Date: Sat, 18 Feb 2006 13:11:48 +0000
From: Gerry Taylor <gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Dahran Sands - Chapter 20 - Gay - Authoritarian

The Dahran Sands by Gerry Taylor

This is the twentieth 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 20 -- The successful failure

Until the lions have their historians, tales of the hunt shall always
glorify the hunter.

(Azerbaijani proverb)



  I had thought the sandstorm would have done more damage, but within a
week all appeared to be back to normal. To me, it might have seemed the
logical thing to do to replant the uprooted trees with new ones, but two
of the Overseers differed on that point, and merely replanted the
uprooted ones back into the same location, but each five feet deeper,
commenting that if they died then they could then be replaced with new
ones. There was essentially nothing wrong with the trees but they had not
had time to sink deep roots which the deep re-planting would solve. Their
motto seemed to be `waste not, want not' and I liked that in my
Overseers.

  Dr. Coelho also made a note in his monthly report that Nick Willet had
been discharged back for duty with my Overseer Yuriy after a week in the
hospital ward.  I made a point one evening of looking at a distance at
the slave as he continued his punishment duty on the water-wheel.



  In late January, something happened which I did not like. I got back
from the Bank at my usual time in the afternoon, and no sooner had the
Rolls pulled up in the courtyard of the Lemon Palace than I saw my Head
of Stables, Komil Rostov, stride with a very determined step across the
open space to meet me. The stern look on his face dispelled any idea I
might have had that this was a mere `Welcome back home after a hard day
at the office' greeting.

  `Boss, we had an intruder today.'

  Komil is always to the point if anything.

  `Intruder? Where was he found? Who is he?'

  `Over by new sections which we are reclaiming. One of the kofilas
actually walked on him. He was hidden in a shallow trench in the ground.
He obviously did not know that we were going to work that area today.'

  `When was this?'

  `Just after you left for work this morning; you were gone about half
an hour. When one of the slaves walked on him, he jumped up and started
waving an automatic rifle at them.'

  `A gun? Are any of the kofila hurt?'

  `No, Boss, they circled round him with their adzes and work tools at
the ready, and then a second kofila which saw what was happening came up
and did the same thing. I think he realised that even with a machine gun,
he was not going to survive being attacked by seventeen slaves.'

  `So what happened?'

  `One of the slaves ran back to the Palace to get me. It so happened
that Yuriy was with me when the slave arrived. We grabbed two of the
large adzes and ran out to the fields. The intruder was still there
perspiring in the sun, circled by the slaves who had been joined by some
more and the three water guys.'

  `Surely not the water guys, they have nothing useful against an
intruder.'

  `Only their bodies, Boss. They did not want this man to get away. The
intruder was dressed in camouflage. Well, when Yuriy and I arrived, Yuriy
ordered him to put the rifle on the ground and that was that.
Surprisingly he put the automatic on the ground and raised his hands. He
had no identification on him, only a bunch of car keys. He has not said
anything at all.'

  I did not like the sound of any of this at all.

  `This, Boss, was in his pocket.'

  Komil handed me a folder map of the area with my Palaces clearly marked
out, and handwriting and figures indicating distances and features along
the Western Road.

  As we were speaking Yuriy Obov, my Head of Stables at the Aloe Palace
came out from the direction of the retraining room and joined us.

  `Boss! Komil has brought you up to date?'

  `Yes, he has, Yuriy, and I don't like it one bit. Come inside out of
this heat.'

  We had still been talking in the courtyard and on the steps of the
veranda as Komil had imparted his bad news.

  `Where is the intruder?'

  `I have him cuffed to the wall of the retraining room, Boss.'

  `Would not a cell have done just as well?'

  `No, Boss, softening up procedure; I just put a couple of the
retraining tools out on the counters and left him chained there in
suspense,' he said with a grin.

  `He had a rifle with him?'

  `A Kalashnikov - it could have been bought anywhere.'

  `What nationality is he?'

  `American, I think, Boss.'

  `He hasn't said.'

  `Nothing at all?'

  `Only `shit'.'

  `Shit?'

  `Before I chained him up, I cleaned him out, Boss, I didn't want him
doing anything on the clean floor of the retraining room, if you want us
to work on him later on. I let each enema flow really hard, and when I
squeezed his balls once as he was jerking around a bit in his restraints,
he said `shit'.'

  I looked at Yuriy.

  He looked back at me and Komil and grinned.

  `Please, Boss, let me work on him. I want to know why he's here as
much as you.'

  `So, how long has he been in the retraining room?'

  `Since about ten this morning. No food. Some water only.'

  `Let me change and we shall all go to see him.'

  Bob Conrad had come out to see why we were dallying on the veranda so
much.

  `Bob get Yuriy and Komil some of your lime-juice. I'll be down in
some minutes.'

  Twenty minutes later, Komil and Yuriy were both nursing the remains of
the lime-juice in the bottom of their glasses. A tall jug stood empty on
the table.

  `Great thirst quencher, Boss,' Yuriy said with a smile.

  `Okay, let's go and take a look at our intruder.'



  The immaculately tiled and clean retraining room always appears to be
cooler than it actually is. I think that it is because of the
air-conditioning system which operates all the time. It is a hermetically
sealed and sound-proofed room.

  As we went in, I immediately smelt fear. It is a strange smell and few
times you get to smell it in life, but smell it I could as my sandals
gripped the tiled floor and I walked towards the intruder each of whose
arms were chained to hooks on the wall eight feet or so apart.

  The prisoner-intruder was naked. He had been chained there about ten
hours. I noticed that his cuffed ankles were splayed wide a good four
feet and while that is not uncomfortable for ten minutes, it is very
painful to be kept in that position for hours on end.

  Komil and Yuriy were at my heels and I pointed them to two four foot
camel canes on one of the counters.

  `Get him over to a frame,' I said in English, `and ten good strokes
each, on each of his buttocks. That will get his undivided attention.'



  Komil and Yuriy, each taking a wrist of the intruder, strong-armed him
over to a steel frame and hooked him up with Velcro straps. The intruder
gave very little resistance as his joints appeared stiff after hanging on
the wall. My two Overseers then positioned themselves to each side and to
the back of the intruder, and with alternate strokes delivered, with the
considerable force which two muscular Overseers can do, stroke after
stroke. Again, while one stroke of a camel cane is indeed punishing, the
crack after crack of the cane falling on bare skin, caused the intruder
to twist and turn in a macabre body dance, suspended as he was from the
frame, his wrists firmly velcroed to the crossbar.

  The intruder spoke English because after the first five or six strokes,
he managed to shout out among his screams, `Stop, please stop.'

  Neither Yuriy nor Komil lost the rhythm of their strokes, and when
arriving at their last strokes, the intruder was very visibly in
considerable pain and much more amenable to being questioned.

  The two Overseers put their canes in one of the sinks as they had drawn
blood. I walked behind the intruder as his shaking and jerking subsided,
and viewed the damage. Fine rounded buttocks were criss-crossed with ugly
looking weals, several of which were bleeding, but not profusely. The
streaks of blood were running down the intruders thighs to the back.

  It was time to get answers.

  `You clearly speak English. I shall ask a question once. If you do not
answer it immediately, you will get a further ten strokes. Every answer I
require you will give me and without delay.'

  The intruder was nodding and trying to catch his breath.

  `Why were you trying to kill me?'

  The accent which replied was American, with the softness of the
southern States.

  `Sir, I was not trying to kill you. Sir.'

  Two `sirs' in one sentence revealed military training to me,
confirming whatever camouflage, a rifle and concealment in a trench might
also suggest.

  `Who then were you trying to kill?'

  `Sir, not kill, sir. Locate. I am trying to locate an American, Al
Vine.'

  I looked over at the two Overseers.

  `Why do you think there is anyone of that name at my Palace?'

  `Sir, information suggested that some Americans disappeared on a raid
into Dahra, sir. Al Vine was on that raid, sir.'

  `That is not an answer to my question. Why at my Palace?'

  `Sir, not just your Palace, sir. I have been checking out properties
all along the Western Road. sir. Yours was the fourth property, sir. No
offence, sir.'

  `No offence? You think there is no offence here? You come onto my land
with a rifle. Where did you get the rifle? You cannot bring arms into
Dahra.'

  The intruder swallowed, and immediately said, `Sir, I got it from a
Marine at the Embassy. They said they would deny it if I were caught,
sir.'

  `On what pretext did you come into Dahra?'

  `Sir, I am here on a real construction job in the capital city working
two days a week, sir. The other days I have been checking out the
properties.'

  `Why is this Al Vine so important?'

  `Sir, I don't know, sir. I just have to find him and report back.'

  `To whom?'

  `Sir, I was hired by a Lieutenant Jim Stirling. He was a friend of Al
Vine's in the military.'

  Jim Sterling was more than a friend of Al Vine's. He was his lover and
the cause of Al's forced resignation from the US Army.'

  `How much were you paid?'

  `Sir, expenses and ten thousand dollars, with another ten thousand on
finding Al Vine, sir.'

  `Do you speak Arabic?'

  `Sir, no, sir. Just half a dozen basic words of greeting, sir.'

  I did not trust this ex-marine intruder. I had no reason to. I went to
one of the cabinets and took out a pair of large earmuffs for all the
world like headphones and handed them to Komil.

  `Put them on him.'

  The intruder might or might not speak Arabic, but he certainly would
not hear a conversation with those ear muffs on him.



  I beckoned Komil and Yuriy over to the far side of the training room
and with our back to the intruder said to them in Arabic, `Opinions?
Have I missed something?'

  `It seems plausible, Boss,' Komil replied in the same language.
`It's what I would have done. But it seems to me that he would have
done more than report back, he might also have instructions to rescue Al.
How would he know that someone would give him an automatic rifle at the
Embassy? How would he know what Al looked like? From memory? He has no
photo of Al with him.'

  I looked at Yuriy.

  `Boss, I think he's concealing a lot. He's given his information too
easily. Also, I agree that he is or was military. From the way he handled
the Kalashnikov that's clear. He has not said if he is or was on his
own. There is only one thing in his favour.'

  `What's that?'

  `He didn't shoot the kofilas when they surrounded him with their
adzes.'

  The slaves when working the land of the Palaces use a type of local
hoe, with a very sharp edge to it, longer than the Western adze but just
as dangerous in an opponent's hands. Surrounded by two kofilas whatever
damage or death he might have caused with the rifle, at the end of it he
would have been dead himself.



  I picked up some alligator clips. We faced the intruder again and I let
the intruder see me playing with clips in my fingers. The intruder's
nipples were large with a proud centre. I let one and then a second clip
snap shut on his nipple. His body gave a jerk each time and a
`Nooo.....'.

  Komil removed the ear muffs. I could see the intruder's eyes looking
at me, then down at the clips and then back at me. Over and over again. I
waited for a minute before asking any further question.

  `My Overseers think you are lying with your words or lying by
omission.'

  `Sir, I am not lying, sir. Ask me any question and I will give you the
truth, sir. I see I am in a hopeless situation, sir.'

  `You are military?'

  `I was a sergeant in Specials Ops, search and rescue, sir, until I
resigned?'

  `Why?'

  `Sir, `why what,' sir?'

  `Why did you resign?'

  `Sir, two men under me were killed on a training exercise, sir. We had
not followed the rule book. Sir, I was given the chance to resign with
honour or face two courts martial, sir.'

  `How did you get to my property?'

  `Sir, I have an SUV. It's about a mile east, down the Western Road. I
hid it in a wadi on this side of the road.'

  `Did you come here on your own?'

  `Sir, yes, sir.'

  `How did your employer find you?'

  `Sir, through an ex-forces magazine, sir.'

  `Have you found this Al? What's his name?'

  `Sir, Al Vine, sir. And, sir, no I did not find him.'

  `How long were you on my property?'

  `Sir, since early this morning, sir. About two hours before sunrise.'

  `Why did you not shoot your way out when you were found?'

  `Sir, there were too many around me, sir, and when I was walked on in
the trench, sand got in the rifle mechanism, sir.'

  I looked at Yuriy who nodded agreement. That at least seemed to
coincide with the truth as we knew it.

  `And you found nothing at all on the properties which you have entered
before mine?'

  `Sir, no, sir. There were just workers and servants. I think also some
slaves on two of the properties.'

  `Slaves? You think there are slaves in Dahra?'

  `Sir, yes, sir. The two men with you, sir, are slaves. Are they not?
They are each wearing an ankle bracelet, sir.'

  `Who told you about slaves in Dahra?'

  `Sir, the embassy, sir. I was told never to mention it outside of
Dahra. Never, sir. Apparently, it is a big secret.'

  `Do you know what this Al Vine looks like?'

  `Sir, yes, sir. I have been shown various photos of him and I have one
in the SUV and more of them at my hotel room, sir.'

  `And your employer thinks this Al Vine is alive?'

  `Sir, yes, sir. He said that he just knew it in his bones.'

  `I still think you are holding back on me, and so do my Overseers
here.'

  `Sir, no, sir. I am telling the truth, sir. Ask any question you like,
sir, and I will give you an honest answer, sir. I am not holding anything
back, sir. Absolutely, nothing, sir. There is no reason, sir.'

  There was more than an element of pleading in the voice. The element of
fear had returned with a vengeance

  `That we will find out. A little pain will help you remember a lot,'
I said and reached out to stroke his right nipple where the alligator
clip was now biting deeply.

  `I don't think you have ever had anything hang from your tits, have
you?'

  `Sir, no sir. Definitely not, sir.'

  `I didn't think so. Your nipples are so soft to touch, even when they
harden up. The flesh underneath the nipple hardens when it has been
worked in any way.

  `I think a pound weight hanging from the clip on each nipple for a
couple of hours will help your memory no end, even for things that I
might like to hear, without me having to ask the question.'

  Touching the intruder's balls which were hanging low in a loose sack,
I said, `I also think a five pound weight hanging from your balls
overnight will make you more amenable to telling the truth. I am going to
dinner now, but my Overseers will attend to you. Perhaps tomorrow, we
will speak again if I have the time.'

  I could now see the intruder shaking.

  `Sir, please don't do that. Sir, please, sir. My nipples have always
been very sensitive. I will tell you anything you want to know. Sir, I
will, sir, I will.'

  `You haven't even given your name.'

  `Sir, Ray Toepfer, sir,' the intruder said now clearly
hyperventilating.

  `How were you to make your report to your employer?'

  `Sir, I was to deliver it personally in Utah, sir. I was given a
telephone number to call when I get there, sir.'

  `What report are you going to give now?'

  For the first time, the intruder looked confused.

  `Sir, you are going to let me go? I'm sorry, sir, for having entered
your property.'

  `You are here to answer questions not ask them,' I retorted somewhat
sharply.

  `How did you know to go to the embassy for a rifle?'

  `Lieutenant Sterling said he had a contact in the military who could
organise it.'

   I looked at the suspended intruder. This interrogation could take a
long time.

  `I am going to dinner,' I said to Komil and Yuriy. `See that he is
given something to think about as I have mentioned, and anything else
that you think will make him remember more quickly.'

  `Yes, Boss.' Yuriy said for both himself and Komil who was reaching
for some weights on the counter top.

  `Sir, please, sir. The embassy said that Al Vine he might be here or
at another location you have somewhere south in the desert, sir. That is
all I know, I swear, sir. I swear on my honour as a former marine, sir.'

  `So saying that you had checked out some other properties on the
Western Road was a lie. You started to check out my property as the top
of your list, the first chance you got.'

  There was a distinct look of fear now in the intruder's eyes as he
realised he had been caught out in his own lie.

  `I told you what would happen in you lied,' and turning to Komil, I
said, `ten more on his thighs this time.'

  The intruder cried out after the second stroke and I left the
retraining room to go and have my dinner.



  I was quite angry at what I was hearing. The trial of the invaders who
had survived on the beaches in their abortive attempt to overthrow the
government of the Sheikdom had been in camera. The public had not known
about it. I had not known about it until I was called in by her Honour
Khalila bint Omar. How did the Embassy know of any survivors and where
they might have ultimately ended up? Or was it just clever guessing that
my opal mine, might be a place to stash invaders, out of sight and out of
mind.

  I met a slave in the courtyard and sent him to find Faisal, my driver.



  My only guests that evening were the medical staff, Hal Thiecke who was
substituting for Cal the Palace's regular dentist, Aziz al-Aziz, my
freeman Head of Household at the Lime Palace, David Tuttle, my
nephew-in-law, and my old geography teacher and now farm consultant,
Graham Hodson.

  It was a quiet meal whose only strange news was that Aziz was going to
take his annual holidays again by going on another cruise, this time
around the other side of the Indian Ocean, and down to Sri Lanka.

  `Unfortunately, Jonathan, it is all of 28 days. But, I feel it is a
good time as it will allow my household to get the gardens back in order,
even after the generous extra help you sent me in the aftermath of the
sandstorm.'

  `You certainly got more than your share of sand and dust in the walled
in gardens.'

  `Indeed, but no permanent damage; Yedo will be in charge and knows
what to do.'

  As we were just finishing the starter of a French farm salad, Faisal,
my driver, stood at the door of the dining room and I beckoned him over.

  `Walk about a mile down the Western Road and see if you can find a
sports utility vehicle -- an SUV -- in a wadi just off the road. These
keys should work,' and I gave him the retrieved bunch of keys taken off
the intruder.

  `Bring it back and put it in one of the garages.'

  `Yes, Sir Jonathan, immediately.'



  Forty minutes later, Faisal was back standing at the door of the
dining-room.

  `Well?'

  `The SUV is in the garage, sir. It was precisely where you said it
would be.'

  `Thank you, Faisal. Take the Rolls and go to up the road to the Police
Captain. Tell him or leave a message for him that I would like to see him
as soon as possible, at his convenience. That it is urgent.'

  `Yes, Sir Jonathan, immediately,' Faisal said and turned on his heel.

  The conversation had stopped at the table at my mention of the Police
Captain. Scuttlebutt in the Palace would give my guests the information
sooner rather than later, so I filled them in on our surprise intruder.

  Yves Fournier, the Palace's surgeon, said `Yes, I heard something
about this, this morning. Strange affair; I mean breaking in, rather than
one of the slaves trying to break out.'

  `I'm trying to get to the bottom of it,' was all I commented.



  Dinner had no sooner finished than Faisal was back again and reported
that the Police Captain would be with me within the half-hour, that he
was just finishing another matter.

  `Did he seem inquisitive?'

  `No, Boss. He merely asked where you were, and I said that I had
spoken to you in the dining room.'

  I nodded approval.



  The half an hour was in fact just more than ten minutes when a police
jeep wheeled at high speed into the courtyard with the Police Captain and
his usual assistant officer.

  The Police Captain was his normal professional self. I filled him in on
the intruder, and how I did not like the fact that he could get an
automatic rifle from the US embassy just like that.

  `He came in on a work visa, you say, Sir Jonathan?'

  `That's what he tells me?'

  `I'll soon find out if that is true,' and turning to his assistant
merely gave him the intruder's name.



  We walked over to the re-training room where we found Yuriy and Komil
still standing watch over the now perspiring intruder, whose nipples were
being pulled a good two inches from his chest by the attached weights and
a swinging pendulum of the five pound weight from the intruder's balls
had caused them to turn a dark shade of purple.

  Speaking in English which was clearly for the benefit of the intruder,
the Police Captain said to me `Sir Jonathan, I've heard what you have
said. I'll take this from here. Perhaps you'd prefer to step out,
because these interrogations are never pleasant even with a co-operative
witness,' and he smiled a smile at the suspended intruder whose
perspiration stained face did not return anything like a smile.

  `I'll stay, if you don't mind, Captain. I have a personal interest
in anyone who comes onto my property with an automatic rifle.'

  The Captain nodded and looking over at Yuriy and Komil said, `I see
you have him well-prepared. How long has he been hanging there?'

  `On this frame about two hours, sir. On the wall frame since this
morning.'

  `Has he been washed out inside.'

  `Yes, sir, this morning.'

  `Wash him out again.'

  `Yes, sir,' Yuriy said and went over to get a long-hosed douche and a
bucket.

  `Do you have lubricant here?' the Captain said to Komil.

  `Yes, sir.'

  `Get me half a bucket of it.'

  `Master,' and Komil moved across to one of the cabinets.

  As Komil did so, the Police Captain took a small tape recorder from the
pocket of his pants and placed it on the counter, and started to unbutton
his shirt.

  The intruder was looking at me, the perspiration still rolling off his
face, though the room with its air-conditioning was nice and cool.

  `Sir, please, sir,' he said to me, `just ask me anything and I will
tell you. There is no need for any of this,' and in fear, he looked
across at the Police Captain who has now hanging his shirt on a hook.

  Komil placed the half-filled bucket of Aloe sap lubricant on the floor
in front of the suspended figure and the Police Captain put his right
hand and wrist down into it, and smoothed the lubricant up his right
forearm with his left hand. The intruder who realised what was about to
happen started to move and groaned when the weights hanging from his
nipples and balls moved.

  There was a groan from the suspended figure as Yuriy pumped the warm
water of an enema into the intruder's rectum, and putting the bucket
under the intruder, pulled out the douche hose, catching the expelled
water and a small amount of faeces in the waiting bucket. He repeated the
performance once more.

  The Police Captain stood before the intruder his hand and forearm
glistening with lubricant. It struck me as slightly incongruous that he
was holding his arm much the way surgeons do before they start operating.

  Speaking to all, in fact to none us standing around, but in reality I
thought to the intruder, the Police Captain said, `I always feel that a
good interrogation should start with a full body cavity search right up
to the elbow. It not only opens up the body, it also opens up the mind
and it most definitely improves the speed of answers.'

  Nodding across to Komil, he said, `Press the recording button on the
machine.'

  Looking at the intruder, the Captain said, `I have a number of
questions to ask you. Answer them immediately. I would like to get home
tonight. Do you understand English?'

  `Sir, yes, sir.'

  `No sirs. Just a simple yes or no.'

  `Yes.'

  `Now let us get into the swing of things,' and the Captain flicked
the nipple weights with his left hand and set them in motion to the left
and right, and the five pound weight from the intruder's balls was set
in a swinging motion in and under the intruder's legs. The intruder
screamed and had he not threatened the security of my Palace and my
slaves, I would have felt some mercy and compassion for him. As it was, I
was happy to leave the questioning to any expert.

  The Captain stepped behind the intruder, and said `What is your
name?' and the intruder went higher on his toes as what I deemed to be
one finger was inserted into him.

  For all of twenty or so minutes, the questions went on. Sometimes the
Captain did not ask anything at all as further fingers or then this hand,
and then this wrist and finally, a goodly portion of his forearm went
into the intruder's rectum.

  The intruder's replies were always immediate. His shouts and cries and
screams were also immediate as increasing insertion after insertion
occurred. I felt that Ray Toepfer had to be an anal virgin for the pain
to be registering on his body and in his cries in this way.

  His answers added little to what we already knew, apart from the exact
date of his arrival, the name and rank of the Marine who had given him
the rifle and the official at the embassy who had briefed him. With the
calves of his legs showing cramps the size of grapefruits, he gave a
shout at one push of the Captain's forearm into his anus, and he
fainted, and simply hung there like a side of beef.

  `I think what he has now said confirms what he said to you, Sir
Jonathan. I must bring him before a court in the morning. For the
possession of an automatic weapon and the invasion of, at least, your
properties, I have no doubt that he will be made a slave for life. Do you
want him? Or do you want the proceeds of his sale at one of the slave
centres by way of compensation for the damage done to your property?'

  `He did not actually harm my property, Captain,' I replied thinking
of my slave.

  `He dug a trench on your land without your permission, Sir Jonathan.
That is damage in Dahran law.'

  The Captain was washing his hands and arms under the flowing warm water
of the sink and talking to me as though he had been doing just a spot of
gardening. Dahran law never ceases to amaze me and I made no further
comment on that score.

  `Captain, he is too dangerous to be sold on the open market. I will
take him as a slave and use him either here or at the opal mine.'

  `If you want my advice, Sir Jonathan, it should be the opal mine. But
for the moment I have to take him off your hands tonight.'

  `Good advice, Captain, and thank you. Come over to the Palace when you
are ready,' and I left the Captain to his ablutions.

  `Take him down and get him out to the jeep,' I said to Yuriy and
Komil nodding at the fainted figure, and I made my way over to the
Palace. `Don't forget his clothes and give the Captain that rifle of
his.'

  `Yes, Boss,' Yuriy replied.



  Ben Trant, my secretary, was still up and in my study setting out the
papers and files for the following day.

  `Ben, get me three thousand euro from the safe.'

  `Yes, Boss,' and as he did so, I took down two psychological
thrillers, airport novels as they are called from the book shelves.

  Ben was back immediately with the cash, two thousand of which I put
inside the cover flap of one novel and the other thousand inside the flap
of the other.

  The Captain was walking across the courtyard as I came out. The
assistant had just secured the still unconscious naked intruder's wrists
to a hook on the side of the open jeep. The intruder seemed to be
regaining his senses as the officer just finished securing him and I
invited both him and the Captain into my study.

  The Captain, I thought, looked a little uncomfortable and I could not
quite put my finger on it. The penny dropped when he started to
apologise.

  `Apologise? For what?'

  `For what my boss is going to see as a lack of security. There are
some very important people out this road and further on out,' he said
without enlightening me.

  `I know, Captain, that Dahra is not on the tourist map, but you can
hardly expect all visitors to the capital city not to venture out into
the desert and even on to the other towns.'

  `No, but they are asked upon applying for a visa, where there intend
going and staying. The grounds of the Lemon Palace, I can assure you, Sir
Jonathan, will not appear on this criminal's application. He is way off
course for the construction work and any firms he applied to visit.'

  To the Captain's assistant, I handed him the John Grisham novel with
my appreciation inside the cover. He looked embarrassed and glanced over
at his Captain.

  `Take it, and you too, Captain. You came immediately you were called
and you have taken a criminal into custody. I could not ask for more.'

  That appeared to soften the worry that obviously was in both their
minds and they accepted with words of thanks the novels and the
gratuities.

  `On this occasion, Sir Jonathan, I shall mention your appreciation,'
the Captain said as he held up the novel, `to my superior. It is a
situation that I do not want to see get any worse.'

  `Have a safe journey, Captain, and good night.'

  `I do not wish to presume the judgement of the Criminal Court, Sir
Jonathan, but I would say that I may be back with a new slave for you
within the week.'

  The Captain took the keys of the intruder's vehicle I offered him and
followed the official car driven by his assistant, who as always departed
with a screech of tyres and a cloud of dust. The last glance I had was of
the side of the car and the white face of the intruder, his wrists cuffed
high close to his head disappearing into the depths of the night.

  I felt that there had been enough excitement for one day, and I rapidly
made my way up to bed, where to my pleasant surprise, Dmitri Solidiuk and
Abdul were waiting for me as my bed companions for that night. I did not
know which to smile at more, the trademark combed pubes of Dmitri or the
golden all-over tan of a favourite catamite.



  Some people in our Bank's head-office in London have nothing else to
do in life but to send memos to the Branches advising of this or that
policy, or the benefit of this or that scheme, or the need to stagger
staff holidays. If they have a memo on file from previous years, its
updated cousin will surely be sent out at some time during the year.

  That January, we were reminded by Personnel of the benefits of the
principle of subsidiarity, which in other times and places was simply
called `delegation'. In simple action terms, if you can delegate it, do
so!

  Subsidiarity does work fine at times, and at the Dahran branch we do
apply it, though in times of emergency, it can be a case of all hands on
deck, and I myself have been known to be down in the bowels of the
building franking letters when we had have pension or bond issues, under
the watchful eye of the young post boy who, for at least some hours of
one day, would be the worried boss of the Managing Partner.

  At my Palaces, I have always tried to apply the principle of delegation
to my own Overseers and Supervisors at the Palaces. Once there is a job
to be done, I let them get on with it and ensure that they have enough
slaves to see it through to fruition. It usually works well but at times,
with the start of new venture such as the al-Kadir property where more
farm slaves were going to be needed, a helping hand in the matter can be
needed.

  Some forty four slaves had been acquired recently by me on visits to
the slave centres of al-Mera and al-Qatim for the al-Kadir property where
they were chosen by my three Heads of Stables and so be available for the
preparation of the grounds of the newly acquired farmlands.

  Stan Mercer had his irrigation pipelines laid out like a chess board of
interwoven pipes tacked to the walls of his office. As work got done, the
`red' lines indicating unlaid pipelines little by little became
`blue'. In due course, when crops were down, these areas would become
`green'. But where were the farm slaves to put down the new kiwifruit
crops Graham Hodson had ordered from both China and Italy. We had bushes
due to come in but nowhere near the number of available slaves, at least
not in any number worth mentioning, to plant them.

  I suggested to the Heads of Stables that some slaves be reassigned from
the Palaces, even as a temporary measure, but there was a wall of
silence. It was almost like the civil service. No department wanted to
lose staff which it might have difficulty getting back, or wanted to
appear over-staffed.

  For some, who do not own slaves and who are not reliant on trustee
slave Overseers, this might seem a little odd. Is the Master not
`monarch of all he surveys' as the poet so rightly puts it? I do
determine what is important, but to the Overseers and Supervisory slaves,
I leave the trivia. Overseers are still slaves on my properties, and with
them, there is nothing to be gained by debating trivia with them.

  I had no intention to neglect or abandon any of my other farmlands. It
had been my plan from the outset to have my new al-Kadir farm cultivated
by slaves. So, as planned, part of my investment into the new property
was the acquisition of new slaves from the processing and training
centres at Dahra's two deep sea ports.



  Extra-pleased as I was by the December year-end results of both the
opal mine and the Aloe sap and sunscreen sales, I told Georgi Gridov who
is now in charge of my cacti gardens to go to the laundry and get himself
a shirt, pants and sandals that we were going shopping.

  While all slaves, even the most trying of them, have some quality or
other, Georgi's talent lay in his feel for plants. Cacti sent to me by
kind neighbours and sheikdom-wide friends of friends and which were
half-dead on arrival, always seemed to be nursed back to blooming health
within the shortest of times. The other three slaves who helped him,
Dieter, Igor and Basili were trained by him in naming every single cactus
plant in my five plus acres of succulents by both its proper Latin and
common or garden name.

  While Georgi might not have the strong managerial talents of Yuriy,
Komil or Dumi, my Head of Stables, he had the unparalleled loyalty of his
fellow slaves in the cacti gardens. I only relate this event because of
how it arose and what followed from it.

  Georgi's grey-black eyes looked at me from the other side of the
backseat of the Rolls. He was dressed as instructed in a shirt, pants and
sandals. His gold necklace shone under the shirt collar and he nervously
handled the white opal-adorned fly swish, the sign of authority of one of
my Supervisors.

  I was sitting back in the seat of the Rolls. He was perched on the very
edge of the seat and I could see that he was like a coiled spring.

  `Georgi, sit back in the seat. Now! What's the matter?'

  `Master, I can't ever remember being in a car before. Seeing the land
moving by so fast is making me dizzy. I hope Faisal doesn't crash.'

  `Georgi, you have been in a car before. You have been to the beach in
the coach. You have come to the Palace in a van. You surely must remember
how you came to Dahra.'

  `Master, in the coach the windows are dark and then it was not going
as quick as the car. I was less than sixteen when I was brought to Dahra
and I cannot really remember how except I was in a dark place.'

  `Georgi, we are not going to crash and if you don't want to look out
the windows, don't.'

  `I don't want to look out, Master, but then again, I do, to see
everything and to be able to tell Dieter everything I have seen.'

  I smiled to myself, but I saw that, at least, his back was now firmly
up against the back of the seat. As we sped along, I read some reports
from the opal mine and in just under two hours, because of traffic
conditions, we were at al-Mera the second of the deep sea ports of the
Sheikdom and the second of its slave centres.

  `Georgi, we are going to do some shopping today. I need some more
slaves for the new al-Kadir property. I want you to choose the slaves.'

  `Me, Master, I don't know anything about choosing slaves.'

  `Well, Georgi, I want to see how you do it.'

  `And if I choose wrongly?'

  `Georgi, stop it. It's just like gardening. If you make a mistake,
you do it again and that is that. You do remember al-Mera, don't you?'

  `Yes, Master, but I never saw the outside like this.'

  `The owner is Mustafa ben-Mustafa.'

  `I remember, Master, and he has a nephew of the same name. Master,
you're not going to sell me, are you?'

  The statement and question came out all in one. Georgi was not looking
at me. I put my finger under his chin and pulled his face around so that
we were looking each other in the eyes.

  `Dieter would not let me. Would he, Georgi? No, most definitely I am
not going to sell you. It is a shopping expedition nothing more with you
doing the selecting. What you select, I buy.'



  The Rolls pulled into the covered portico of what always to me looks
like a glorified warehouse, but in fact, one of the principal centres of
the slave trade in the Middle East.

  Faisal was out of the Rolls in a second opening the door for me, with
Georgi following on my heels.

  It was to be a private viewing as an auction was not due for another
week at least, but the owner, ben-Mustafa, back from his holidays had
confirmed to me that he did have a number of possible farm slaves or at
the very least, slaves that could be put to farm work.

  As we went through the rotating glass doors, Mustafa ben-Mustafa and
his nephew where on hand to greet me.

  `Mustafa, the Supervisor of my cacti gardens, Georgi Gridov.'

  I smiled to myself as I saw Mustafa start to extend a hand for a
handshake and then looked down at the right ankle of the clothed figure
in front of him. Unfortunately for Mustafa, the leg of Georgi's pants
was covering the slave bracelet, and so to avoid any misunderstanding or
embarrassment, I merely said, `Georgi came through this centre two and a
half years ago, and now is my trusted Supervisor.'

  `Ah, yes, Sir Jonathan, now I remember. The Georgian. Welcome back
Supervisor Georgi.'

  If anything, Mustafa ben-Mustafa was good on business diplomacy. I
thought that Georgi there and then grew another couple of inches to his
short stature.

  `My Supervisor is doing the choosing today, Mustafa. What do you
have?'

  `We are between auctions, Sir Jonathan, and knowing your preferences,
we have a number of Brazilians, some Canadians, some East Europeans. All
have completed basic training. No Australians, sorry about that.'

  Mustafa knew about my faiblesse for Australians and particularly for
those who played Aussie Rules.

  As we went in, I saw Mustafa Jr. give Georgi a look. I had never
enquired what had gone on between them before. But I saw Georgi ignore
the look and walk straight into the showing area at my side.

  An assistant came in with a stack of tan folders and handed them to
Mustafa Jr. His uncle told the assistant to bring some fruit juices, so I
took a seat and decided I would look at the floor show and see how Georgi
succeeded on his own. I sat down and relaxed which is part of the secret
of management. The assistant came out with fruit juices, and I fortified
myself with nothing stronger than a tomato juice,

  Georgi was at my side.

  `Master, how many slaves do you want? I forgot to ask?'

  `Over the next few months, several hundred. So just see what they have
today.'

  He nodded and went over to look at the first five who had been brought
in, washed and coiffed, rubbed with oil, their wrists velcroed to a neck
restraint.

  Not being the prime selector, I was able to smile at some of the tricks
of the trade. I would have sworn that the slaves had been fluffed before
they had been brought in, as they all sported anything between a half and
two-thirds of an erection. Their penises went from shades of pale white
to that beautiful colour which is natural to Brazilians and those of warm
Latin American climes.

  I was surprised to see Georgi leave the slaves' tan folders on a table
and step up on the dais still flicking his fly swish in his hand. He was
testing the biceps of the first slave, and then teeth with the
introduction of a finger into the slave's mouth and appeared to have the
slave breathe into his face. Then he turned the slave around so that his
back was to me as public, and stepping down from the dais, with his fly
swish, tapped the slave's knees apart, and again. The fly swish tapped
the slave's back and the slave bent fully forward to reveal his back
passage and a pair of finely hanging genitals. It surprised me that
Georgi almost stuck his nose into the slave's anus and sniffed, but did
not digitally explore the anus.

  Another tap of the fly swish to the slave's backside and he was
standing up straight again. There followed a conversation with the slave,
who glanced over at me and then quickly back at Georgi, and I saw the
slave nod.

  Georgi came over to the table, jotted something down on the slave's
file and then handed it to me.

  `Georgi, I don't need to approve this. If you are happy, then I am
happy with the slave. By the way, what did you say to the slave as a
matter of curiosity that he was nodding in my direction?'

  `I asked if he spoke English or Arabic and if he was willing to work
hard in my Master's gardens. He speaks English only and he said he would
work hard for you, Master.'

  I smiled to myself, because that was the topic I had raised with Georgi
and the question I had asked him when I had bought him thirty months
previously, and he had not let me down.



  Georgi chose four of the five from the first lot and as each met with
his approval, he gave the slave a small pat on the shoulders and
indicated to him to get off the dais and head over to Mustafa Jr. for
processing.

  It was with the second lot of five that something interesting happened.
In the second lot which looked slightly Slavic or Eastern European
slaves, one of the slaves was at least six feet two, dark and heavy
built. He certainly was the proverbial head and shoulders over the slight
and gangly Georgi. He looked surly and dour and I thought to myself,
`uh, uh, that one is trouble'. I subsequently found out that he was
Romanian by nationality.

  The same procedure followed for these slaves, and although the Romanian
was physically examined, there was no conversation with him. The other
four were all conversed with, and being accepted by Georgi either tapped
on the chest with the fly swish, or given a slap on the shoulder to head
off to their new life in my ownership.

  The big slave was left standing alone on the dais, and Georgi walking
up and down with the folder in his hand, shaking his head, looking at a
fact, and shaking his head again. He called for the next batch.

   This batch was a mixed one and contained the two Canadians on offer.
Again each was examined, fingered in the mouth, smelled and sniffed, as
indeed again the tall dark slave of the previous batch.

  One of this batch was not selected and was told to leave. The others
including the two Canadians, who turned out to be factory workers, were
selected and still the tall dark slave was left standing alone on the
dais.

  When the last tan folder of this batch was being given to me, I could
hold back no longer and asked Georgi what he was doing with the tall dark
slave.

  `The Romanian, Master? You'll either see it or you won't,' and he
left me with that conundrum to fathom.



  At the end of the session, I had twenty two tan folders in front of me.
Georgi had rejected three for no reason I could see. And the Romanian was
still on the dais to one side. The only difference between him now and
when he had come in, was that he had a raging erection from having been
examined and touched five times in all. And still, Georgi had not made a
decision on him.

  I looked at my small Supervisor go up yet again to the taller slave
towering over him due to the extra height of the dais. Georgi was
studying the tan folder for all it was worth. Moving his head as if in
doubt, shaking his head as if disapproving, reaching out and grasping a
thigh and nodding approval of this or that. He had gone through this
rigmarole now some five times already.

  Then I noticed something different. The slave was no longer surly or
dour looking. He actually looked worried and upset. Georgi was standing
there with his fingers massaging his chin, as if deep in thought, still
undecided as to the purchase. Mustafa ben-Mustafa had come back into the
showing room and sat down beside me.

  I commented that my Supervisor had rejected only three slaves, but was
taking the other twenty two and could not make up his mind on the
Romanian.

  At that point, the Romanian slave on the dais, with his hands
restrained behind his head, carefully knelt down on the dais, which meant
his face was almost in front of Georgi's, and quite surprising he spoke
to Georgi which slaves are not supposed to do when on display. I could
feel Mustafa bristle beside me.

  Georgi and the slave were engaged in some form of slow conversation,
and then I saw the slave nod, and bending awkwardly forward, he bent
forward until his head was on the floor of the dais.

  The break in Georgi's procedure was still a mystery to me as he put
the slave's folder on the table on top of the pile of slaves to be
purchased



  On the way back to the Palace, as I drank some Chablis, a glass of
which Georgi refused in preference for a fruit juice, he caught me
smiling across at him.

  `What, Master?'

  `Why did you reject the three?'

  `They were sick, Master. I could smell sickness in their bodies.'

  `You're telling me that you can smell sickness?'

  `Some types of sickness, Master, not all. That is why I love your
Palaces.'

  `What? No sickness?'

  `Yes, Master, except for a small number of slaves.'

  I did not understand what he was saying and thought that he was
referring to those who at any one time were in the hospital ward.

  `I saw that you examined all the others very well.'

  `Not really, Master, I had only one thing to do there today and that
was to ask each slave if he would work hard for you. The rest was only to
make them trust me so as to give me the correct answer when I asked them
the question.'

  `And what was it with that Romanian slave?'

  `Ah, Master, did you see how sulky and sullen that slave started out.
I did not ask him the question I asked of the other slaves. He had to
realise that he was material for your Palace only if he changed his
attitude, otherwise I would have left him at al-Mera. He capitulated. He
will be a good slave.'

  I smiled to myself at how I had ended up with twenty three new farm
slaves that day. It had been acquisitions with the ease and nonchalance
of buying canned food in a supermarket. I was certainly imbedded in that
aspect Dahran culture.

  I smiled doubly to myself again and knew that I had found the new
Overseer and Head of Stables for the al-Kadir property.

  `Georgi, do you think it is time to make Dieter a Supervisor?'

  Very quietly, he answered, `Yes, Master, I do. He is a great worker.'

  `Good, he'll be the new assistant to the Overseer at the al-Kadir
property.'

  `I had not heard, Master, that you had already gotten a new Overseer
for the farm.'

  `I just have Georgi, about a minute ago. I'm talking to him.'

  Georgi did that thing which endears him to me -- he started to try and
suggest others for the job.

  `But, Master, who will help Igor and Basili look after your cacti
gardens.'

  `Well, Georgi, they are Supervisors themselves you know. You'll just
have to find them two other slaves for them to train, as you did with
them.'

  `Master, I will work hard for you. I will.'

  As I did on the first occasion I met him, I reached across and rubbed
my little Georgian's head. He slid down on the floor of the car and
wrapped an arm around my legs. He smiled up at me and his quiet smile was
the confirmation that all would be right in this my act of delegation and
subsidiarity.



  At the Lemon Palace, another ongoing problem awaited me. Mirzan Babak
and Vaz Atagi, the Iranian and Chechen Supervisors of the fifth training
compound came and asked to see me. In good spirits due to my successful
shopping expedition, I told them to state their request right away.

  `Boss, we wish to talk about the slave you have in training,' Mirzan
said.

  I could see slave in question standing `at display' on the far side
of the courtyard. It was Nigel Broaders, the lawyer I had ordered lifted
in London. He had been in the five compounds for longer than any other
slave in the history of the Palaces, in fact, over twice as long.

  `Is he fully trained yet?'

  `Yes, Boss,' Vaz answered. `He is as well-trained as any slave that
has come out of the compounds. He has been trained in his body as well as
can be without breaking his spirit fully. His spirit has been reined in,
but on this Mirzan and I do agree, he has not been fully broken. He is a
strange case. He looks for logical reasons for being here. We have
trained him to stop thinking about his reasons and about himself, and to
concentrate only on what you, his Master, want.'

  `He looks well. Lean, fit, tanned,' I said looking over at him.

  `Yes, Boss, he has lost nine kilos in weight. He is fitter than many a
person ten years younger. He is now obedient and quickly so.'

  `So, Vaz, you are ready to recommend that he pass out of the fifth
compound.'

  `Yes, Boss, therein lies the problem. I am ready to recommend him.
Mirzan, here is not.'

  `I think, Vaz, that Mirzan remembers that wretch of a slave who
attempted the kidnapping of my nephew's child.'

  `That is precisely it,' Mirzan answered. `I have become very
cautious in recommending any slave pass out of the fifth compound.
Remember, Boss, the fifth compound is their last training before serving
you. Any failure in service is then my failure.'

  `No, Mirzan, you are being too cautious. I accept your reservations.
Let us see what this slave can do. Have him run round the courtyard
twice.'

  Vaz shouted out a command and the slave took off at speed around the
edge of the courtyard.

  `Not actually a Roge Harte is he, Vaz?' I commented as the slave ran
well and fast, but not with the natural gait of an athlete.

  `Nor a Jake Carter, Boss! Now there you have two athletes.'

  `So, what is he fit for?'

  `He is very intelligent, Boss. A bit of a waste digging irrigation
trenches, I'd say!'

  I agreed in that assessment. I spoke to Georgi who was still standing
beside me having got out of the Rolls.

  `Go find me Jake my messenger, Georgi, and bring a camel cane with you
on the way back.'

  `Yes, Master.'

  I walked up the steps of the veranda with Mirzan and Vaz. My head of
serving staff, Bob Conrad, was out in a flash as he saw me sit down.

  `A jug of lime-juice, Bob, and some glasses,' I said indicating
Mirzan and Vaz, and he disappeared into the kitchens.

  `Georgi was with me today,' I said to the two Supervisors indicating
to them to sit down opposite me, `and he chose twenty three slaves for
me for the new al-Kadir farm. I have made him Head of Stables there and
Dieter to be an assistant Supervisor for him on the farmlands.'

  Mirzan was nodding.

  `A very hard worker, Boss,' Vaz commented.

  At that moment, Jake Peoples arrived.

  `Find Tony Sert, for me, Jake' and my Palace mercury sped off in the
direction of the gym.

  `You're going to have your hands full' I said to Vaz, `for the next
while with new batches of slaves coming in. I have about a hundred who
are or will be available to work those lands. I am going need the same
again at least.'

  `Yes, Boss. Those are extensive lands. I walked them last week with
Vaz. You're still thinking of this kiwifruit plant? Are the date trees
staying?' Mirzan said.

  `Yes, the dates are staying. They are a good crop, but the main crop
will be the kiwifruit.'

  As we were talking, the slave Nigel finished his two laps of the
courtyard and stood `at display' at the foot of the veranda steps,
breathing deeply from the run, but not gasping I noticed. Sweat covered
his body. I let him stand there in the afternoon sun, hot and all that it
was.

  Nigel Broaders had taken time to break, but like all humans, freemen or
slaves, there is a full-breaking point and there is a partial-breaking
point. Nigel's was at that moment at the partial one. Now he was mine
with only one purpose in life, to serve me his master. For him, the rice
was boiled as our Chinese cousins say. He was my successful failure. He
still had not fathomed the reason for his enslavement and how an all but
forgotten Melpomene on a distant Mount Ida had heard a plea of suffering
and tears, and like the Muse she was, had intervened.



  One of the advantages of being rich, whatever about being a slave
owner, is that you can indulge yourself as you please. The Fates had
given me wealth beyond whatever I might have dreamed of as an
impoverished young banker starting off in Deckams all of twenty years
previously. I had consolidated my fortune not just in the purchase of
properties, Palaces and slaves, but in quite a successful portfolio of
stocks, if I may say so myself, through the good services of Josh Greene
in the Cayman Islands. I would never be able to spend the fortune even in
a multiple of lifetimes. It was a question of making good use of it for
my own enjoyment and betterment.

  One of my whim indulgences had been the purchase of the Hobart Gangers,
an Aussie Rules team which lost money with the same regularity as my
water pumps extracting water from deep underground produced a financial
lifeline for me. But it was a simple indulgence to see the club prosper
and to see the success of so many junior feeder clubs who would never
know of my involvement - that gave me the real pleasure.

  A second indulgence, of a totally different kind, had been the
re-assembling of the Peoples family. Terry, I had purchased as a favour
to neighbours. Young Luke came to me through the success of a computer
programme at one of the slave centres which matched his name with that of
Terry. But the real indulgence had been my amateurish detective work in
finding the other three brothers Jake, Elliot and the oldest of them all,
Matt. All five of them had been sold by their parents.



  We are all attracted to different things in different beings. One might
well admire the beauty of gangling sixteen year old Luke, with his
inexperienced eyes and trusting demeanour; or be enthralled by the sheer
physical beauty of Jake, his immediately older brother -- Jake who could
raise the dead with his lips and flickering tongue, and even after having
caused a third Olympic ejaculation, would set about giving you a fourth
bout of sex with the same freshness of approach as your first bout --
that is of course, if your stamina were not to have failed first.

  Terry the middle brother was the most uninhibited, but then he had had
the most years of giving sexual pleasure, and not only that, there was
always a gleam of devilment in his actions, totally unafraid of me, his
Master, quite capable of cuddling up in the bed and giving me little
orders in that unique way of his -- `Stop fidgeting in the bed, Master.
Let me keep you warm' and I would feel his spooning body close up to
mine as he made himself comfortable at the same time.

  Everyone loved Elliot the second eldest brother. He was a great worker
and loved helping others who might be falling behind in their work, and
perhaps because he had been relatively alone with his previous Master in
Texas, who never actually spoke to him, Elliot would talk from morning
till night with the other slaves in his kofila at the Aloe sap production
plant as if making up for lost time.

  However, it was for Mattie Peoples that I felt the greatest empathy. At
first, I put it down to the `broken wing syndrome' -- we all take pity
on the bird with a broken wing -- and Mattie had far more damage than a
broken wing having suffered the cauterising loss of his vocal chords at
the hands of a previous Master and the enlargement of his anus through
the insertion of every conceivable instrument -- human and manufactured.

  I had him sitting at my feet on the veranda. He is the Mercury -- the
messenger of the Aloe Palace and had run down with a file from Jon Lundt,
the head of household there.

  I thought he had put on a little weight, which seems a contradiction
for any of my slaves on the perfectly balanced diet of slave biscuits
they eat, but he appeared less gaunt and even to a point, less boney.

  There was a slight sheen of perspiration on his body and I gave his ear
a scratch which elicited a smile from him and a furtive uncertain glance
up at me.

  `How are you, Mattie?'

  He breathed in deeply and with the aid of his recently installed
artificial voice box, replied to me, `Fine, Master,' in a voice that
was both natural and hoarse at the same time.

  `And in here?' I said tapping above his heart.

  Again another deep breath, `Better than fine, Master; I am very happy
here with you, and with my brothers.'

  I smiled at the attempt at diplomacy.

  `Are you getting enough sex?'

  He gave what I gather the voice box's version of a chuckle.

  `Only a tenth, Master, of what I was getting. But now...' he looked up
at me before continuing, `But now, Master, every night Elliot makes sure
that I come once. For the moment that is enough for me.'

  `You do know that you can choose your own buddy at any stage?'

  He nodded.

  `Don't nod, Mattie. I want you always to exercise that voice of
yours. Imagine you are Elliot.'

  `Yes, Master.'

  That drew a smile from him. I thought he looked happy in general and so
was I, because with his having been in the House of Pain for so long, I
had been worried how he would react to ordinary life as a slave, where
sex is but part of it, not its entire objective. A slave in my service,
happy with his sex life, is a happy slave, and I thought Mattie indeed
was happy for the first time in his adult life.

  `Stand up, Mattie, and let me take a look at you.'

  He did so, and I admired the contours of his body, and although my hand
betrayed the visual smoothness of his back as I could still tell the
subcutaneous residual marks of his multiple beatings, his backside was a
pleasure to behold supported on two muscled athletic legs.

  `I want you to speak with Rolf the head of the gym, Mattie, and I want
him to put together a swim programme for you and your brothers. You do
know how to swim?'

  It was a rhetorical question, because all my slaves, if they do not
know upon arrival into my possession, are taught how to swim.

  `Yes, Master,' he said in that appealingly hoarse voice, `like a
fish. We all do.'

  `Well, this will be to keep you and your brothers fit. I also want you
to speak with Komil and see who can teach you all gymnastics.'

  `Thank you, Master, I think we would all really like that,' he said
with a lop-sided grin.

  I liked that reply from him, because it showed me that he was coming
out of the shell of fugue into which he had been so close to withdrawing.
Also, it showed that he was thinking as part of his family of brothers.



End of Chapter 20



===========

Contact:

e: gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com

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

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