Date: Tue, 27 Dec 2005 00:10:04 +0000
From: Gerry Taylor <gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Dahran Sands - Chapter 13 - Gay - Authoritarian

The Dahran Sands by Gerry Taylor

This is the thirteenth chapter [ex twenty two] of a novel about gay sex
and present-day slavery.

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

This novel, The Dahran Sands, is the eighth novel in the Dahran series

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 13 -- The fulfilled promise


A promise is a cloud; fulfillment is rain

(Arabian proverb)


  Slaves either look in place or out of place. The one I was looking at
was definitely out of place. The courtyard has its own slaves who sweep
it and Terry Peoples was not one of them. Not only that but the way he
was keeping his head down brushing with a besom the light sand which
settles daily over the Palaces. By the minute, he was looking guiltier
and guiltier as he studiously avoided eye-contact. I could not really
blame him as it was really my fault. I had told him to be available from
midday to look after a guest. It was not yet eight in the morning.

  Terry is a floater who reports to various Heads of Household or Stables
in that he fills in for slaves or kofilas that are missing a member on a
particular day. The floaters report first to the Head of Household in
case there is something extra to be done inside the Palaces, and then to
the Head of Stables or Property for assignment.

  Knowing Terry, he would have inveigled something as close to the
courtyard as possible lest some other slave be assigned to his guest. I
was hardly likely to do that as I was expecting Budd Chavez on a visit,
and Budd had previously taken quite a shine to Terry. Who in fact would
not with his slim body, fair hair and exuberant personality?

  Bob Conrad arrived to pour me another cup of coffee.

  `Call Terry over to me!'

  `Yes, Boss.'

  As Terry came over sheepishly, I said `kneel'. He dropped to the
floor beside me, with the besom on the ground beside him.

  `Are you ready for looking after my guest today?'

  `Yes, Master. I am. Thank you for thinking of me.'

  `Mr. Chavez will be here for ten days. Make sure you look after him
very well.'

  `Budd, Master? It's Budd who's coming to visit?'

  As I nodded, the slave bent forward and kissed my feet.

  `Oh, Master, thank you. Thank you, Master.'

  `Get yourself ready. Exercise for an hour in the gym. Take a sauna for
an hour and make sure you are clean inside and out. And none of this
nonsense of pretending to sweep the courtyard.'

  `Yes, Master. No, Master. I didn't want you to forget that you had
asked me. Will Budd remember me, Master?'

  `That's something you'll have to ask him, and when you're
thoroughly clean, check on the suite of rooms my guest will be using that
all is as he would like it to be.'

  `Yes, Master.'

  `Now, be off,' I said with a wave of my hand, and the slave
disappeared as I gazed at his trim waist and perfectly round buttocks.

  I had sent up the Rolls to the capital city to collect Budd, but I had
also instructed an immaculate Faisal to bring back a package that I knew
was awaiting collection at the House of Gems. According to a note I had
received from the jeweller Abdul Rahman al-Said, the package was ready.
Faisal said he would do this before collecting my guest from the airport,
and I nodded my agreement.



  Budd Chavez's arrival in the Rolls which I had sent to collect him
from the airport was just after twelve. The flight must have been on
time. Terry Peoples was at the steps of the veranda a good twenty minutes
before the car arrived, his skin buffed with Aloe sap, his eyes gleaming.
As I worked on my papers, I told him get into the shade of one of the
porticoes and wait until he was called; and almost reluctantly he obeyed
such was his enthusiasm to be present when my guest arrived.

  The Rolls slid almost silently into the courtyard and drew up at the
end of the veranda. Budd Chavez looked well and as we embraced I
commented on his lack of tan.

  `Something I will remedy during the week, Sir Jonathan.'

  Pete Downings, the Head of Household, had come out with Food and Drink
to take in my guest's baggage which consisted of two suitcases.

  `Do you want any particular slave assigned to you for your stay,
Budd?' I said with a half-smile.

  `If Terry is free, that would be fine,' he said with a grin.

  `Terry, you can come out now,' I said in a loud voice. Noise carries
easily in the courtyards, and Terry Peoples came at a sprint from under
one of the porticoes.

  As he bounded across the courtyard and up the veranda steps, for a
second I thought that he would crash into my guest, balls flying and cock
at half-mast, he drew up almost out of breath in front of Budd, who gave
him a look and threw his arms around him, before Terry could make any
form of obéisance.

  `Oh, Terry, I have missed you so much. I made you a promise that I
would be back and now I am.'

  When Terry finally extricated himself from the bear hug, he dropped to
his knees to kiss both of Budd's hands as a slave should for an honoured
guest.

  `I'll let you relax, Budd, after your flights and this onslaught,' I
commented.

  As Budd went in with his arm around Terry's waist, I thought to myself
that what I was saying was most likely a contradiction in terms and so it
was as an exhausted pair did not surface until dinner time over six hours
later. I did not object in the least and I believe that a host has a
prime duty in keeping a guest totally happy.



  The package that Faisal had brought back from the House of Gems for me
would have paid off a sizeable ransom, if I had a ransom to pay. It was
the results of that establishment's efforts in working on a large chunk
of opal-bearing sandstone rock I had left with the House. The package
when unboxed comprised three jewellery display boxes and as I looked in
my study at the first of three identical boxes, each the size of a volume
of an encyclopaedia, I wondered to myself just what precisely the
jewellers had recovered from the gemmiferous rock.

  The first of the identical boxes contained two trays of twenty opals
each. In the morning light of the study, the gems sparkled in so many
colours particularly yellows and reds. Each opal was different in size
and shape from the perfectly oval to ovoid, each according to the
internal grain but none was less than twenty five carats as the legend
and description underneath each one indicated. The only progression
seemed to be from a less fierce red to more burning red. The second tray
showed more of the yellows and gold colour for which opals are so famous.

  The second box contained also two trays each with fifteen opals
weighing thirty to seventy carats each in the most extraordinary colours
and hues. But it was the opening of the final box which took my breath
away. It was a single fire opal in the shape of a pear weighing all of
two thousand one hundred carats, over a pound in weight. It was a miracle
that it had not split upon cutting and polishing. I picked it up and it
burned in the light throwing off red reflection upon red reflection as
the light flashed on it.

  As I was looking at the gems Ben and Gianni, my secretaries, walked
into the study with papers in their hands. They stopped in their tracks
as they saw the gems laid out on my desk.

  `Master, what is that,' Gianni blurted out as he looked at the large
opal as it burned in my hands. I held it out into the light and the
sunlight hit it from different angles and the study lit up in gem
produced flames. Both of the slaves gasped, and I was not far behind in
my appreciation of the stone.

  `This is what I am going to call the Dahran Opal. Ben take a letter to
Zabian al-Kibbe at the opal mine. I need something.'



  That morning was very muggy. The weather had been unsettled which was
unusual for Dahra and its incessant heat. Now it was hot and clammy,
instead of just hot and dry. I could feel the clothes sticking to my back
during the morning and around midday, I decided that enough was enough
and that I would take a swim, but before a swim a half-hour in the sauna
to really sweat out the grime from my pores.

  I walked up to the first floor of the Palace where there is a sauna for
guests which has a double boiler for extra-quick heat. It is not a large
sauna, but suitable for three or four and with quite comfortable pine
wood for benches. As I came onto the floor, I saw Food was coming out the
sauna area with one of Stan Mercer's team.

  `Food, switch on the sauna before you leave and I'll be over to take
a sauna in about ten minutes.'

  `Master, I'm sorry. There was a drip from the boiler and we have just
fixed it.'  He looked unhappy and forlorn. `The cement adhesive has to
be left to dry for at least twelve hours. I'm sorry, Master, but I did
not think that you would be using it during the day.'

  Food was a picture of dejection. The worker slave with him looked
uncomfortable. I could hardly be annoyed with him for fixing what was
broken at a time when I never use the sauna.

  `Food, there is no problem. I'll take a sauna in the one beside the
swimming pool.'

  `But, Master, that is for the slaves and Supervisors'.

  `Well, it won't be the first time for me there, and I'm going to
take a swim afterwards. Just get me a bath-towel from inside, but first
get me a fresh shirt and a pair of slacks.'

  `Yes, Master, immediately.'

  I went into the suite and put on a robe while Food came in with one of
the large white towels we use for putting on the pine benches when they
get too hot, and  the other clothes I had ordered.

  `I will go down with you, Master,' he said as I reached for the
clothes.

  `No need, Food. Carry on what you're doing.'

  I normally would walk short distances around the Palace, but with the
heat of this particular day,  I took one of the sand buggies from under
the portico in the courtyard of the Lemon Palace and drove quietly up the
Long Mile road as we call it linking the Palaces, the electric motor of
the buggy making no more than a hum.

  I remember noting that the sun was now high in the midday sky. There
was little movement at the Aloe Palace and I motored on to the Lime
Palace, coming in through the gardens, where there were slaves, some
distance away, going in and out of the swimming pool and the gym, and
some more moving between the outside buildings as they went to English or
Arabic classes.

  It was the hot hours of the day when I do not allow the slaves to work
outside, but put the hours to their education and whatever else needs to
be done inside the buildings by way of work and out of the killing heat.



  The sauna of the Lime Palace though a separate building with its own
solar panels for heating the boilers is linked at both ends by pergolas
and walkways, one to the pool and the other to the gym. As I came up to
it there was no one around, and I parked the sand buggy on the path
beside the door. It was just one of those occasions when none of the
buggy slaves or Supervisors had been around to offer to drive me. Not
that that mattered to me in the least at the time.

  I put the fresh clothes on one of the two changing room benches. As the
slaves who use the facility are normally naked, there is no need for many
benches and those that were there were devoid of clothes. I stripped off
the robe, stepped under a shower, beside the two cold plunge pools which
some wit had named `Artic' and `Antarctic'. The morning's sweat
disappeared under the spray. I grabbed my towel and went into the sauna.

  I noticed two things when I went in, the first being that I could only
see very dimly the shape of a single slave to my right at the far end -
dimly because a lot of water, still hissing, had been splashed on the hot
artificial coals of the two boilers with the result that there was steam
from the roof down to the first bench level. The sauna is large in that
it can comfortably seat forty on its upper, middle, lower and side
benches. Secondly, I could only see very dimly because although there
are, or should be, three red lights in the sauna, the ones under the
benches at either end were not on or working; and only the middle light
behind the boilers was lit.

  I made my way down to the left. The lowest pine bench was hot and I
spread my towel on it and lay face down. The steam was marvellous and I
could feel droplets of water already condensing on my back. I relaxed in
the dim almost non-existent light. There is something to be said for a
sauna. In cold weather it heats you up, and in hot weather, it makes you
sweat so that you can enjoy a plunge pool afterwards.

  I must have been lying there some four or five minutes when I heard the
hiss of more water being put on the coals and fresh waves of steams which
sort of catch you at the back of the throat, floated down to me and
spread through the sauna. I pulled the corner of the towel to cover my
mouth and face from the new steam. The thought crossed my mind that some
do like it hot.

  As that precise moment, I felt a hand running up the outside of my leg,
across my left calf and up my upper thigh. By night, and in an almost
pitch-black dark sauna, all cats are grey. The slave would be surprised
to find out who he was touching up!

  His fingers were strong and calloused and he kneaded his thumbs into
the muscles of my thighs. I felt his hands on my buttocks and the
strength of his massage increased almost to the point of discomfort, but
as his fingers and hands were working to a pattern I said nothing.

  I felt the cheeks of my backside being separated and there was a breath
of air on my back passage. This slave had his method without a doubt!

  I was just about to turn over when in one movement, I felt a hand
between my shoulder blades and another pulling my left leg off the bench,
and the slave's weight was now fully on my back. Before I could utter
more than a strangled cry I felt a hard pressure on my anus and I
screamed as in one mighty thrust the slave pushed his cock into me. There
was no preparation, no warning. The towel was still half-over my face and
as I made an attempt to turn round a fist connected with the side of my
face and stunned me with its suddenness. The penetration of my anus was
continuing hard and fast.

  I again tried to cry out but found part of the towel in my mouth and a
hand was on the back of my neck as the penetration of my most intimate
and private passage continued relentlessly. Whatever way the hand or
forearm was on my neck, my face was pushed onto the towel and bench. I
could hear the slave grunting with each gut-wrenching thrust and the pain
of the first unlubricated entry was reinforced by a wracking pain. Some
say the anus is self-lubricating with its own juices. On that day, mine
was definitely not. The steam was not allowing me to breathe properly and
I started to feel weak and faint.

  I found myself wondering why I could not push this slave off me. I had
not found my voice other than my initial strangled and garbled cry. The
pressure on my neck was increasing and the groans and grunts of the slave
now became unintelligible shouts of approaching ecstasy and sexual
release. I felt the slave shudder and shudder again, half-pull out and
push back in one more time.

  My eyes were playing tricks on me. I could actually see red spots on
the dark wall of the sauna to my left. The pressure on my neck stopped
and I sensed more than saw the face of the slave as he pulled back the
towel from off my face. The extra oxygen into my mouth had an almost
contradictory effort. I felt weaker, and as I half-fainted, all I then
remember hearing were three words, `Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!'

  I did not actually faint because I felt the slave get off me and heard
his feet on the tiled floor of the sauna as he ran to the door. I heard
the opening of the door and the hiss of its closing.

  I had to get out of the sauna and its heat. I struggled to my feet
clutching the towel in one hand and that was my mistake, because as I
tried to move towards the door, I stepped on the edge of the towel and
lost my balance, precarious and all as my situation had been to that
point, it quickly became worse, as I crashed to the floor, and all went
black.

  The strange thing about being unconscious is that you are not supposed
to remember anything. For some reason, I remember the imagined red spots
on the wall of the sauna, and a sort of floating, and then there was the
most extraordinary shock of coldness.

  I was drowning! There was water in my mouth and nostril and someone was
hitting me on the back. I opened my eyes and I saw that I was in the
Antarctic! The water in the plunge pool was almost freezing it was so
cold. There was a face looking at me and two hands holding my head above
the water.

  `Master! Master! Can you hear me? Are you all right?'

  I caught my breath finally and put my feet under me in the freezing
water which was pink. I realised that the pink was only my blood in the
water, as something dribbled into my eye, I was bleeding from a cut on my
forehead over my left eye.

  `Master, are you all right?'

  I looked at the slave and at a second one of the edge of the plunge
pool bending in to support me. What were their names? I knew them. The
two Polish field workers!

  `It's Konrad,' I said to the slave in the pool, `isn't it and
Zenon?'

  `Yes, Master. Let us help you out of the pool.'

  `What am I doing in it?'

  `We threw you in it, Master, to bring your temperature down. We found
you on the floor of the sauna and you were totally red.'

  They were looking at me for answers; then Zenon ran to one of the
lockers and came back with a towel which he pressed to my temple, as I
sat on the edge of the plunge pool. I felt hot, yet I felt cold. It was
an odd sensation.

  `Master, we have to get you to the doctor. The cut is still bleeding
and it is deep.'

  Supported by the two slaves, I sat up on the sand buggy and wobbled in
the seat.

  `Master, let me drive to the hospital building and you hold the towel
in place,' Zenon said.

  I moved over in the double seat and closed my eyes as I was again
beginning to feel faint. I felt Konrad's hand supporting me from the
other side and then the buggy was moving. With one hand I hung on and
with the other pressed the towel to my head. Zenon drove and Konrad ran
along beside the sand buggy ready to catch me, I presume, were I to have
fallen out.

  I cannot say that I remember the short trip back to the Palace hospital
building other than feeling the fresh air and hearing Zenon's
encouraging words, `Master, hold on! We are almost there. Hold on! We
are almost there.'

  Zenon drove directly to the hospital ward. Luckily, Miraldo Coelho had
not gone to lunch and was signing some papers for Randy Tait, who is the
Supervisor in charge of the facility.

  Maybe it was the loss of blood but I felt myself drifting in and out of
consciousness. I could hear voices but not words. I felt hands lift me
and move me and lift me again. There was dampness on my face and hands
holding my head and a moment or two of blackness or so it seemed.

  I opened my eyes.

  Six pairs of eyes looked down at me.

  Miraldo Coelho's face came down towards mine and he held up three
fingers.

  `How many fingers?'

  `Three.'

  `Follow my finger' and he moved it right and left.

  `You'll live!'

  `Thank you.'

  I was about to sit up when he pushed me back on the hospital bed.

  `Not so fast, Jonathan. You have a bad cut on your left forehead. I
have had to give it eight stitches. Can you remember what happened?'

  `I fell in the sauna.'

  `At what time?'

  `Some time after twelve.'

  `It's now just after one. You were lucky that Konrad and Zenon here
came along when they did.'

  I reached out and shook each of the slave's hands.

  `Leave us,' I said, `I want to talk to Dr. Coelho.'

  Randy and two of his orderlies, and the two Polish slaves left the
ward. I found myself wondering why no other bed was full, and thought
that maybe it was too early in the day yet.

  `Yes, Jonathan?'

  `Help me turn over. I want you to examine me back there. I was
attacked.'

  Miraldo looked at me and then eased me on my side and then fully over.
I spread my legs a little and found that I had poor muscle coordination.
I tried to spread them a little more and Miraldo said, `let me help
you.'

  Silence descended on the hospital ward and with it my sense of smell
took over and the odours of lint and the fresh sheet under me and
medicines came to my nostrils.

  `Jonathan, there is severe bruising resulting from penetration. I'm
afraid you are bleeding there as well and I am going to have to give you
a couple of small stitches.'

  `Do what you have to do, Miraldo. And get a sample of the semen for
DNA analysis.'

  `I am already doing that. Now, I am going to spray some Novocain on
the area to be stitched so be still.'

  I was still and did not move a muscle for ten minutes.

  `All done, Jonathan; now just one last thing. I want to give you a
small enema to flush everything out of the rectum. I don't want any
seminal fluids staying in there. Just lie still; with the anaesthetic you
won't feel a thing; just a little pressure.'

  I felt something being inserted into my back passage and a build-up of
intestinal pressure.

  `Normally, I would know how long to let the enema flow, but tell me
when the pressure is too much.'

  I let it flow as the doctor said for about a further twenty seconds and
felt as if I were to explode, and told the doctor so. He helped me off
the bed into the toilet, half-closed the door and with a rush I relaxed
my sphincter muscle. As I cleaned myself, I could not but help look at
the tissue. There was still a drop of blood on it which made the
surrounding white tissue turn pink.

  I came out of the toilet and the good doctor was still holding the
rubber hosing of the enema bottle.

  `Sorry, Jonathan, just one more time to be sure.'

  `I'm still bleeding there.'

  `It will stop soon. It's precisely because of the tears that I don't
want anything in the rectum.'

  This time I merely bent over the hospital bed and endured the second
enema.

  I had no clothes at the hospital, so I stuck my head outside the door
and as it was a time of day when my body slaves could be anywhere said to
Zenon, `go over to the Palace building and ask for a change of clothes
for me,' and Zenon ran across the courtyard.

  I turned to Miraldo, `not a word of this to anyone. I slipped in the
sauna and no more. Let me know when the DNA test is done and who it
matches.'

  Miraldo nodded and said, `I would suggest Jonathan that you lie down
for the rest of the afternoon.'

  This was good advice.

  `I will,' I assured him, `but tell me before I go, have you had to
treat similar injuries in the hospital?'

  Miraldo Coelho nodded.

  `Let me have the files of those concerned.'

  So much for slave-doctor confidentiality. This was Dahra after all.

  `So has rape occurred before?' I inquired.

  `Well... I have treated some who were as severely hurt as you.'

  `They didn't tell me,' I observed.

  `I am sorry... Would that have been something you expected to be told
about when it occurred.'

  `I can't really say, I don't think I ever explicitly mentioned it to
you or Yves.'

  `Jonathan, maybe we should talk about this some other time, when you
are feeling better.'

  `Yes, I need to sleep. I'll look at those files when you have done
your tests.'

  I lay in the hospital bed and closed my eyes. Whatever shot of Novocain
Miraldo had given to me not only had numbed my body, it had made me
sleepy. I remember thinking of waves coming in to the seashore and then I
slept for over an hour after the shock of what had happened.

  I awoke to find Ben Trant totally pale sitting beside the hospital bed
and draped over a chair beside him the change of clothes I had ordered.

  `Help me dress, Ben' I said.

  The noise of getting out of the bed brought Gianni to the door of the
ward.

  I dressed quickly with Ben's help and looking at both my secretaries I
said, `Ben, if you and Gianni are here, who is looking after the
office?'

  `Master, don't even try to joke. You have been hurt.'

  Looking at Ben, I saw just how worried he was looking and how close to
tears he was.

  `Come here,' I said and putting my arms around him, I whispered,
`I'm okay as long as you don't cry.'

  He nodded his head and with an arm over his shoulders and another over
Gianni's, I made my way down to Miraldo's office to thank him and
Randy.

  Back at the Palace, I finished a late lunch which comprised of nothing
more than a bowl of soup and some toast. Ben and Gianni were conveniently
nearby. I summoned them over and put my arms around their waists and said
`what about a siesta?' which is in fact what happened, because I had no
sooner lain down on the bed for the second time in one afternoon I closed
my eyes and it was all of six o'clock. The two slaves were either side
of me, looking at me as I awoke groggily.

  `How do you feel, Master?' Gianni said anxiously.

  `Much, much better and feeling better by the minute with two splendid
slaves beside me,' I said as I ran my hand down his belly to his
half-tumescent cock.

  `Master,' Ben chipped in, `you have been hurt and you must rest.'
His voice cracked, `you must not have any excitement until you are
better. You could have died today' and he burst into a flood of tears.

  `Ben, Ben, I am fine. How bossy you are getting! But where would I be
without you and Gianni? Where tell me?'

  `Master, we love you, but where indeed would we be without you?' he
said as he wiped tears from his eyes.

  While on the outside I was undoubtedly quite calm. Inside I was
seething with anger. It reminded me of those hot mud geysers you come
across in exotic volcanic regions of the world, where the mud is letting
off heat and then bubbles of fetid odours pop on the surface, and the
putrid smell lingers of sulphur and rotting eggs. Apart from some facial
grimaces that I had to be making as the after-pain of the rape left my
innards sore, I was, in fact, boiling with the sheer ire of having been
attacked by one of my own slaves.

  It was not disgust at the non-consensual sexual intercourse, because on
many occasions I had been guilty of that, if a Master can be guilty of
such. No, it was the suddenness of the bodily invasion, the
voice-annihilating shock of being helpless, half-covered in a towel as I
had been, with the calloused hands pressing me down on an already hot
bench. It was the elbow pressing down on my back and shoulder-blade, the
uncaring nature of the act, devoid of all pleasure for me the recipient,
and giving what must only have been an elation of power to the
perpetrator. Well, power and his own ejaculation inside me.

  The comfort slaves on either side of me must have sensed some of my
anguish and pain because they are skittish, like colts that trust an
owner and master yet who do not want to draw near too quickly. I stroked
them and fondled them until they were less nervous, letting my fingers
wander over the tautness of their skin and the suppleness of their
musculature.

  When would the DNA results be back? They would arrive when they arrive.
No doubt about that. Miraldo Coelho was no slouch in his work, but
professional tests require professional time, and the chemical and enzyme
reactions of Mother Nature are unfazed and unconcerned by the impatience
of any man.



  And what would I do to that beggar who had bested me, physically and
sexually, in the sauna? A public flogging would be too good for him. He
would have to be gagged or all my slaves would know what had happened. A
simple searing of his vocal chords would solve that problem permanently.

  One thing was bothering me, niggling away at the back of my mind, like
a bud trying to reach the light but not succeeding in breaking through
the crust of the earth. It was the half-baked and half-formed thought
about the ease of my rape, the assuredness of my attacker. There was
something about it that I could not define. It was not a question of the
rapist, because I had no idea who he was, other than he had been naked
and strong and sexually potent. There was something else, something else.
It would come to me if only I could put the entire thought out of my
mind.



  There is nothing quite like a visible wound to be the centrepiece of
conversation at a dinner-table. The stitches on my temple were not
visible but the plaster was as indeed a rather bad purple bruise on my
upper left cheek which was going to create a real shiner. I allowed
myself a second glass of wine and after dinner when I walked out on to
the veranda as I normally would to hear what the line-up of slaves
wanted, the courtyard was filled with slaves after their own evening
meal, but there was no apparent line-up.

  I walked among the slaves of the Lemon Palace knowing that it was not
one my own slaves from this Palace, though most certainly from one of
them. I did not know from which of my three properties my assailant had
attacked and raped me. I let it be known that I was fine, though after
half an hour I had a throbbing headache and signalling Georgi and Dieter
over, I walked with them around the cactus gardens and sat with them in
silence until the sun had finally set and the purples and golds of the
western sky yielded to a totally cloudless and starry sky. Only when I
felt Georgi shiver on the seat beside me and noticed some gooseflesh on
Dieter's arm did I come in.

  In the tranquillity of the cactus gardens, and not in the movement of
the water-gardens, I found my peace that evening. By a happy stroke of
luck, Terry Peoples was my listed bed companion for the night. He looked
with horror at my forehead and cheek when I came into the bedroom suite
and almost came out of the `at display' position.

  I was nursing a hot whiskey in my hand and as my body slave undressed
me, I said to Terry, `No work for you tonight, Terry me lad. You're
just going to sleep in my bed.'

  `Yes, Master.'

  The body slaves departed and I lay down very gently on the bed took one
last sip of the whiskey and nodded to Terry to climb aboard.

  `Not even a gentle suck, Master?'

  `In the morning, Terry. Now go to sleep. Have you ever taken a hot
whiskey?'

  He shook his head. I handed him the one-third-filled glass. He took a
sip and grimaced.

  `Bitter, Master,' he commented as he put the glass out on the bedside
table. I remembered nothing else.



  In the light of early morning, I awoke as I do with the crack of dawn
and felt warm and comfortable. Terry's body was up against mine. His
hand was over my genitals, my penis within his loose grasp. My moving
awoke him and with his golden smile, he whispered, `Good morning,
Master,' as he moved his mouth down to my semi-tumescent penis. As his
warmth enveloped me, I glanced at the side table. The final drop of
whiskey was missing. I brought the empty glass and waved it in front of
his eyes. He broke off his ministrations for two seconds merely to say,
`Master, waste not, want not,' and as he deep-throated me and I could
feel my juices begin to rise, I was not in a position to argue.



End of Chapter 13

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