Date: Fri, 12 Nov 2004 15:51:00 +0000
From: Gerry Taylor <gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Seventh Desert - Chapter 3 - Gay - Authoritarian

The Seventh Desert by Gerry Taylor

This is the second chapter (ex twenty two) of a novel about present-day
slavery and gay sex.

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

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

If you are underage to read this kind of material or if it is unlawful
for you to read such material where you live, please leave this webpage
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w: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/erotic_gay_stories



  Chapter 3 -- The eddies of time



  There is nothing quite like a well-oiled operation whether it is the
placing of Australian bonds or having your car serviced or booking an
airline ticket. When something works first-time round without a hitch, it
is always a pleasure.

  Zabian's fifteen slaves--as I kept thinking of them-- arrived and were
processed smoothly and efficiently. I did not see them for a fortnight,
until their bloods had cleared, even though they had arrived from the
enclosed environment of an isolated opal mine.

  My Brazilian doctor, Miraldo Coelho, Yves Fournier's assistant, had
given each of them a full physical examination and all had passed through
the hands of Drs. Thorson and Cuesta who fitted several with lenses and
used laser treatment on others for short-sightedness and cataracts. Cal
Thorson told me that he had a full three weeks' work scheduled on their
teeth. I noticed that Dr. Coelho was taking over more and more of Yves
Fournier's daily workload and I was delighted with that as it left the
good doctor extra time for his research projects on my behalf.

   When my inscrutable Head of Household at the Lime Palace, Aziz
al-Aziz, informed me that the fifteen had to be assigned duties, I
decided to look at them myself and had Pete Downings, the new Head of
Household, at the Lemon Palace and the other three Heads of Stables come
along as well. A Head of Stables is the old Dahran name for a what I
suppose you could nowadays call a farm manager.


  There is something about a new line-up of slaves. They are nervous at
meeting the Master for a first time. They are even more nervous when that
Master is the Retrainer of Dahra.

  The fifteen, when not meeting doctors for examinations and dental care,
had been put through two weeks' training at the compounds of the Lemon
Palace and the agreed consensus of the Overseers there was that they were
some of the best trained and most obedient and hard-trying slaves to ever
come through the first two weeks. The general consensus was that there
was no need for them to spend time passing through the other three
compounds.

  I think Rob Kuiper, one of the Overseers, was close to the truth when
he said `it seems to me they are running as fast as they can away from
the opal mine and as fast as they can to the Lemon Palace'.

  It was not a bad assessment and most likely in their cases, they were
choosing the lesser of two forms of slavedom.

  I noticed that my Gym Manager, Rolf Hanzer, was also present when I
went in to inspect the new slaves.

  `What brings you here, Rolf?'

  `Boss, I am looking for a couple of helpers. I have a plan I want to
put to you, but I don't want to suggest it until I know that it can
work.'

  I smiled to myself. Rolf being Swiss-German is the essence of German
efficiency, but also the essence of Swiss caution.

  `See what you can find, Rolf,' was all I could suggest.



  I went over to Niko Ziel, who is one of the joint-Overseers of the
training compounds. He looked worried.

  `Niko? You look as if the worries of the world are on your
shoulders.'

  `They are, Master, until you approve these new slaves. Rob and I are
taking nothing for granted after that last disaster.'

  Rob Kuiper is his fellow Afrikaner joint-Overseer and he was referring
to the attempted escape of an unfortunate specimen of a slave.

  The slaves were lined up `at display' in one of the slave quarters,
about three feet apart from each other, their hands behind their neck,
their only item of apparel being the slave GPS bracelet on their right
ankle.

  Each slave looked clean and scrubbed, a tight crew cut, all body hair
removed, except for armpit hair and a small three inch strip immediately
above the penis, which I saw was becoming more a stylised square, rather
than a triangular patch as on my original slaves.

  I asked Niko about the pubic hair on the first slave and he said, `We
thought you might like it like that, Master. If not, we can go back to
the former style.'

  `No, it's fine, Niko. More than fine. Are Overseers following the
same style now?' I asked half in joking.

  `Yes, Master,' and he suddenly shucked down his khaki pants for me to
see his own pubic hair, trimmed similarly.

  `Yours looks better, Niko.'

  For the first time that day, Niko Ziel smiled as he pulled up his
pants.



  `None of them is anally virgin, I presume.'

  `No, Master, though some have not been much used.'

  `They all look fit.'

  `Yes, Master, that they are and well trained as well. We told them not
to jerk off for the past fortnight until they had been inspected by you;
so, some of them, Master, may be on a hair trigger.'

  `Thank you, Niko, for the warning.'

  I was working my way down the line. Two of the slaves so far had
band-aids or similar where body cysts or growths had been removed, one on
a head, one on a back. A number had tattoos removed. This showed as the
flesh looks tender which frequently happens when tattoos have been
removed by Miraldo Coelho's state-of-the-art QS laser treatment.

  I had come along the line as far as the sixth slave and I looked at
him.

  `Well, well, well! Who have we got here?'

  The whites of the slave's eyes were plain to see. He knew I had
recognised him. It was the steward from Farouq al-Hamdi's helicopter.

  `His name is Sevil Garibov, Master. He is Azeri,' Niko Ziel was at my
elbow with all the facts and figures at his fingertips as a trainer
should have.

  My initial surmise some six months previously that he was Slavic or
southern Russian had not been too off the mark.

  `So why are you here, Sevil?'

  He knew the question I was really asking. His eyes showed it.

  `I looked after the pilot of the helicopter, Master.'

  `You looked after him well? Day and night?'

  `Yes, Master.'

  `Do you remember what I said to you?'

  `Yes, Master, that I served a perfect glass of Chablis.'

  `No, more than that.'

  `That you would not have to retrain me, Master.'

  `And do I?'

  `No, Master, definitely not. I am not a believer but I have been
praying to meet you again.'

  `Praying. Why is that, Sevil?'

  `Because when you touched my head, Master, it was not the touch of a
Retrainer but the touch of a true Master. I believed your words.'

  I looked at Sevil Garibov and thought to myself that were he to have
been in diplomatic circles, he would have gone far. As it was the
furthest he would travel for the moment would be my bed at the starting
line of his future agenda and slavedom with me as his Master.



  Five of the slaves did not know how to swim, so that was added to their
training requirements. Why do I bother with such a trivial matter in
Palaces surrounded by desert? Because it pleases me to know that all my
slaves have certain common basic qualities, talents and training. All
have better than average health care than middle class families in the
developed world. They all learn to speak English and Arabic. They are
trained in sex techniques, if not to amuse and entertain me in bed, then
to look after the sexual needs of a partner.

  One slave was to go back to Dr. Coelho for the removal of an ingrown
toe-nail, but the doctor did not want to do that while the laser
treatment was on-going in removing a leg tattoo. The list went on. All
the Heads of Household and Stables had read the folder on each slave.

  Most had reasonable, but poor, Arabic; only five had English, so
language classes had to be pencilled in as well.

  Rolf chose finally three helpers for whatever he was doing in the gym.
Aziz wanted one for indoor work at the Lime Palace. Stan, my Head of
Property wanted two. I assigned Sevil, him of the helicopter, to Flavio
and Bob in the kitchens and dining-room. We might as well have a good
wine sommelier around as anything else. Pete Downings took three for the
Lemon Palace and Dumi Bod, Head of Stables at the Lime Palace took the
last five to help put down the foundations for more electricity
generating windmills on the edges of the Palace estates.

  I pointed out Ben Trant, my secretary, to Sevil Garibov and told him to
go over and `to be listed'. Ben would have him down as my playmate for
that night. Now that he had been given the all clear by the doctors, it
was time that he met his Master as a slave at my Palaces at times has to
and where he can freely offer his body to his Master and show his will to
serve his Master sexually.



  In less than an hour, all fifteen had been assigned. I caught Aziz's
eye and he came over to me.

  `Aziz, have you ever heard of the Seventh Desert?'

  `Yes, Jonathan, it is one of Dahra's deserts in the south-centre. It
is also known as the Hot Desert because there is little or no wind in it
and the heat is extreme.'

  `I thought there was only one Desert, the Dahran Desert.'

  `That is what strangers think. But no, Jonathan, we have seven. Three
months ago, when I went on my cruise in the Indian Ocean, the liner
arrived at an island and we went ashore to visit it. Every quarter mile
there was a beach with a different name to it, though to me it was just
one long shoreline. I was a stranger there and knew no different. Here,
Jonathan, the deserts may appear the same to you, but they are different.
We have the North, South, East and West deserts. There is the Coast
Desert and the Central Desert and, lastly, the desert you have mentioned,
the Seventh Desert. Each desert is different and is described quite
differently in our school books, though with the more recent discoveries
of oil and gas, I am sure the East and Central deserts will be written
about differently to what I learned as a child.'

  `Thank you, Aziz, that was most enlightening.'

  For a person who had effectively never left the grounds of the Aloe
Palace in some fifty years, except for a trip to the city with me and for
one holiday abroad, he knew his Dahra.



  I dismissed the Heads of Household and Stables, while I checked out the
new slaves. Niko Ziel and Ben Trant, my secretary remained with me to
conduct the next part of my interview with new slaves -- my own private
assessment of the sexuality and sexual prowess of each of the fifteen new
slaves with a relaxing and in-depth massage of their prostates. Again
why? The answer is `why not'. Others could certainly do it. I prefer
again to show my domination and authority over any slave.

  I started with Sevil Garibov and had him kneel up on the worktable in
the middle of the slave quarters. His head was touching the table, his
backside up in the air. I nodded to Niko who tapped the slave's legs
apart, so that his knees were now almost two feet from each other.

  My examination is not meant to hurt or humiliate, but rather to assert
my droit de seigneur over the body and mind of the slave. It is much like
the purchaser of a new piece of furniture who runs his hand over the
grain and polish and finish, to take enjoyment of a beautiful piece of
workmanship.

  In the case of my slaves, they are the product of the nature's
millennia and normally, I try to purchase the best for my own
requirements, which can be just as much business as pleasure.

  In the case of these particular fifteen slaves, I was in a way doing a
favour for my own General Manager at my new opal mine. In taking them off
his hands, for his own stated reasons and in giving him three times as
many back in the mercenaries who had come into my possession, I was in
fact, putting Zabian al-Kibbe, the General Manager, under an obligation
to me.

  In the Arab world, after family and friendship, obligations are
everything, inside and outside of business, even when you own the
business yourself.



  As I conducted my examinations of the new slaves from the opal mine, I
noticed that all were circumcised, some quite recently so. The cut had
not seemed to affect the outpouring of their semen; nor the lead-up
pleasure during the examination itself. As soon as I had touched the
penis of a number of them, they were hard and erect, in two cases hard up
against their lower belly. They were physically healthy that was for
sure.

  When I asked two of the slaves who seemed to have been cut more
recently as the skin on the top of the shaft of their penises had not
tanned to the same colour yet as they rest of their bodies, they each
merely replied demurely, `The mine was very hot, Master and I was
skinned.'

  Each seemed more worried that they might be displeasing me in some way,
but I rewarded each one with a smile and a passing smack on the butt as
they came down off the examination table, which seemed to have the
required calming effect. The smile of their Master was more than enough
to calm them down. If they displease me, they would soon find out quickly
enough.

  There are some Masters who leave the physical examination of their
slaves to Overseers or other. I do not. There are some who use probes,
dildos or even in one case I heard the handle of a gardening fork to
check a working prostate. I prefer a simple finger. Skin on skin,
galvanic reaction all the way, until the trip switch is thrown and for
the first time the slave ejaculates at the touch of his new Master. It is
a moment of bonding, which the Master may forget because of the number of
his slaves, but the slave himself will never.

  Ben Trant was to hand taking down all the details for subsequent data
input.

  It turned out to be a most satisfying morning and midday and I found
that I had worked up quite an appetite by lunchtime. I also quite looked
forward to the night.



  It is always a nervous moment for a new slave to be taken by a Master
for the first time. Sevil Garibov was no exception. My two body slaves
had him ready for me that evening, cleaned inside and out, dried off,
fluffed up, his body lightly oiled. Standing `at display' in my bedroom
suite, his hands were clasped behind his head. He was nervous. He even
looked nervous and his eyes could not stop blinking.

  I told him to stand `at rest'. I could do nothing about his blinking
eyes, or the pulse that I could see on his upper belly -- in
synchronisation with his heart beat.

  `James, pour two glasses of Chablis and then leave us,' I said to one
of the body slaves, not taking my eyes off Sevil, as Terry, my other body
slave undressed me.

  James went to the small refrigerator in the suite, took out a bottle of
Valmur, the great white wine of Burgundy, only one of seven vineyards to
produce the Chablis crop. He carefully uncorked the bottle and poured two
glasses. I motioned `out' with my head and he and Terry, the other body
slave, departed.

  I took the two glasses off their tray and walked over to Sevil, still
standing `at rest', I handed him the glass with its translucent white
contents. He appeared shocked on being offered the glass of white wine,
and by a Master. I think that was a first in his life and it unbalanced
his mental equilibrium.

  `Come,' I said and we walked over to the window to catch a view of
the last rays of a late setting sun, now just below the horizon.

  Putting my arm over Sevil's shoulder, our drinks still untouched, I
asked him, `What do you see?' and gestured with the wine glass at the
open spaces beyond the window with its extraordinarily beautiful sunset.

  `The desert, Master. The sky, the sunset, some stars,' was the
hesitant reply. `I am not sure, Master, what you want me to see or where
to look.'

  `Beyond the space, beyond the horizon, Sevil, what do you see?'

  `Master?' he queried, not understanding.

  `The future, Sevil, the future. Here at my Palace, you and the newly
arrived slaves from the opal mine, no longer have a past, you have a
future. Tell them that from me.'

  I touched the rim of my glass to his, `To the future, Sevil'.

  `To the future, Master.'

  We sipped the wine.

  `What do you think of the wine?'

  `It is my first time to drink wine, Master. It tastes of earth and
cold, of tree bark and smoke and it tickles my nose.'

  I looked at him in surprise.

  `First time?'

  `Before coming to Dahra, Master, I was a believer and did not take
wine. When I came to the mine, I stopped believing and although I am
taking wine now, I am beginning to believe in the hand of fate again.'

  We finished the wine in silence and I let my free hand wander up and
down the slave's smooth and deeply tanned back. Its smoothness was only
broken by the feel of flesh that had long ago been beaten and whose
minute weals could still be felt under my fingertips.

  `Come to bed, Sevil and show me what else you can do other than
surprise me with your beliefs.'

  `Yes, Master.'



  Sevil's slim body was a delight to touch and to explore. His soft
brown nipples with their firm little centre points hardened under my
tonguing and he squirmed as my hand found sensitive points over his lower
chest and belly. The line of jawbone was almost harsh, but well-defined
and set off his almost gaunt facial features. There was no obvious tan
line and he had therefore worked under the open sun at the opal mine
apart from whatever his other comfort duties were to the helicopter
pilot.

  When I entered him, he opened up well and clenched immediately on my
intruding penis to maximise my pleasure. I told him to relax and he did
until I got the measure and angle of his prostate and once I did, I held
on to his bucking and swaying hips until he climaxed.

  Some slaves, as indeed some persons, stay in a mode or mood of sex
after coming. You can see it; feeling, you can divine it. Sevil was not
one of these. He simply deflated. A one shot wonder.

  `I'm sorry, Master. That's what happens.'

  `Good, Sevil. Each of us is different. Now show me how a glass of
Chablis should be poured. I saw you watching James' effort. And while I
sip it, you can show me how you can suck, which does not require any
sexual mood in a slave.'

  `Yes, Master,' and he hopped out of the bed to get me my wine.

  As I sipped the wine for almost half-an-hour, I gave Sevil a couple of
tips on how to suck cock -- my cock -- just the way I like it. He was a
fast learner as I had not to repeat myself once.



End of Chapter 3

To be continued