thought how I could trump his
arrogance of opinion with the cold reality and the hot sands of Dahra.

In the intervening days, I had Josh Green, my lawyer in the Grand Cayman
Islands, get a full report on Sir Alan Young. Josh knows by now my
eccentricities and has a number of private investigators on the payroll,
to say nothing of the work done by agencies for him--and ultimately, for
me.

The report on Alan Young came back showing a successful academic, who had
gone into university administration. He had a wife with a tendency to
drink too much and two teenage children, the eldest of whom had come to
the attention of the police twice for speeding at all of seventeen years
and for `public fracas'--a student demonstration at his prep school
which ended in a riot.

All in all, having scrambled and climbed to the top of his profession,
having sat on a government quango, he was now chairing a Department of
Education committee on layered education--whatever that was.

Sir Alan Young was like myself, a Knight of the Order of St. Michael and
St. George, but he for services to education, while mile was for services
to banking.

Alan was worth slightly more than a net half a million sterling, with a
mortgage on his home of a hundred thousand and owing Bank and credit card
balances of nigh on thirty thousand.

Alan Young might be a Knight of the realm and a champion of education,
but he was more of an owned slave to the systems he served than he could
ever realise.

I had originally thought of having Faisal, the Bank's messenger and my
driver, collect my guest from the airport in the Rolls on the Wednesday
of his arrival. It's strange but I have never got around to getting
myself a car here in Dahra, so I invariably end up using the Bank's
Rolls. Well, that's what it and Faisal are there for, after all.

Then I thought of sending Aziz or one of the overseers to accompany my
guest on the one hour journey down, much as the deputy to the deputy
Foreign Minister, Tariq al-Akhri had done for me with his own head of
household when I was brought to visit his Palace on that first occasion
some years ago.

However, I thought I might just surprise Alan Young in his complacency
and rebut some of his arguments in a very precise manner. So I went
myself to collect him from the Airport.

The shuttle was in on time and Customs in Dahra are a formality of waving
a passport and walking through--particularly now that passenger lists are
faxed ahead.

After greeting each other, I suggested that we take the scenic tour
around the capital city and then head for my home. Alan agreed readily
and for the best part of thirty minutes I was cicerone and tour-guide to
my guest as we sat in the back of the limousine and enjoyed the
architecture and the sights of the capital city.

`I live outside the capital city, Alan, so sit back and enjoy the drive.
We are now on the West Road, as it is called and it runs parallel to the
coast. Allow me to offer you some Chablis from my own cellar.'

`How far do you commute each morning to work, Jonathan?'

`It's an hour's drive which I use as my time to do my homework from
the Bank. I take it up again in the evenings on the way back. I used to
work five days a week, but now with two assistant Partners here, Gustav
Ahlson and Colin Bowman, whom you will meet the evening after tomorrow
for dinner, I limit myself to Monday to Wednesday.'

`You're then, what, forty miles from the capital city?'

`Just over fifty eight, in fact; a little over a hour's drive.'

`Not just a bit far out, Jonathan?'

`For privacy, it is the perfect distance. But far out, it is in another
aspect which you will see.'

I could not help but put a play on the words `far out' and I was hoping
that my little surprise for Alan Young would be just that.

As we drove along, I told of the history of Dahra and its economic growth
in the previous forty years due to oil and now to gas in particular and
Alan seemed genuinely interested as academics can be absorbing facts and
figures.

I smiled to myself as we crested a slight rise in the straight road some
three miles out from the Palaces and I saw Faisal's hand move to put on
the headlights of the Rolls and then switch them off after fifteen
seconds. Food and Drink, my two young assistant overseers, always up on
the Lime Palace roof at five o'clock or thereabouts, would now be
speeding down to Aziz, my head of household, with the news.

`Here to the left, Alan, you have the third of my Palaces, the Lemon
Palace which is still under construction. I have a young Scottish
engineer out overseeing the project. This one which you can see coming
up, the light green one, is the Aloe Palace, my original home when I
moved out here. My nephew, Jack and his wife live there for the moment
while they decide where to build themselves a home.'

`Now we are coming up to the Lime Palace and its surrounding farm lands
which is my present home.'

Alan at this time was looking out the window of the Rolls and half
glancing back at me, as if I were having him on.

`Three palaces, Jonathan, they all look rather large for one person. And
you say, farm lands?'

`Well, I do have staff for the Palaces and those who work the grounds.
We have the most marvellous vegetable crops all year round. With water,
soil and lots of fertilizer you can grow well nigh anything here such is
the all-year round heat.'

`And what size are the farms? All these green fields?'

`Yes, Alan, from about three miles back the road we have been driving
down and a further three miles up the road and about a mile in. About
four thousand acres all farmed manually.'

The last of the Chablis in his glass went down the wrong way and he
spluttered. I was not quite sure whether it was caused by the acreage, or
the manual nature of the labour.

We had drawn up into the courtyard of the Lime Palace. Aziz al-Aziz, my
head of household was at the top of the veranda steps and came down
accompanied by Dumi Bod, my farm manager, Stan Mercer, the property
overseer with Rolf Hanzer, the head of gym training. Aziz was dress in
white Arab garb while the others were in their overseers shirts and
shorts. Only Aziz and Stan were wearing sandals.

I smiled to myself. So far so good! There were no slaves around in all
their glory as per my prior instructions.

`Faisal, thank you. Exactly an hour, traffic and all. Well done!'

Faisal beamed his pleasure as he held the door of the Rolls open for us.

`Sir Alan, may I introduce you to the Head of my household and a dear
friend, Aziz al-Aziz. Aziz, Sir Alan Young.'

Aziz's English is always slow, but it is perfect and polished.

`Welcome to the Lime Palace, the home of my Master, Sir Alan.'

I don't think Alan cottoned on to the reference. At least, I hoped he
hadn't. Not yet!

I then introduced Alan to Dumi, Stan and to Rolf. Pleasantries and
handshakes were exchanged.

`Aziz, please inform the doctors that we have a guest and trustfully
they can join us for dinner at seven.'

`Yes, Master.'

I saw Alan looking at me, so I explained.

`I have a full-time doctor and surgeon here, Alan, he's French, Dr.
Yves Fournier. There is also a dentist full-time, an American--Dr. Cal
Thorson and an eye specialist, Dr. Nacho Cuesta, who is Costa Rican. You
will meet them if they are free, I hope, at dinner. I believe in looking
after the health of those who work here at the Palaces and on the
farms.'

`How many precisely, do you have working here, Jonathan?'

For a split second, I remembered the same question I had asked of Tariq
al-Akhri, at his home, all of three years previously which now seemed an
eternity away. I think I must have had the same quizzical look on my face
as Tariq had at the time, as if he had been asked by me how many pairs of
socks he had in his wardrobe.

Aziz saved me by saying, `Master, may I?'

With my hand I indicated to him to continue.

`There are a total of two hundred and eighty four at the Lime Palace,
two hundred and ninety six working at the Aloe Palace and I believe a
hundred and fifty six presently at the Lemon Palace.'

`Jonathan, that is over seven hundred workers. I thought you were in
banking, not in farming.'

`Ah, yes. We do a lot of our work manually here, Stan, wouldn't you
say? I suppose that you could call our produce organic, if you were
looking for a word.'

`You can say that again, Boss,' Stan replied enigmatically.

`Stan, here, Alan, is not just in overall charge of the fabric of the
Palaces. He is also responsible for the tons of vegetables which we
deliver to markets each morning and a very valued manager.'

Stan beamed.

`But Alan, where are my manners? You're standing out here in the Dahran
sun which is not kind to pale skins even in the late afternoons. Come
inside and let me offer you some refreshment.'

`Dumi, have you organised someone to look after Sir Alan tonight?'

`Yes, Boss, I have a couple of suggestions?'

Alan looked at Dumi and then at me, not understanding the reference.

`Looking forward, Dumi, to seeing your suggestions later on.'

We went up the steps of the veranda and into the main salon off the
dining room.

`Alan take a seat, please. Make yourself comfortable after the
journey.'

How truly wicked we can be at times! I had indicated a seat on one of the
settees which would have Sir Alan's back to the kitchens and serving
areas.

`Aziz, could you ask Bob and Zoran to come and we'll first have
something to drink after the journey and then I shall let Sir Alan
freshen up a little before dinner.'

I settled myself down facing Sir Alan. I was thus facing the doors
leading into the kitchens to which my guest had his back. No sooner had I
resumed conversation with Alan than Bob came in followed by Zoran.

`Ah, Bob, there you are.'

`Good afternoon, Boss.'

When I spoke to Bob, trying hard not to smile, Sir Alan half turned in
his seat and quite literally almost jumped out of his skin, seeing the
naked Bob walking in all his tanned glory, closely followed by Zoran.

If I did not know Bob better, I would have said that he had tickled Zoran
at the back of his balls where Zoran is quite sensitive, because he was
at over half-mast, to say nothing of Bob's own gently rising erection.

`Good afternoon, Master,' Zoran said.

Sir Alan was looking at me looking at him, looking at the two nude men
some paces from us.

`Bob, can you bring us a pitcher of your famous limejuice, please?'

`Yes, Boss, immediately.'

`And Zoran, ask Flavio, please if he would prepare us some finger food.
The afternoon really is too hot for anything else.'

`Yes, Master, immediately.'

The two departed for the kitchens. Sir Alan had one elbow on the arm of
the settee looking at the buttocks of the two departing slaves, quite
simply not knowing what was going on.

He looked across at me, as if he had missed something of a joke. I
thought it time to put him out of his misery.

`Alan, do you remember our conversation about slaves in London in
January.'

Alan's voice had deserted him.

`Bob and Zoran are two of my slaves.'

I let that sink in. Before I could say more, Bob was coming out with the
limejuice, again being closely followed by Zoran bearing a silver platter
of canapés-- some small open savoury caviar dainties by the looks of
them, on a base of various types of white and brown breads--perfect for
the afternoon and its heat.

Bob poured two glasses of limejuice, decorated them and placed one for
each of us on small serving tables beside Sir Alan and myself. The
silence in the salon was deafening by its presence.

`Alan, would you like Zoran to feed you?'

One is never supposed to embarrass guests, the lower regions of Dante's
hell being reserved for the same, but I could see Sir Alan Young start to
get red as he shook his head, still lost for a voice.

`Zoran, leave the tray beside, Sir Alan. Alan help yourself. I am not
hungry. It has been a trifle too hot. Bob, Zoran, I shall ring, if we
need you.'

`Yes, Boss. Sir Alan,' Bob replied and, with a nod to Zoran, the two
slaves withdrew.

`Your good health, Alan,' I said raising my glass and sipping the
deliciously tangy and cool limejuice as only Bob can deliver.

Alan Young took a good slug of the limejuice.

`Jonathan, is this some form of elaborate joke?' he finally managed to
say.

`No, Alan, not at all. You are an academic, so undoubtedly accustomed to
acerbic criticism and politically correct academic debate. So when I
heard you in London elaborating one set of postulates on top of another,
in quite an assumption of arrogance, I said to myself that I must if at
all possible bring you into the real world. Welcome to Dahra, the old
Dahra living side by side with the truly modern Dahra.'

`Slaves? Jonathan. How many do you have?'

`Over seven hundred, as Aziz said on the way in.'

`I took that to mean farm workers, employees, that sort of thing.'

`Yes, I know you did. Here at the Palaces, you and I, Aziz, my driver
Faisal, who is actually an employee of the Bank, but who lives here and
the three medical doctors are freemen. All others are slaves, owned by
me.'

`Jonathan, I have a thousand questions.'

`I would be disappointed, Alan, if you had less.'

`No seriously, old boy. Slavery in the modern world?'

`Over the next few days, you will have time to ask a lot of questions.
All here will answer them truthfully. I have only one condition to place
on you, Alan and that is that you never, ever discuss this matter outside
of Dahra. Will you give me your word on that and I shall be able to
explain why to you?'

Alan Young looked at me a tad strangely and finally said, `yes,
Jonathan, you have my word.'

`Alan, do you remember the fairy tale of Ala ed-Din--Aladdin as they say
in the West--the chap who found the magic lamp? Do you remember the genie
who appears when the lamp is rubbed and asks him to state his wishes?'

He nodded to me.

`In giving me your word, Alan, I am going to reciprocate and make you
three presents, not actually unlimited wishes as in the story, just
presents. The first is the paying off of the mortgage of one hundred
thousand on your home and the clearing of your Bank overdrafts. Before
you leave you will have given me consultancy services to that value. As
this is Dahra, there is no income tax.'

Alan Young sat quite upright on the settee, `What? How?'

I could see that more questions were to follow, so I merely held up my
hand.

`The second will be an album which I will give you when you are leaving
here. The third present will be an ongoing one--a simple return ticket
twice a year on the New Concorde--to come and visit Dahra. I am guessing
that you will want to return here and often. A little more limejuice,
Alan? Your glass is empty.'

It was just as well that Aziz came in at that moment to advise that the
medical staff would be coming to dinner as requested.

`Aziz, who is looking after Sir Alan until dinner time?'

`Food and Drink are free, Jonathan.'

I smiled at my head of household, who was finally coming round to address
me by my first name, even in the presence of a visitor. Alan again looked
confused.

`Two of my first slaves, Alan, I nicknamed Food and Drink as they were
originally assigned by a friend to feed me and give me to drink. It was
just as well that I had separate names for them as they are both named
Ali. They will look after you until dinner time and then afterwards you
can choose your own playmates for the night.'

For the second time in one afternoon, Alan Young's drink went down the
wrong way and he spluttered.

`Aziz, call Food and Drink.'

`Yes, Jonathan, immediately.'



My two irrepressible body slaves came bouncing into the salon. Although
they were now technically assistant overseers and might or might not be
wearing shorts dependent on their duties, I had told them of an important
assignment which would need them to be naked for a guest. They were
delighted!

Food and Drink had not seen me so far that day, as I had had Georgi and
Dieter--an interesting combination--in my bed the previous night. With
ear to ear smiles which always brighten up my life, they rushed across
and made full obeisance on the carpet kissing my feet and each putting in
turn my right foot on the back of their head, bums right up in the air
which gave Alan a definite view of their buttocks and crack. Then
bouncing to their feet, they went at `rest.'

`Food, Drink, this is our important guest,' I said to them in English
for Alan's benefit. I had already briefed them the previous evening on
what was what.

`You are to look after him until dinner time? Can you do that?'

`Yes, Master.'

`Yes, Master.'

`Alan, you must be quite tired now after your journey. Food and Drink
will take you to your rooms and look after you. Let them pamper you a
little until dinner-time which will be at seven. We do not dress formally
for dinner. Just whatever makes you comfortable. I have you placed in one
of the cool wings of the Palace looking out toward the West Road. The
sunsets here can be quite spectacular with their purples and golds. Quite
breath-taking!'

Food and Drink were already relieving Alan of his glass and helping him
up from the settee. I could see that they were beside themselves with
having a guest to look after all by themselves. Alan looked shaken as if
some of the old ground of his world had just crumbled around him and he
was not quite sure of the new ground under his feet.

Before I went up to my rooms to change, I called Aziz and asked if Donnie
was around.

`I will have him called, Master. I think I saw the production slaves
coming back from the Aloe Palace.'

Donnie is an assistant production manager of the raw materials for the
Aloe milk-sap and the Aloe laxative which the Aloe Palace factory
produces.

Some minutes later, Donnie Timmins came in. Every time I see him, he
looks better. His spindly legs have all but disappeared and now just
twenty years old, he is beginning to fill out with regular food and
exercise and the regular hours which the production facility provides.

`Master, I am sorry. I have not had time to wash.'

`No problem, Donnie, I just wished to check that all is in place as
instructed.'

`Yes, Master, I left all ready before I left for work this morning.'

`Okay, Donnie, you know what to do. Keep me informed tomorrow.'

Donnie smiled and replied `Yes, Master.'

`And Donnie, you are looking better and better every time I see you.'

`Thank you, Master, but you just saw me yesterday.'

`I know and that's what I say. Each day you are looking better and
better. Off you go.'

With a huge grin on his face and a definite wiggle in his backside,
Donnie Timmins took himself off, ready to comply with my prior
instructions.

The dinner was superb, as only Flavio can produce out of the kitchens. As
the day had been so hot, even for the time of year, we started with a
cold cucumber soup garnished with parsley and fennel cream. A sorbet of
lime cleared our palates.

Cal Thorson commented on the sorbet, while Nacho Cuesta tasted the white
wine which Yves Fournier had chosen for the evening.

`A Fleury, I would say. Perfect for the starters,' was his comment.

The main course was escalope of veal au jus, so thinly sliced that
everyone was given three slices which were almost shavings. It melted in
the mouth.

Flavio, like a true Italian, had used a national meat to great effect,
letting it sell itself in its own juices to the guests. I made a point of
stating that the courgettes, or zucchini as Cal kept calling them, the
parsnip and turnip mix, as indeed the early new potatoes the size of
small plums were all from the vegetable farms of the Palaces.

Yves produced a Merlot from the cellars for the red wine and it was a
perfect foil for the veal.

The dessert was a cassata ice cream with candied fruit in it, we topped
that off with a glass of a very sweet Muscatel.

I was sure that this ice cream was one of Marko's creations, so when the
meal was drawing to a close, I told Bob, who had been serving the meal
with Zoran and Jerzy, to call out our chef and his assistant.

Flavio, who exercises like every other slave for two hours a day, half of
which he spends in the pool swimming, is a truly superb looking slave.
The fact that he is very heavily built between his legs, adds to his good
looks.

I could not but notice that Sir Alan was transfixed by the size of
Flavio's sex organ, but made a mental note in my mind to do something,
at the same time as I was congratulating Flavio on his superb meal.

I noticed that he had his arm over young Marko's shoulders as if to say,
`Boss, don't forget, Marko.' I did not.

When I praised Marko to the roof for the beautiful cassata, he blushed as
he always does and in his shyness, he just looked at me in pleasure and
nodded his head, as he was wont to do and looked up at Flavio in hero
worship. I motioned to him to bend down towards me and I kissed him on
the cheek and said for all to hear, `Well done, Marko.'

I think it made his day.

I motioned to Bob and told him to have Ben Trant, my secretary, standing
by. He sped off.

`Alan, as you can see, we do not eat very heavily here, or for very
long, due to the heat. After dinner, I usually either take a stroll among
the water gardens, or as I have to do frequently, I sit or walk among my
slaves to hear their requests. Perhaps, you would like to come out with
me to the courtyard; they should be finishing their evening meal which
comprises of two slave biscuits and a bowl of vegetable soup from the
produce of the farms. Tonight, they also had ice cream in honour of your
visit.'

As the medical staff was saying their goodnights to Alan, Ben Trant
arrived and I took him aside and asked him to run a further search on the
computer for me, giving him the specific parameters. He had already run a
previous one today for me.

If Alan Young had been surprised in the salon initially by the arrival of
Bob and Zoran in the nude, he was pole-axed into silence by the presence
of over five hundred slaves sitting on the ground of the courtyard,
finishing their evening meal. Usually the slaves of the Aloe Palace eat
at the Lime Palace.

The slaves are not required to rise when I arrive on such occasions, but
seeing me arrive on this occasion with my guest, there was a polite
tapping of ice cream dishes with spoons to say `thank you' for the
dessert.

`These, Alan, are about two thirds of my slaves; the others are at the
Lemon Palace, some in training, some having had their evening meal just
like here.'

As we started to walk round through the milling slaves, various whom I
knew I addressed; others whose names I could not remember stood
respectfully as we walked by them and then returned to sit in the
courtyard.

Aziz caught up with us and said that the slaves I had enquired about were
to one side of the courtyard and indicated them. There were five in all.
Aziz was not aware of my subsequent request and off he went about his
business.

We meandered over towards the slaves whom I had requested to be on hand.
As we did, Ben Trant caught up with me with a printout of ten names. As
he would not know yet all the slaves by name, I caught Stan's eye and
when he came over I told him to have the first five from the list that he
could get to come over to where we were.

The five slaves, who were to one side, were all blond in colouring
though, as hair went, theirs was little more than a crew-cut. They were
all in their twenties and they were all slim. Their slimness should not
be confused with thinness. They were well exercised, well worked slaves,
who put in hours in the fields and then at least an hour in the gym and
an hour in the pool each day.

They were as near as I could find among my slaves to the young man, who
had exited Alan Young's hotel room in London.

`Alan, it is our custom here at the Palace to take a slave or two to bed
with us for the night. Any two of your choice of these five here might be
of interest to you for tonight.'

Alan looked at me, blinked and looked at the five slaves, who had now
gone to `display' with their hands resting behind their necks.

`The proper way to make a choice of a new slave whom you don't know is
to run your hands over his body to see if he or his body pleases you.
Give it a try, while I am checking out something else. I'll be back to
you in a minute.'

Stan had quickly given out the ten names on the list I had given him and
various slaves having heard their names mentioned were now coming up to
him. A total of eight in all arrived. The two remaining could have been
anywhere from special duties to being in the infirmary.

I looked at the eight and smiled to myself that our records are accurate
if anything. The eight, who were tall and short, wide and slim, fair and
dark, all had really very thick penises. They were not all long, except
for two, but all even flaccid could not have been circled by a thumb and
forefinger.

I told three to be off with themselves and motioned to the other five to
follow me.

Alan must have been finishing, rather quickly, I thought, with his
inspection of the five blonds, because the last one took his hand in his
and kissed it.

`Alan, you may have already chosen the two you want for the night, but
if not, there are another five here, who are quite differently
built--very solidly between the legs if I may say so.'

Alan Young looked at me and said, `Jonathan, I think I am dreaming.'

`No, Alan, this is the real Dahra. No dreams. Reality countdown. Do you
want slim blonds to night, or well endowed meat? If you choose one
tonight, keep the others for tomorrow night.'

`If it is alright with you, Jonathan, I shall choose...' and he
indicated numbers two and four of the blonds.

Turning to the five well-endowed slaves, I said to them in Arabic,
`Sorry, guys, our guest wants two of the blonds tonight. But kiss his
hand now and say in English to him `until tomorrow night' and he might
choose you tomorrow.'

The five in turn kissed Alan's hand, who looked as if all his birthdays
had arrived together and to the various utterings of `until tomorrow
night,' he was replying stutteringly, `Yes, of course.'

It was going to be an interesting few days with Alan Young, who retired
almost immediately followed by the two blonds he had chosen, one, a
nicely built Czech and the other, a Finn.

The following morning Alan Young was down late to breakfast. Guests in my
Palace set their own morning timetables. As neither of his blonds had
come down to seek a tray for him, he was not disturbed in his bedroom
suite.

I was working on some correspondence at about half-eight with Ben Trant,
my secretary, when a tap on the study door showed that my guest had
surfaced.

`Alan, good morning. I hope you slept well?'

`Thank you, Jonathan, indeed I did, when I finally got to sleep.'

`I hope you found your two companions sufficiently skilled. They have
both taken our course in sex techniques and according to Ben's records
here, both scored quite high points.'

Alan looked at me as if I were making some sort of joke which he did not
get.

`You train your...slaves'--he still had difficulty with the word--`in
sex techniques.'

`Yes, indeed, Alan. You will have noticed there are no women here and
sex must have its outlet to keep the slaves both physically and mentally
happy. First, let me get you fixed up with some breakfast.'

That was not much of a task as Bob Conrad, my table waiter, was already
standing in the background at the ready and as I was busy with various
matters for the morning, I instructed him to give Sir Alan the grand tour
after he had eaten, but to have him back by one o'clock for lunch.

The one thing about academics is that they love new data. Alan Young was
like a child with a new toy at lunchtime. He had a hundred comments and a
hundred and one questions. The comments I listened to. The questions I
could answer for the most part. Some out of prudence I did not.

`Alan, after lunch, I have arranged for you to have a sauna and a
massage. It may seem strange to have a sauna in a climate of such dry
heat, but try it and afterwards, a siesta perhaps, with one or two of the
other sturdier types, whom you did not bed last night. I have them
waiting outside for you to choose after lunch.'

`I cannot believe that we are talking of having sex like this,
Jonathan.'

`It is a style of life which does challenge your previous assumptions on
what is slavery, I think you will agree.'

The net effect of Alan Young's ten day first visit, during which he was
athletically intimate with no less than seven of the slaves, was that he
became a regular and welcome visitor to the Lime Palace over the
following years.

Upon his departure back to England, I gave him two items, the first being
the lodgement slips of his `consultancy fees' made to his building
society and bank.

The second item was a photographic album of his bedroom performances
taken by the Palace photographer, Donnie Timmins, who had used the
two-way mirror in the guest bedroom suite for the first time.

`I would suggest, Alan, that you look at these photos with fond memories
and keep them in a safe place. They are both a memory of your stay and an
invitation to return.'

There was an unspoken threat in the handing over of the photographic
album. It did not have to be put in words. He was photographed in over
thirty sexual positions with a number of blond and well-hung young men,
fucking and being fucked as a willing participant, sucking with gusto and
being sucked inter alia.

While Sir Alan delighted in topping the blonds, the well-hung former
jocks, whose thick meaty organs were totally primal, gave Sir Alan ride
after ride to his and their utter exhaustion.

From the pictures, no one would know that the blonds or the well-hung
guys were actual slaves, as any GPS ankle bracelet which might have
accidentally appeared in a photo had been airbrushed out, as indeed the
faces of the slaves who were now `dead' for intents to an outside
world.

Outside of my circle, Sir Alan Young would never ever speak of my slaves,
of the Palace, or of me publicly. The negatives would be his sword of
Damocles for the rest of his now much happier--and financially
worry-free--life. But the implied threat of the photographs was never
more than that, as Alan Young came back time and time again willingly to
Dahra and formed a firm bond of friendship with one of the blonds, who
each time Alan departed had to be comforted by his regular buddy and his
companions.

The assumptions of arrogance of Sir Alan Young on slavery and those who
owned slaves were quickly set aside and found substantive rejection in a
number of theoretical papers on the false assumptions in popular
education which did become quite a debating point in academic circles, I
seem to remember.

In Dahra, Sir Alan Young had learned something new about slavery. It was
not all involuntary. It was not all cruel. It was not all demeaning. In
one of his papers, I remember that he said that we must educate ourselves
before we attempt to educate others and that in the most unlikely of
areas, intellectual stimulation was to be found by looking at things from
new and illuminating angles, so as to challenge widespread out-dated,
outmoded and unfounded assumptions in all fields of learning.