Date: Sat, 15 Jul 2006 15:09:26 +0100
From: Gerry Taylor <gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Time Line - Chapter 11 - Gay - Authoritarian [The Dahran series]

The Time Line by Gerry Taylor

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

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

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

=============

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

===========

  Chapter 11 -- Humanism



  I love London in June. Officially it is the middle of summer, but it is
never as warm as July or August tends to be. Again, I made an effort to
take some extra days before and after the board meeting at the Bank.

  Few things surprise our esteemed Chairman, but I managed to do so on
two accounts after that meeting. While there is free-seating at our
after-meeting lunch, I pointed to two empty chairs at a table, and
Charlie Deckam and I sat down side by side.

  We have similar tastes in some things and we had both chosen the saumon
en filo and some mangetout..

  `Charlie, some good news and some better news.'

  `The good news first, please.'

  `I am the father of a son.'

  He looked at me.

  `Good for you, Jonathan, after all this time, I had almost given up
hope on you,' he said with a twinkle in his eye. `I could have sworn
that you always kicked with the other foot. When was the baby born?'

  `Twenty four years ago.'

  Again, Charlie looked at me and laughed.

  `Do you want to explain or not?' he said and for fifteen minutes I
updated him on nigh on a quarter of a century.

  As we pushed our finished plates away from us, one of the serving staff
came over and we ordered tea.

  `And did you say that you had better news than that?'

  `Yes, Charlie, you are about to become a granddad in about eight
months' time.'

  His eyes almost popped out of his head.

  `Georgie's married?'

  `Not yet, but he has just got his future wife pregnant.'

  `Oh Jonathan! Oh Jonathan! That is better news than all of last
year's results. Splendid! Capital! I didn't think he had it in him.'

  `I don't think he thought he had it in him either. Let me tell you a
shortened version.'

  And I did.

  As the Scots say, Charlie held his whisht.

  When I had finished, he merely asked `Is she a nice girl?'

  `Yes, she is a very nice and quiet girl. She is installed in a nice
house in Putney with a monthly income. Next month, Georgie has agreed to
a registry office wedding to make all matters legal for the child. No
question of illegitimacy or anything like that for the house of Deckam,
not that to some it would matter a whit.'

  `Am I allowed visit her? Is her health okay?'

  `Charlie, of course her health is okay. She has been impregnated on
the very first attempt. She is as healthy as I don't know what and I
don't see why you should not visit her. She is going to be your
daughter-in-law after all.'

  `I think I would like that.'

  `Don't start spoiling her, Charlie. She has a good monthly income
coming in from Georgie. She's also being given classes in speech and
deportment and a series of other things to keep her busy. But as I say, a
nice unassuming girl.'

  I think I made Charlie Deckham's day.

  Meeting with Richard, my son at his new apartment in Canary Wharf was,
however, the making of my day. Though I had arrived on Sunday's New
Concorde hoping to be able to meet him, Richard was unfortunately
entertaining old neighbours from Guildford who had come up to London to
see him. So it was a pleasure denied for twenty four hours until we met
on the Monday afternoon.

  I took the Tube from Embankment to Cannon Street and immediately took
the Docklands line to Canary Wharf and found myself within a two-minute
walk to Richard's penthouse on the tenth floor of one of the blocks of
apartments.

  I have never cottoned onto apartments, never having lived in one except
as a student and perhaps the old university memories of lack of space had
something to do with my lack of enthusiasm for them from that time
onwards.

  But I must say that I was so very pleasantly surprised at Richard's
penthouse or `pad' as he kept referring to it. It was just under two
thousand square feet, taking up a third of the entire tenth floor, and
while decorated by previous owners in pastels and muted colours, it
looked well, but oddly empty of furniture.

  `There was not a lot from Guildford that would be suitable for an
apartment like this,' he quipped when I mentioned the lack of furniture.
`I'll get there in time. I spent all the money that came in from the
sale of the house in Guildford and half what you gave me on the place,
but the contents of the old house have still to be sold off, so there
will be a bit extra cash there for more furniture.'

  I was just there happy to be in his presence; content to hear his idle
chatter. I never knew such happiness just looking at him, his quiet
mannerisms uncannily like my own, the slimness of his build, the set of
his jaw, the quirky shy smile that immediately reminded me of the
Caroline of all those years ago.

  When I mentioned help with the furniture, he said `No, no, no, dad.
You have done enough. I'm not going to sponge off you. Anyway, I may be
in for a rise.'

  `At work? A rise? Why?'

  `I just got my results, and the Boss at the firm said that if I got a
first which I have, that there would be a promotion. They'll even give
me an office with two potted plants in it!' he said with a laugh.

  `You never told me your results.'

  `Not important in that sense, dad, merely a working tool to an end.
And talking of something else, these papers arrived in Guildford before I
left,' and he went off to a sideboard and picked up a large padded brown
envelope. `What is the Buddy Foundation? A letter here from a Josh Green
who says you have appointed me a director of it.'

  He looked at me oddly.

  `What?'

  `The letter also says that a director's fees are a quarter of a
million euro a year.'

  `Yes. I think that is so, and as for the Foundation, it is mine to
look after my interests, when I am gone, and now that you are here, to
look after your interests as well. And by the by, as the fees are
Caymanian, they are tax-free.'

  `Dad, you are joking!'

  `No, you're the economist. Look it up. We have built some science
labs in England, funded a university chair in New Zealand, built
playgrounds at schools, helped a number of families in strange
circumstances in some forty or so countries. I have two s..., eh, chaps to
look after Foundation matters on a daily basis. But at the end of the
day, it is to ensure the continuation of certain projects that I have in
hand at present.'

  I had almost had a slip of the tongue.

  `Your not joking, sure you're not? This is serious, for real?

  `Yes, serious things in serious situations with serious money. It's
time a serious economist' and I smiled at him, `is brought onto the
board. You will sign the documents?'

  `If you want me to, dad.'

  `Richard, more than anything else, because it will be another reason
to see you more often.'

  `You mean at meetings and stuff?'

  `At least on video. We video conference three or four times a year.
Josh Green doesn't like the heat of Dahra. But it is mainly formalities.
Josh will have the satellite connection installed here for you.'

  I saw Richard grinning.

  `What's so funny?'

  `I was just paraphrasing something in my mind that an economist is
someone who knows the value of everything and the price of nothing. I
know the value of all you are doing with the Foundation but not the price
of a single item of what you have mentioned.'

  `We get through about thirty million a year, Richard.'

  His jaw dropped.

  `How much is the Foundation worth?'

  `About a billion, I'm told. It's hard to keep up with spending the
accruing interest alone.'

  `Dad, this is too much to take in right now. I'll just sign and
return these papers and maybe this Josh Green can give me a five minute
crash course in foundations.'

  `Good idea on all fronts. With a video link, it will be a piece of
cake!'

  A lot has been written about children finding new families, about kids
coming out of homes and finding happiness and a new life with foster and
adoptive parents. But I was able to find very little by way of personal
accounts of adults who find themselves with a new adult son. Everything
was a major emotion for me.

  My son had worked his way to where he was. He was cautious with his
money. He could not yet grasp the concept of money-by-the-million for
personal use, despite being an economist. Maybe in this, there was a
lesson to be learned between the academic and theoretical perception and
the practical living of the reality.

  In one sense, in these initial days, we were very alike. I did not want
to leave, but just to stay in his presence. He, likewise, to be in mine.

  While I could talk to him about banking and some matters of my English
public life, there were five years of Dahran life which were an untouched
canvas in his regard. He knew the parameters -- I lived and worked there;
I was a partner in Deckams there; I had farmland there. But that was as
far as he knew.

  Twice, I had been sitting on a sofa in his new apartment talking away
to him, about everything and about nothing, when he had sat down close
beside me and just leaned his head onto my shoulder, and when I had
momentarily stopped, said `don't stop talking, please.'

  It was about reassurance that I was really there for him.

  We looked out over the Thames and west over the hazy city of London and
were absorbed by the quietness of one of the busiest cities in the world
having a late siesta in the dark yellow afternoon sun.

  `Dad, I love you.'

  The words entered my soul. They came out of nowhere. I was looking at
the motes of dust in the air between ourselves and the apartment window.

  `And I love you, Richard, more than you can ever know. You have
brought a completeness to me, the likes of which I have never known or
felt before.'

  He put his head deeper onto to my chest and his arm went around my
waist.

  `I don't ever want to lose you. You are the best thing that Mum ever
gave me.'

  `A mother doesn't give you a father,' I laughed.

  `You know what I mean. I would have been so lonely when she had died.
I think she knew this. She knew me very well as I did her. Yes, indeed,
you are the best thing she ever gave me.'

  We sat there, it must have been for an hour, the sun slowly sinking
into the growing heat haze. My hand had taken to stroking his hair. It
was not a deliberate action, but sort of just happened, and for over half
an hour, I thought Richard was asleep on my chest, such was his shallow
breathing.

  But he roused himself and said `I have to prepare the dinner.'

  `I'm not at all hungry,' I countered.

  `Well, I have a quiche defrosting and I'm not going to eat all of it,
and there is an avocado in the fridge that just has to be eaten or I'll
have to throw it out.'

  With such domestic worries abounding, he got up and I said I would
help.

  `You do the table. I'll do the food,' he said and he pointed to the
kitchen drawer with the cutlery in it.

  The table was child's play and I had it finished in two minutes. Bob
Conrad would have been proud of me.

  I looked at my son as he peeled the avocado and sprinkled something
over its two halves from a bottle. A leaf of lettuce appeared, only to be
chopped up with amazing skill, and deposited moistly in the scooped out
avocado centres. Two dollops of mayonnaise in a bowl had a gherkin sliced
into it followed closely by some chopped parsley and was all quickly
topped onto the lettuce. My son was a chef! He could do things with food
out of nothing! My heart swelled at the economy and simplicity of his
actions in creating a meal, and I knew that I loved my son, and could
only see good in him.

  With that thought of complete bliss came its contradicting nemesis, in
the fullness of time, I would have to tell him of Dahra, of my Dahra, --
in a fullness of time which was getting nearer by the minute. Was this a
vengeance destiny being visited on me by a reproachful Fate whom I had
not courted or honoured sufficiently? Was this to be the sudden end to a
happiness that I had never experienced so deeply before?

  As I nibbled as delicately as a rabbit would at a quiche dégelée and an
avocat en tranches à sauce tartare, I looked at Richard about life and
about the world, simply happy to be there with me and the thought
burdened me that could we be happy if we knew all of life's problems
ahead of us all at once. The sad answer is that we could not as we are
not in eternity but in linear time.

  But overall, my feelings for Richard were of deep love, a love which
bypasses intelligence and detail, and which rose from a well-spring of
emotion such as I had not known before. It was as if I had a part of me
now separate from me and in him. My pleasure knew no end. His smallest
phrase thrilled me; his comments enthralled me; his words raised me up
and his smiles held me total captive.

  I wanted to give him so much at once. He wanted none of it. He accepted
things from me with grace and I thought that each time he did, he was
looking beyond whatever it was and directly into my soul.

  I did not want to return to Dahra, but I had to. I had a Bank to run
and businesses and Palaces which demanded my attention, even though I had
the most efficient of bank staff and Overseers to run my palaces.

  Over breakfast the morning following my culinary exploits in Richard's
kitchen, he looked at me across the table and said pointedly, `Jonathan,
you do look worried this morning.'

  I looked at his innocent and trusting demeanour.

  `Richard, there is so much to tell you. At times, I don't know where
to start. My life is not just that of a banker...a very rich banker....'

  `Yes, I know. You are also a farmer. You have told me.'

  `Indeed, and therein lies one of the problems. I do employ people to
work for me, but I also...in the tradition of Dahra...I also own some
slaves.'

  There! I had said it. I let the words hang in the breakfast air.
Richard was looking at me and very slowly he said, `You're not making a
joke at my expense, Jonathan, are you?'

  `No, Richard. It is a way of life out there. It is an international
secret. I have placed my life in your hands with that information.'

  Richard reached across the table, and taking my right hand, he said
`Tell me in the fullness of time. Not now. When you are ready. I trust
you entirely, Jonathan. My love for you hears all things, sees all things
in your life and it does not judge you. Not now. Not ever.'

  On that note, we finished breakfast.



  On my return to Dahra, my attention was brought back to the reality of
running my Palaces when Pete Downings mentioned the arrival of some nine
slaves from the opal mine which is located in the Seventh Desert.

  Under my rules for the running of the mine, its General Manager Zabian
al-Kibbe would send those slaves who had survived five gruelling years of
working in its heat and dust under the burning Dahran sun of the interior
desert lands, up to my Palaces.

   `Do you want any of them, Pete?' I asked.

  `No, Boss, I don't think so. I have taken a look at their files and
they are a mixed bag, but not one suitable for indoor work. I don't
believe any of them need re-training, but you can tell me otherwise. They
are awaiting inspection in the slave quarters if you want to see them. If
not, I'll have them sent to Komil and see if he wants them as Head of
Stables.'

  `Bring the files with you, Pete, and I indicated the nine files on my
study desk and which I had not had time to study at all.

  `Boss, I didn't really have time to say thank you for the great meal
the other evening.'

  `Pete, the meal wasn't great. Maybe the ice-cream,' I quipped back
to him.

  `It was, Boss! It was great to be able to sit down for a meal with
you. The food was not important.'

  I put my arm over Pete's shoulders as we walked across the courtyard.
My quiet Australian Head of Household always saw a different angle to
things, a different perspective to architecture and colours. It was as if
he were always in a lateral thinking mode and, at the same time, totally
focussed on my well-being and on the welfare of the Lemon Palace.

  `Do you have that list of unattached slaves I asked for?'

  `Yes, Boss. I have it here and they are also waiting in the slave
quarters.'

  `Good.'

  The nine slaves from the opal mine were in the centre of the
slave-quarters and when I walked in they dropped to the floor in a full
obéisance. I saw nine deeply tanned slaves on their knees before me,
their foreheads touching the ground. Such was the colour of their skin
that it was impossible to see any punishment marks on them and
particularly not on their buttocks.

  `At rest'.

  The slaves stood up and put their arms behind their backs, clasping one
hand in the other by the wrist. I noticed that all were either erecting
or at half-mast, just slightly tumescent but not fully so. Some slaves,
just like free people who are unsure of themselves in the presence of
authority, get a hard-on which is quite involuntary. Some slaves are also
capable of willing an erection, particularly if they have not come for
some time.

  `Do you want to say anything to them, Pete?'

  As I said this, Matt Peoples, the mercury of the Aloe Palace arrived
with a message for me from Graham Hodson. He was looking magnificent.
There was a slight sheen of perspiration on his body after this run down
from the Palace. I noticed that the scar of his prosthetic throat device
had all but disappeared and I knew from previous messages that after
running, he would be slightly breathless which interferes with his
correct vocalising of sounds.

  I put my ear to his lips and gave him a private wink as I did so. He
smiled the quirky Peoples' smile and whispered me Graham's message that
the first one hundred acres of kiwifruit plants had been set and that he
would like to show them to me whenever I was free.

  I gave Matt a whispered reply in his ear that I would be at the
al-Kadir farm in half an hour. It gave the waiting slaves the impression
that an intimate conversation was going on between slave and Master. I
noticed that Matt was wearing his gold necklace as he tends to do when on
his Master's business. I hooked my finger under the necklace and had him
approach the line of nine slaves.

  I nodded to Pete to continue.

  `This is your Master, Sir Jonathan. You will always address him as
Master. I am the Overseer of the Lemon Palace. You will address me as
Overseer Pete. You will not speak to the Master unless spoken to. You
will always give him an obéisance as you have done now when you meet him
for the first time in the day. You will be told other things. Do them
when you are told to. If you do not understand something, ask your
Supervisor. You will be brought to the medical staff to be checked out.
You will be taught English and Arabic. You will be exercised and taught
how to swim. Do you understand?'

  `Yes, Overseer Pete,' the line of slaves chorused.

  Pete looked at me, and said `Boss?

  I was pleasantly surprised at how much in control of the situation he
was. His authority sat lightly on his shoulders. His commands were clear
and full of that authority.

  `You have worked at the opal mine for five years. I am told you are
good workers. I shall see what my Overseers and Supervisors tell me about
your work here. For the next thirty days, you will learn the ways of the
Palace. At the end of thirty days, if all works out well for you, you
will be given your own kofila to work with; you will be given the
fly-swish of a Supervisor,' and I pointed to the one Pete was carrying,
even though theirs would be of a different colour, `and you will receive
your own gold necklace to show that you are mine,' and I hooked my
finger again under Matt's necklace.

  The eyes of the slaves were glued on the necklace and there was an
undercurrent of movement among the slaves, and they seemed to stand up
straighter while `at rest'.

  `Bring in the others, Pete.'

  As he did, I dismissed Matt who sped off with my message to Graham.

  Fifteen slaves trooped in from the adjoining set of quarters. Some of
the slaves made an obéisance to the floor; others went immediately to the
`at rest' position.

  Pete handed me the list and I called out the first slave's name in
order of his seniority in my ownership.

  `Choose a buddy from these nine.'

  `Yes, Master,' and the slave walked down the line and back up again,
stopping at number three, whom he took by the cock and led him to one
side.

  Pete noted the pairing on his copy of the list which would be updated
on the Palace computers.

  We worked our way down the list of the remaining fourteen slaves.

  Three of the fifteen did not choose a buddy from the line up of opal
mine slaves and by the time number twelve had made his choice of buddy,
there were no former opal mine slaves left.

  `Bad luck you six,' I said to those still without a buddy. I pointed
to the first slave and then to one of the slaves who had chosen not to
make a choice, and similarly with the second last remaining slave. In
this way, fourteen of the unattached slaves had received a buddy, and a
single slave was left.

  With an index finger I beckoned him over, `What? No buddy?'

  `No, Master,' he said in a frightened voice, looking down at the
ground.

  `You will be the first slave on the next list. You will have your
choice of buddy in thirty days. Have you ever received a massage over at
the gym?'

  `No, Master,' he replied.

  `You tell, Overseer Rolf there, that after work every second day
starting today you are to receive a massage for the next month; that the
Master has instructed it.'

  `Me, Master?' he said now trembling.

  I wondered if he was always that nervous and if this was any reason his
last buddy might have dropped him as the slaves are free to do after
thirty days.

  `Yes, you. You are special and must be fit,' and I reached down and
grasped his manhood, `if you are to please your next buddy.'

  I could feel the slave firming up in my hand.

  `Do you understand. You are special to me, the Master. Tell Overseer
Rolf of my instruction.'

  `Yes, Master. No one has ever said I was special before. I will tell
Overseer Rolf.'

  Turning to the assembled slaves each now with their buddy, I said
`Buddies look after each other. Tell your buddy the ways of the Palace.
If the new slaves here have to be punished in the next month, you will be
given the same punishment for not having taken care of them and explained
things properly. Do you understand?'

  `Yes, Master,' echoed round the slave quarters.

  `Now, take the new slaves over to the medical quarters for their
check-ups and afterwards have them cleaned up in the style of the Lemon
Palace and their Master,' and I left them to their devices as Pete
walked me down to the al-Kadir property and an inspection of the first
hundred acres planted with the new crop of kiwifruit.

  The al-Kadir property when I had bought it was nothing to write home
about. It was farmland with some slave barracks on it, but no residence
for its owner who had lived in the capital city. Its two small
barracks-like constructions for the housing of its slaves I burnt to the
ground. Now two new buildings of slave quarters, with space for two
further ones, each capable of housing two hundred and forty slaves when
full, stood there, a monument to the speed and efficiency of the Dahran
building industry where a fixed-price contract is the order of the day.
Each building had its thirty separate rooms for Supervisors and full
service areas.

  It is difficult to approach al-Kadir undetected at any time as it is so
open. My approach on the sand buggy down the Long Mile Road was clearly
monitored, and I could see slaves running in various directions and
forming up at certain points.

  Graham Hodson appeared from nowhere on his own sand buggy driven by his
chosen slave Pavel Vaksman.

  `Ah, Jonathan, you are just in time. We have completed this very
morning the first one hundred acres of planting and I wanted to show you
its success. I think the slaves wanted to be present as well when you
were inspecting the lands.'

  `The slaves wanted?' I said raising my eyebrows a little.

  `You know what I mean, Jonathan. They have been working very hard to
get it all right.'

  As we were speaking, Georgi Gridov, my Overseer for the al-Kadir
property came up, closely followed by his large assistant, Dieter.

  `Boss, we are ready whenever you are.'

  `I have heard that you have been working very hard and making Dieter
work even harder.'

  He looked at me and then at Dieter, not knowing where I was coming
from.

  `Yes, Boss, but nobody has to make Dieter work hard. He always works
hard,' Georgi said seriously as he usually does.

  `Come, walk with me, and Graham.'

  As we went from section to section, I noticed how Georgi mentioned the
Supervisor's name of each kofila and managed to point out some feature
or other of the kofila or its Supervisor.

  It was an unhurried inspection. The slaves looked well. The land looked
better. Strangely enough not a single kiwifruit plant looked sickly and I
wondered to myself if there had been some form of plant eugenics carried
out before I had arrived. I noticed that Stan Mercer was there to explain
his network of irrigation pipes, if needed, but allowed Graham a free
hand as to the explanation of the watering system.

  About half-way through the newly cultivated acres, we came upon a
kofila and as I inspected it before moving on to the next area, I
realised that the second last slave I was looking at in the kofila was
none other than the invader of my property -- Ray Toepher. It was just
three months since he had been discovered in a trench.

  `How is this slave working? What complaints are there about him?'

  The kofila's Supervisor looked at me and said immediately, `Ray is
working very well, Master. There are no complaints about him that I know
of.'

  I was looking Ray Toepher in the eye though his eyes were in the middle
distance somewhere over my shoulder.

  `Is he trained enough to be a Supervisor?' I said taking his penis in
my hand and giving it a number of squeezes.

  `Yes, Master. He would be a very good Supervisor,' the head of the
kofila answered.

  The penis was growing in my hand.

  `Georgi?' I said still looking at the slave.

  The penis was now quite hard and under my thumb, I could feel a spot of
precum. The slave had a high sex drive.

  `I agree, Master.'

  Not taking my eyes off him for a moment, I asked `Did you ever find
your wild goose?'

  There was a flicker of surprise. I had caught him off guard and after a
split-second of thought processes, he replied, `Yes, Master, I heard
where he was working.'

  `And you have spoken to him?'

  I let go of the penis as the slave was now beginning to shake at the
sexual urge being transmitted through my fingers.

  His `wild goose' was Al Vine, the slave he had been sent to search
for and rescue.

  `No, Master, I have not,' and with this reply, he looked me in the
eye and then away again.

  I put my hand on his chin and moved his head so that he was looking at
me directly, `Why not?'

  `Because I had no reason to; I am now your slave, Master. What
happened before is another life.'

  I was looking directly into his eyes. Either he was sincere or his
acting performance was worthy of a Golden Globe award.

  Turning to Georgi, I said, `find Ray here a kofila and make a note
that you are to speak to me about his performance in two months.'

  Georgi's notes are totally mental and never forgotten.

  `Yes, Master, I will have a kofila ready for him in the morning.'

  `Don't disappoint me, Ray. And you really didn't speak with Al
Vine?'

  `Who, Master?' he said with a half-grin, `and thanks for the
promotion.'

  `Don't thank me yet. I merely acted on Georgi's and your
Supervisor's recommendation' and I gave the happy new Supervisor a clap
on the shoulder before moving on to the next kofila and the next four
acres.

  I do believe that for slaves to work their best in the long-term it is
important for them to have a close working relationship with their
Master. It is very difficult when the Master has a sizeable number of
slaves, but the Master can enlighten from a position of humanism, finding
the best in each slave and using it to the maximum. Fear works well for
some, but like salt has to be used sparingly as it tends to immobilise
initiative, something which I cherish and nourish in those who serve me.



End of Chapter 11

===========

Contact:

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The Dahran series -- a fictional adventure story about the life and times
of Sir Jonathan Martin -- comprises the following novels to date:

1. The Changed Life

2. The Reluctant Retrainer

3. The Market Offer

4. The Special Memories

5. The Dahran Way

6. The Dahran Rebuttals

7. The Seventh Desert

8. The Dahran Sands

9. The Time Line

These novels are all serialised on Nifty (Gay -- Authoritarian) and on
YahooGroups http://groups.yahoo.com/group/erotic_gay_stories