Date: Sat, 11 Feb 2006 16:51:49 +0000
From: Gerry Taylor <gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Dahran Sands - Chapter 19 - Gay - Authoritarian

The Dahran Sands by Gerry Taylor

This is the nineteenth 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 19 -- The sandstorm

He who is unable to dance says the yard is stony.

(Kenyan proverb)

  To this day, I attribute our safety on that early January morning of
the New Year to Aziz al-Aziz, the Head of my Household at the Lime
Palace. For two weeks over the New Year, he had been on edge. We had all
been on edge. The weather was bad, not the normal warm and dry weather of
the Gulf, but sort of clammy one moment, close the next moment, and
downright uncomfortable at night.

  Now, the one thing you do not look up in the morning newspaper at the
Bank is the Dahran weather forecast. It is difficult to find in its
unimportance, stuck as it is in between world meteorological readings and
incoming shipping.

  However, when for a second morning at breakfast I saw Aziz arrive on a
sand-buggy driven by his personal aide, the giant Bulgarian, Yedo Petrov,
I did feel ill at ease. Aziz is no one's fool. He is too wise in the
ways of Dahra and I respect him too much. Yedo's massive bulk towered
over his slightly built Master, who strode up the steps of the veranda
and announced with uncharacteristic directness, `Jonathan, we are
definitely going to have a sandstorm.'

  I looked at him and said trying not to show my unease, `Indeed, Aziz,
if you say so. And good morning to you as well. You look, how shall I put
it, a little excited?'

  `I am sorry, Jonathan. Yes, I am. Good morning to you, too. We are
going to have a sandstorm.'

  `Yes, Aziz, you have said that already. Can I invite you to join me
for breakfast?'

  Bob Conrad, my head of serving staff, was in hover mode, and I waved
him off when Aziz declined.

  `You do not understand its danger, Jonathan. I mean a real and
dangerous sandstorm that can kill and suffocate anyone unfortunate enough
to be caught outside in it.'

  I indicated a seat and Aziz sat down. I looked at him and waited.

  `The only logical conclusion for this appalling weather we are having
is, Jonathan, that a sandstorm is overdue. The last one I remember as a
child blew for almost two days and killed many. The skeletons of bodies
were never recovered in the deserts until years afterwards.'

  `A two-day sandstorm, Aziz, surely not? We would have heard of its
approach by now on the weather forecasts.'

  `Bah! Jonathan, I am not talking about black-devils or sand- dervishes
as they are sometimes called, pulled up into the air for a couple of
minutes. None of these weather forecasters is old enough to remember the
last sandstorm which was a frightening haboob, a fully blown deadly mass
of sand and dust that just goes on and on.'

  I have always held that it is good advice if you are blind, to accept a
word of wisdom born of the experience of those who have actually seen
what they are talking of. I felt that such was the case here.

  `What would you suggest, Aziz? I have seen in Egypt the damage that a
shimoom, one of their dust storms, can do.'

  He levelled his look at me and said, `Jonathan, you have given the
order that the farm slaves should not be more than a minute away from any
of the outbuildings. That order must stay in place and when the alarm
sounds the slaves should run immediately for the nearest building. I have
checked with each of the Overseers that we should store two days'
biscuits and water in each outbuilding or sleeping area.'

  `You are taking this whole matter very seriously, Aziz.'

  `Never more so! Jonathan, never more so!'

  I did not want to be late leaving for the bank that morning, and as
Pete Downings, my Head of Household at the Lemon Palace, walked me to the
Rolls, I said to him, 'See that everything that Aziz even suggests gets
done immediately and put Luke at his orders today.'

  'You can take it as done, Boss.'

  Young Luke Peoples was developing into something of a modern day
Mercury, running round the Palaces when messages had to be sent, just as
his brothers Jake and Mattie were the official messengers at each of the
other two Palaces.

  At the Bank that day, I let my immediate staff know that I was going to
take a couple of days off to work at home at the Palace. If Aziz was to
be taken seriously, I certainly did not want to be caught in a sandstorm
on the Western Road on the way going to or back from work.

  This was the day of my second warning from Aziz; and its muggy heat
unfolded layer by layer by layer. Gustav's promotion had been leaked
from London and messages of congratulations had started to pour in from
all over the world, and that was the only thing which relieved the
weather-caused tension at the Bank.

  `The Board has still to approve it formally,' he was heard to murmur
the first few times, but then he confided in me, he no longer made the
effort.

  Gus Jennings stopped by with the end of year results for the Aloe
sunscreen business and surprised me with the solidness of the results. It
was not the only surprise, he gave me and I thought that I had misheard
when he said that he was planning to marry another wife.

  'Another wife, Gus? You have just married Alia.'

  He was blushing.

  'It sort of just happened that Alia's family suggested I convert to the
local religion and that would allow me to take up to four wives as long
as I have the financial capacity to look after the needs of each of them
and conduct myself equally toward them. They suggested one of their
neighbour's daughters as my second wife.'

  If Gus Jennings were not the serious guy he was, and a former Master
Sergeant in the US military, I would have taken it that he was pulling my
leg. But he was not laughing, rather smiling to himself at the
incongruity of it from the Western viewpoint.

  'What does Alia say about all of this?'

  'She is over the moon,' he said with a grin. 'She says I have enough
sex appetite for more than one woman. Fatima is the girl's name and she
is one of Alia's best friends. They have known each other since
childhood. Actually if Alia had been against my marrying anyone else, she
could have put it down as a condition in our marriage contract. As it is,
I think we will get along well. Each of them is a lovely woman in her own
way.'

  'Does that mean another wedding?'

  'For the family, yes. A contract is signed by the bride and the groom
and our two respective witnesses, and the civil authorities are notified.
In line with local custom, we'll have a marriage feast afterwards. I'll
let you know of course as soon as we have fixed the date.'

  'So, you might have children with both your wives?'

  He blushed again and smiled.

  'We shall see. If I am going to divide my time equally among them....'

  'Then congratulations must be in order, Gus. What would you like as a
wedding present?'

  'Absolutely nothing, Jonathan. On this I am serious. Your generosity
really shocked me last time. Two million was far too much, but really
appreciated. It may actually have caused this second wedding -- me being
able to financially support a further wife, and being able to offer each
of them her own living accommodation and all that.'

  'Gus, all I can say is that it takes all sorts to make a world. Dahra
is Dahra. My best wishes to you and Alia and Fatima.'

  Faisal, my driver, got me back to the Lemon Palace spot of the dot of
five o'clock and I immediately headed for a shower as my clothes were
stuck to my back.

  Pete Downings met me as I came through the Palace doors and headed for
the stairs with me.

  `Boss, I have taken the liberty of changing your body slaves. I have
created a rota, as there is a certain demand to look after you in your
bedroom.'

  `A rota?'

  `Yes, Boss. One week on, three weeks off. Eight on the rota in all.
The two Jakes are on this evening. Jake Carter and Jake Peoples, if that
pleases you.'

  `Sort of confusing, eh, Pete?'

  `No, Boss, you don't have to say a thing and just see how they get on
with you. I have left a camel cane in one of the amphorae in the bedroom
suite if either of them leave anything to be desired.'

  I did not think that anything would and could already feel a tightening
of my underwear at the thought of Jake Carter's long legs, and at Jake
Peoples' perfect colouring and physique.

  `What did the other body slaves say?'

  I was thinking of Terry Peoples and his marvellous mouth and James
Scott, the former missionary, with his totally subservient attitude with
his well-trained anus whose muscles could clench and relax for hours on
end.

  `Nothing, Boss, they are well-trained slaves. I have them down for
next week.'

  `And then who?'

  `Sevil and Vidor, with Dmitri Solidiuk and a vacant spot for the final
two weeks.'

  `Make sure that Abdul is not forgotten.'

  `No, Boss, of course not.'

  Abdul was gifted to me by his dying father and for all his mental
handicap is truly beautiful both in and out of bed. I smiled at Pete's
choices - my insecure sommelier Sevil, and Vidor, the slave who had
doused me in fruit cocktail, not to forget Dmitri, the slave who combed
his pubic hair so as not to be forgotten by those in authority. Clearly,
his investment had paid off and he had not been.

  `Let's see how they all get on, Pete. And I shall keep that camel
cane close to hand.'

  My two selected body slaves who had been standing `at rest' as I came
into the bedroom suite sprang into action to relieve me of my clothes.

  `Jake and Jake, what I am I going to call you two so that you know to
whom I am talking?'

  `Anything you like, Master,' Jake Carter said.

  It surprised me he would have requested this duty. I certainly had not
asked for him and Pete Downings would hardly have known him. But then
again, the both Pete and he were Australian, so you could never know when
or what they had spoken to each other.

  `Carter and Peoples, our surnames, Master, if you like,' Jake Peoples
ventured.

  `You don't sound very sure.'

  `Master, I have never been asked to make that sort of decision
before,' the slave said as he undid the buckle of my trouser belt.

  `But then, Master, a good slave should not have to be called at all.
He should know what the Master wants before the Master knows he even
wants it,' the slave commented.

  `This Master needs a shower. So come along.'

  I noticed that it was Jake Carter who came with me into the shower
immediately, while out of the side of my eye, I could see Jake Peoples
putting my soiled clothes into a cane basket for washing.

  Jake Carter stood under the water spray and then said, `Master' to
indicate that the temperature was right for me.

  I really only wanted a shower to freshen up and the two slaves were
clearly well-primed as to what to do, particularly Jake Peoples, who used
a sponge and liquid soap with great dexterity.

  I closed my eyes as Jake Carter did my hair and massaged some oil into
my dry scalp before washing it with shampoo. When it was safe to do so, I
opened my eyes and found myself looking down at a sizeable boner on Jake
Carter who was blushing at the fact.

  `Has Carter here a thing for his Master with that woodie he's
sprouting, would you not say, Peoples?' I asked of the other Jake who
had come into the shower.

  `Master, he is not the only slave who has a thing for his Master.
Because I have a thing, as you say, for you as well, Master, but I do not
need a boner to express it.'

  I laughed at the quickness of comment, and Jake Carter's boner
continued hard as they dried me down.

  `Why did you ask for his duty, Jake,' I asked Carter.

  `Because Master, I think I am beginning to love you,' the former
fire-fighter said.

  `That's a bit of a jump for someone who had his fair share of
girlfriends, Jake.'

  `It's not only the sex bit. Master, it's also everything you let me
do with Roge helping out with the Hobart Gangers and the junior clubs. I
love every second of it. You're the person doing it but through me. I
just love every moment it.'

  I looked at the other Jake, who had raised his eyes to the ceiling.

  `What?' I said.

  `A slave, Master, should not be about himself and what he loves but
about what his Master is about and what the Master loves.'

  `Right, Jake, one day I'll let you write the slave manual, but right
now you and I have a job to do,' and I beckoned Jake Carter over to me.

  `Turn around.'

  When he did, from behind I put my left arm around his chest to support
him up against me, and I circled his hip with my right hand and grasped
his straining member, all its substantial number of inches.

  `Peoples,' I said to the other Jake, `on your knees and start
licking this slave's balls.'

  I started pumping his cock from behind, my cock jammed into the
Australian's golden crack, Jake Peoples in front of his colleague laving
his heavy balls.

  On my second full outward jerk, I felt the precum moisture on Jake
Carter's glans. He gave a groan that bounced off the walls of the
shower. I wanted to think that it was my pumping ability, but maybe it
was Jake People's licking ability.

  `You're not to come until I allow you to, Jake,' and with my teeth I
started to bite and nip his neck and right shoulder.

  `Master, Master, oooh....'

  I find it amazing how a negative command can make people want to do
precisely the contrary. In the case of sex, it is like asking the Niagara
Falls to flow upwards. At the sixth jacking stroke, Jake Carter was
trembling pressed up against me as he was by my left arm.

  `Master, I am so close...Oh Master, please...'

  My constant nip, nip, nipping of the flesh on his neck was in harmony
with the strokes of my hand.

  His cries became pleading and incoherent, urgent and ragged by stroke
nine and ten.

  `You're to hold on, Jake, until I say....'

  I didn't get to finish the sentence as Jake Carter's cock began to
erupt and splatter the wall of the shower with strand after strand of
cum. Such was the force of his ejaculations that he missed Jake Peoples'
upturned face and licking tongue entirely.

  I continued to jerk him off until I had mentally reached twenty, and
then I released his cock from my hand and his chest from my arm. Jake
Carter almost collapsed on top of the other Jake.

  `Thank you, Master, that was fantastic. No one has ever licked my
balls at the same time. Not ever.'

  I gave him a smack on the butt in mock annoyance, `I told you not to
come until I told you. I must think of a punishment for that
disobedience. Now a quick shower both of you while I dress and then come
out.'

  Jake Peoples said `you're going to dress yourself, Master,' looking
at the other Jake in annoyance.

  `I have been known to do it before and I can do it again,' I said
with a smile. `Shower and dry yourselves with my towel'.

  I was feel benevolent towards the slaves as a Master may on rare
occasions.

  I was fixing my cuffs when the two came out of the shower.

  `Obedience is important, is it not?' I said to Jake Carter.

  `Yes, Master.'

  `Then kneel up on that table, knees wide apart, head on the table,' I
said indicating the small black leather training table I keep in the
suite for such moments of minor punishment of the slaves who serve me.

  I pointed at the camel cane to the other Jake, who ran across to fetch
it from the large jar where Pete Downings had stuck it.

  Jake Carter's splendid globe buttocks were a sight to behold with
their glorious golden contours. The tightness of his anus was confirmed
by its clenched status between his buttocks.

  `Count off each stroke.'

  Without giving the slave time to acknowledge the command, I brought the
camel cane straight down the left buttock in a parallel line with his
knobbed spine.

  `One, Master.'

  I landed two further strokes side by side with the first, as the slave
counted them off, and then moved a pace to my right and brought the cane
flashing down on the right cheek.

  The resulting marks were three weals on each cheek. The slave was still
on the table breathing hard, not knowing if more was coming his way.

  `Get down.'

  I looked at him. His eyes were red.

  `Do you still say you love me?'

  `Yes, Master, I do,' he whispered and a hardening erection attested
to that fact.

  `We'll see. And you,' I said looking at Jake Peoples, `you have
done very well.'

  He looked embarrassed at being acknowledged at all.

  As I was speaking I became aware of what I thought was the noise of a
very low diesel generator out in the courtyard. It was a rumbling
growling throbbing noise. I went over to the bedroom windows to look out.
There was certainly nothing of the kind in the courtyard, but on the
western horizon there was a dirty grey smudge under the skyline and
hugging the land. The dark grey smudge was moving!

  At that very moment, the Palace sirens went off and I heard the first
of the automatic shutters coming down.

  `Master, it's the sandstorm. We had two practices today,' Jake
Carter almost shouted.

  There were slaves running into buildings and towards the Palace. Within
thirty seconds, the courtyard was clear. Looking between the outbuildings
not a slave was to be seen and then the final shutters over the principal
doors of the slave quarters and the outbuildings started coming down.

  `We have to activate the shutters,' Jake Carter said with a finger
over the red security button on the wall.

  I nodded, and all the shutters began to fall, I saw that the dark
smudge was now inches taller on the horizon, which seemed impossible as
it must have been at least twenty miles away. But what was most ominous
of all was the rumble was much, much louder.

  It is strange to be in an enclosed space. There is a tomb-like quality
about the feeling and the inner silence.

  `Come,' I said to the two slaves and started to go downstairs.

  Pete Downings and Flavio were at the bottom of the stairs.

  `Everyone who should be here is here, Boss,' Pete said.

  `The same in the kitchens, Boss, plus a couple who were making a
delivery of vegetables. Dinner will be ready in half an hour. I can have
Sevil serve some aperitifs to your guests now if you wish, Boss.'

  `What about the outbuildings and slave quarters? How can we be sure
that everyone is in, Flavio?'

  `There were two practice runs, Boss. Each building, whether slave
quarters or outbuilding has water and biscuits for two days. As work for
the day was over, all the slaves, Boss, would have been near or in
buildings at this hour. When we had the two practices today, the slowest
slave was just over a minute, and he had sprained his ankle as he ran,'
Pete said.

  I nodded understanding and went to see to the three medical staff who
fortunately had arrived extra early from the Lime Palace facilities.

  I found that we had an extra visitor that evening in Dr. Hal Thiecke,
the first dentist I had used at the Palaces and who subs for Cal Thorson,
our regular dentist, when he goes on holidays, as he usually does for
some days each January to his various conferences and seminars.

  Our resident surgeon, Yves Fournier, uncorked some red in preparation
for the meal and left it to breathe. Sevil came in from the kitchen and I
noticed that he was wearing his chiton, thus implying a more formal
dinner than the usual. Bob Conrad and he manned the side-bar and prepared
pre-dinner drinks.

  Although the shutters were down, the low rumble was getting noticeably
louder.

  Miraldo Coelho, our doctor, said `I have been looking this sandstorm
thing up, and it is very rare to last over an hour. It comes out of the
Rub al-Khali, the so-called `empty quarter', and the sand blown in the
wind has been known to cut and abrade the skin, such is its force.'

  `Let's just hope that no one has been caught outside,' Yves Fournier
commented.

  With that there was an almighty bang as something hit the shutters
causing them to rattle loudly, the sandstorm had arrived.

  When dinner was served, and I found that the six of us sitting down
each had our own serving slave, it was a strain to talk over the noise of
the storm outside, sufficiently loud as it was to penetrate inside the
Palace. Twice during the meal, the lights dimmed slightly, and Bob Conrad
murmured in my ear, `the solar panels have been covered and closed down,
Boss, and we are running off the backup generators. Enough power for a
week.'

  I thought to myself how fortunate I was in having such good Palace
staff who had foreseen the various needs caused by this natural
phenomenon.

  As the medical staff would stay in the Lemon Palace during this
emergency, rooms had been prepared for each, and I noted that Miraldo's
serving slave was none other than his own surgery assistant, the
Brazilian Sergio. I found myself wondering where his lover, Tony Sert,
was.

  I would like to say that the thirty nine hours spent inside the Lemon
Palace during the sandstorm were pleasant and agreeable. They were not.
With four guests and myself in residence, a number of bedrooms were still
free, and on enquiring from Pete Downings, he informed me that temporary
bedding had been put in all the pantries for up to thirty slaves.

  `Tell Flavio and Marko to take one bedroom, yourself and Randy, whom I
spotted helping in the kitchens, another. I see Ben and Gianni are here.
Give them another. Let the rest sleep on the temporary bedding.'

  `Yes, Boss.'

  The first night I found it difficult to sleep despite being sandwiched
between the two Jakes. I slumbered and then woke in the middle in the
night with a headache. I had had a nightmare of being raped all over
again and locked in the sauna. For some reason, I could not find the
handle of the door and my head was hitting off the glass panel in the
door. It was surreal. A figure swooped down on me, naked, yet clothed,
dark and threatening. The perspiration was running off me in the sauna
and I was lying on the floor trying to sit up. I thrashed out at
something up again me and sat up....to find myself bathed in sweat sitting
up in bed.

  The storm raged outside with continuing force. It was like a drumming
engine, its decibels moving slightly up, slightly down.

  I saw Jake Carter asleep beside me, a hard-on twitching in reaction
perhaps to some dream of his own. I played with his hard-on until I
thought he might awaken. When I stopped, I found Jake Peoples awake in
the dim glow of the bedside light. He reached for me but I took his hand
and draped it over the cheek of my left bum and kissed him from forehead
to sternum and back again until he fell asleep.

  I tossed and turned until it said six o'clock on the digital timepiece
and I got up scooting down the bed between the two Jakes, the throb of
the storm in the background. I felt as if I were getting a second version
of the earlier headache and thought that it must surely just be the
barometric pressure.

  I was running the shower when Jake Carter walked in rubbing his eyes
and sporting his massive erection. He came over to regulate the water,
but I pointed to his erection and the toilet indicating that he take his
first piss of the morning.

  He let fly over the toilet bowl and I could not believe the strength of
his piss as it went on for nigh a good minute.

  `Sorry, Master, I'm always like that in the morning. A good piss
makes you feel great,' he said as he reached for my shaving cream and
razor.

  At that, Jake Peoples came in to the bathroom.

  `Master, I did not hear you get up,' and he cast a glance at Jake
Carter as if to say `you did not waken me'.

  I pointed to his half-hard prick and the toilet bowl, and he got the
message. His golden spray was full and consistent, but with nothing of
the stormy force of his fellow slave. I wondered to myself, had I not
told both of the them to take a piss, what would they have done?'

  When I asked Jake Peoples the question, he merely replied, `first and
foremost, Master, I should have been up and ready to serve you. This
would mean having pissed and given myself an enema in case you wanted to
use me this morning,' and he looked over at Jake Carter, as if
half-guessing that Jake had not given himself a cleansing enema.

  On coming down to breakfast in a dining room with lights on and
shutters drawn was a bit forbidding. I was not hungry at breakfast at all
and merely took some juice and toast, and went in to the study to find
that Ben and Gianni were already there at work.

  `We thought, Master, that we might use this time to give your files a
general spring clean.'

  `Okay. Let's spring clean.'

  `Not you, Master, us.'

  `Well, as you arrange, tell me at least what you are doing so that I
can find things in the future. Remember, Ben, this is my study and I file
things my way, not as in your office, and find out if anyone knows about
that slave who was being punished on the waterwheel.'

  `Yes, Master, we know that and that is why we want to do a spring
clean. Perhaps, we can find a thing or two that we mislaid in the past.
And I'll ask around about that slave. It would be Nick Willet, wouldn't
it?'

  I half-smiled at the diplomatic euphemism and let them get on with
their work, and also smiled at the fact that Ben knew my business as well
as myself and the name of the slave who was being punished.

  The sandstorm continued to rage and my headache felt worse. By now, it
was definitely a fully blown headache. I could not decide whether it was
the enclosed environment of the Palace without a single window open or
the lack of circulating air which I always insist on or some form of
claustrophobia. I retired back up to my bedroom and lay down on the bed
clothed and closed my eyes.

  I was not five minutes in that position until I felt a light blanket
being put over me and Jake Peoples was at my side tucking it in. He did
not say a word. In my peripheral vision, I could see the other Jake just
standing there `at rest' not knowing what to do. I closed my eyes again
and then there was a slight tugging at the feet as sandals were removed.

  The throbbing in my head continued until I felt a cold compress on my
head and a voice saying `Shhhh...Sleep, Master.' Even the suggestion was
enough to make me fall asleep.

  When I awoke on my side some hours later, I felt warm and comfortable
and realised I was the `ham in the middle'. Jake Peoples was spooned up
to my front, while glancing over my shoulder Jake Carter was to my rear
and I could feel his hard-on up against my back. His eyes were rolling
under his eyelids as he dreamed of something down under and Australian.
His cock twitched suggestively at the level of my coccyx. I wondered what
had happened to my pants.

  As I began to wake up fully, I realised that the sound of the sandstorm
had lessened to a lower rumble. Jake Peoples must have sensed my change
of breathing, because he turned on his elbow to face me, and whispered
`How do you feel now, Master?'

  `Better,' and I put my hand to the back of his neck and drew his lips
to mine. `Thank you,' I said as I kissed him lightly.

  He half-smiled.

  `Master, you are different to the Master I had expected.'

  `How?'

  `You demand less in some things, and more in others. You know each of
your slaves.'

  I let that erroneous statement pass.

  `Yes and what else?'

  `You do not object when a slave speaks first to you.'

  `Inside the Palaces, no. Outside, yes, with a couple of exceptions.
What else?'

  `You have not let me please you yet. It is what I am good at.'

  `All things in their own good time. We don't want to frighten the
other Jake do we?'

  And he smiled as the other Jake gave a half-snort in his dream.

  `He would not wake, I think, Master, if I were to pleasure you with my
mouth now.'

  I looked at this serious slave who just wanted to pleasure me and
nodded to him. His head disappeared under the light blanket and I felt
his body wiggle down mine, until his hand cupped my balls and I felt the
touch of a silken tongue on my hardening cock. A rhapsody of feelings ran
through my entire body as his expertise came into play and his tongue
played arpeggios up and down the keyboard of my shaft, and then started
to suck the tip of my glans.

  I felt the bubbles of the desire for release rising too quickly, and I
threw back the blanket, surprising my cocksucker. Jake Carter woke up
with a start at my tossing back of the blanket.

  `Face down, legs apart,' I ordered him urgently, and flipping over on
top of him, with one fell swoop of thrusting and impaling, I ran my hard
shaft into his well lubricated and warm anus, and in a mere three
plunges, exploded inside him, before he could utter no more than
`Master' a couple of times in surprised groans.

  I let my body collapse on top of the Australian, and looking back at me
over his right shoulder, he said, `does this mean your headache is gone,
Master.'

  He is as bad as Roge Harte for talking.

  `Improved, but not entirely gone,' and as I rolled off him, I said
`now, down you go and lick the last of the juices out of my balls.'

  Without hesitation, he was sucking my cock like a spring lamb its
mother, cleansing it of my own and his lubricated ass juices. I pulled
Jake Peoples close and kissed him gently on the lips to signal my
approval of his cock-sucking.

  The sandstorm dropped in audible intensity after midday, and by three
o'clock it had stopped entirely. I had risen from my bed for a second
time in one day and as the main shutters went up, I walked out to survey
the effects and any damage.

  The entire courtyard was covered in the finest sand which rose to
almost the first step of the veranda. Sand was piled up on each window
sill and trickling still down to the ground. According to what I had
heard at table during our confinement up to five tons of sand could be
blown over each acre which is up to three pounds per square meter.

  As I surveyed the courtyard, the shutters started to go up on the
various outbuildings and slave quarters. Stan Mercer appeared with his
property team, two of whom disappeared in the direction of the Lime and
Aloe Palaces

  `We're going to do a full check here, Boss, and we'll soon know of
any damage at the other Palaces,' Stan said. Slaves were appearing with
barrows, shovels and brushes. Kofilas were forming to get rid of the
sand.

  I walked towards the Aloe groves and saw Georgi and Dieter head for the
al-Kadir farm, closely followed by Igor and Basili who veered off towards
the cactus gardens. Each would be checking up on their own areas, just as
each of the other Supervisors would be on theirs.

  Dumi Bod, my Head of Stables at the Lime Palace, fell into step beside
me with quite a jaunt in his step.

  `Ready for work, Dumi?'

  `After almost twenty four hours in the sack with Rolf most definitely,
Boss. You have no idea how fit Rolf is. He is inexhaustible.'

  I smiled at the tough little Moldavian who had once played on his
national soccer team.

  `You're no slouch yourself, Dumi. Is Rolf able to walk?'

  Dumi roared laughing, `Boss, if I didn't have so much to do now, I
would tell you every which way I took him and every way he took me.'

  The laughter stopped as we came to the first of the Long Mile Road
trees which flank the long avenue and which had been uprooted, lying
forlornly, half-buried in sand.

  We went into the Aloe plantations and there was not a single plant,
line after line as we checked, that had been damaged to a significant
degree. Some of the larger leaves had broken as might have been expected.
Sand had covered the lower stems of some, but nothing more serious than
that. The Aloe plant as a species had survived for millennia everything
that the Dahran climate had been able to hurl at it and more.

  Al Vine came running up followed by his aide and buddy, Yasser. They
stood `at rest' some ten paces ahead of us and waited until we drew
near.

  `Al?'

  `The sewage plant is fine, Boss, a lot of sand in the pits, but we can
clear this out. We have lost four of the surrounding poplars. They were
just uprooted.'

  I smiled to myself at the use of the `we have lost'. It implied
association with me and the Palace and his job.

  `See if they can be re-planted, Al. Have a word with Stan. How is
Yasser here as a buddy?'

  `As a buddy, great, Boss. As a worker even better.'

  I saw that Yasser was embarrassed at the unaccustomed praise.

  `Get to work then both of you.'

  `Yes, Boss.'

  `Yes, Master.'

  As we were speaking, Yuriy Obov, my Head of Stables at the Lemon Palace
came up looking grave.

  `We're a slave missing, Boss.'

  `Missing?'

  `One did not get into the slave quarters or the outbuildings before
they shutters went down.'

  `Who is it?'

  `Nick Willet. He is the slave on a water-wheel.'

  `Then he is not missing. He is chained to the water-wheel.'

  `Yes, Boss.'

  `Then get someone out to the water-wheel and confirm that he is still
there.'

  `Yes, Boss,' and he disappeared at a trot.

  Though I am sure that Dumi had other more pressing matters to attend
to, he walked with me around the grounds of the three Palaces for just
under three hours. I was struck by his command of matters and how
Supervisor after Supervisor came up to him to report and then be
dispatched with clear succinct orders. I just stood on the sidelines each
time and observed.

  The damage from the sandstorm was not as bad as I had feared. From
reports coming in, we had lost about two hundred poplar and birch. Three
solar panels had simply disappeared according to Juan Luis Serrano who
reported the matter to Dumi as if he had lost them personally, and he
asked for two kofilas to get the sand off the roof and the remaining
solar panels uncovered and up and working again.

  Marko arrived with a message from Flavio in the kitchens who wanted
extra help to prepare a vegetable soup for all the slaves, apart from the
slaves' biscuits of the evening meal. It does require some logistics to
prepare even the simplest of once-off dishes for over seven hundred. I
agreed and also gave Marko another instruction at which he smiled.

  Yuriy Obov sent a messenger that the slave on the water-wheel was now
on his way to the infirmary. Nick Willet had taken refuge in the huts to
be found beside every water-wheel. The only trouble is that while solid,
they are by and large open to the elements. He had covered himself with
some fertiliser bags, but the sand had managed to lash different parts of
his skin for over thirty hours and was covered with tiny cuts. According
to Dr. Fournier, he had lost through abrasion almost an entire layer of
body skin. He would recover, the doctor had said to the messenger. I
agreed with that assessment. Kofila slaves are tough, if nothing else,
and Nick Willet was strong as I could personally attest to my cost.
Nature had lashed him where I had not.

  I did not comment on Yuriy's initiative in breaking the slave's
punishment schedule. He had exercised his own judgement as a Head of
Stables, and that was that.

  It is amazing how survival brings out the best in people once the cause
or threat of disaster is past. Kofila after kofila going round the place
seemed happy, chatting and smiling, whether at the fact of being out and
about again in the fresh air or that disaster had been averted, I could
not say.

  When Dumi and I got back to the courtyard of the Lemon Palace, the last
of the sand which had blown in had disappeared. Looking up at the roof, I
could see teams of slaves still working there as they brought the solar
panels back on-line under Juan Luis's supervision.

  There was an extraordinary clarity and purity in the evening air. The
sky was totally free of cloud as if the abrasion of the sand had not just
affected the land but also the heavens. The sandstorm which had headed
towards the sea and the coastline was nowhere to be seen not even a
retreating horizon smudge.

  It was ironic that it was Aziz's water-garden that was the one thing
which the sandstorm damaged most. His gardens are surrounded by a
continuous wall and one entire section, almost a hundred metres long, had
simply been blown down, and thus had allowed the full force of the
sandstorm to hit the gardens where the low-flying sand had no where else
to go.

   Aziz had warned me of the sandstorm and had the emergency trial runs
done. His water-garden received considerable damage to his design and
plants. To soften the blow of his losses, I sent Yedo Petrov who acts as
his Head of Household some thirty slaves to help Aziz's few slaves who
would have been overwhelmed by the task.

  The air in the courtyard was utterly still during our evening meal on
the veranda. The evening was warm, yet cool. As I looked out at four
hundred flickering candles around the outskirts of the courtyard, the
entire body of seven hundred plus slaves were sitting in groups having
their own meal. I had told the Heads of Household and Stables that this
was a celebration. We had faced difficulty, and we had come through.
Flavio and a team of twenty in the kitchens had prepared vegetable soup
for all, and Marko and a team of fifteen slaves had prepared two flavours
of ice-cream, which went down a treat and saw the small bowls not only
being emptied of their cold contents but being licked clean of the very
last taste of ice-cream.

  I enquired from Dr. Coelho how the slave from the water-wheel was
doing.

  `His back is now covered with a thick coat of Aloe sap and he's lying
face down on a bed in surgery. He'll survive. The strange thing is that
he actually tried to leave the surgery to get back towards the
water-wheel. Randy has handcuffed him to the bed.'

  I made no comment.

  Although the partners at Deckhams can attend the London board meetings
by video link, and this I had done on a couple of occasions over the
years, I am old-fashioned enough to prefer the personal touch and the
personal presence. For the January board meeting, I felt it incumbent on
me to be physically present, as Gustav, my former junior partner in Dahra
was being formally promoted to being the Frankfurt partner, and I felt
that the very least that I could do for Gustav Ahlson was to propose that
motion. John Tunnor, Personnel partner, had sent me an e-mail memo that
he would be a willing seconder.

  I had also a little shopping to do, so I flew up on the Sunday, a day
early. Some fifty slaves needed gold necklaces being in my service for at
least thirty days after appropriately passed training, and I had placed
an order with Aspreys. Although the House of Gems in Dahra could
undoubted produce the goods, there is something to be said of a present
being brought from afar.

  Also, my scholarship holder down at Bristol, Jeremy Burrows, had
written to me over the Christmas saying that he would like to travel up
to London to see me in January. We agreed a time for dinner appointment
that Sunday evening, and it ended up a foursome with his spin bowler pal
Jason Smithers and Budd Chavez from the Bank. It made for interesting
conversation when we all sat down, and the dinner flew. I was still on
Dahran time so I retired early.

  The following day, Gustav Ahlson was made full partner in Frankfurt and
seemed very pleased. Charlie Deckam was full of cordiality and said that
it was an appointment `at least, twenty years late in its coming'. At
the same meeting, I got his son Georgie as my new junior partner. The
lunch which followed the meeting was one I could not, and did not want to
avoid. It was really a celebration for Gustav by and of his new peers,
and for once, I thought that his natural Swedish reserve was being
breached.

  I took in Aspreys on the way back to my regular hotel just off The
Strand, and found a white envelope waiting for me at reception, with Ryan
Smith's card in it. I called him from my room and he said he would be
around in two hours.

  When Ryan Smith arrived, he stood before me framed in the doorway of
the hotel suite, dressed in a grey wool jacket and dark slacks. On the
one hand, he looked confident and at ease, and on the other, there was
the tension of uncertainly, as with one who is out of his normal social
milieu. His carefully brushed and combed short hair, the close shave, a
collar that was too tight, cuffs that did not extend beyond the jacket
sleeve and a faint odour of inexpensive cologne, all made him appear the
working class lad he was; fashionably dressed, but definitely working
class.

  `Jonathan,' was all he said as I motioned him in.

  I went across to a seat and sat down, looking at him. He stood still
for a couple of seconds under my glance and then started to undress
slowly and carefully, under my scrutinising gaze, as if reading my mind.
When all his clothes were in a neat pile on the floor beside his shoes
and socks, he stood up straight. He looked well and fit, and his cock was
hard and straight out from his body. Its tip was moist with the precum of
anticipated sex. With two fingers of my right hand, I beckoned him
forward and extended my upturned palm at the height of his balls. He let
his heavy balls rest in the palm of my hand, and said `Jonathan' again.

  `Go into the bathroom and draw a bath for me--for both of us, Ryan.'

  `Yes, sir.'

  I undressed calmly, as I listened to the splashing of the water from
two taps into the double tub in the bathroom. I kept the thought of Ryan
Smith's firm buttocks going in to the bathroom in my mind's eye as I
pulled down my pants and boxers. The thought alone was enough to get me
hard. Mists of steams were coming into the bedroom through the half-open
bathroom door.

  As I went in, Ryan was standing beside the bath tub, his hands wet from
testing the water whose steam created a misty cloud which condensed
against my skin and marble walls of the bathroom.

  I stepped up on the ledge surrounding the tub and down into the
perfectly heated water. I held out my hand to Ryan and he stepped in
after me. As I sank into the warmth of the water, I kept him facing me
and sat him on a little seat on the other side of the tub. He was leaking
profusely.

  I took up a natural sponge from the basket of bath oils and soaked it
in the warm water. Reaching across the tub, I started to wash the inside
of Ryan's thighs and moved up to his balls. His cock bounced.

  `Apart from one night with the wife, I haven't come in a week just
thinking that you might be in London. I'm right on the edge.'

  I stopped my sponging and pulled Ryan down into the tub.

  `Enjoy the hot water then,' and handing him the sponge, I said `your
turn now and tell me how is life.'

  `Jonathan, my life is just not my own. It revolves around Chris. He
had his second operation ten days ago. Another hole in the heart sealed.
We cried when we saw that his face was no longer blue two days after the
operation. His blood is now circulating better. The next operation will
be in three or four months, when he is strong enough.'

  I spilled some bath oil into the water and disturbed the surface of the
water until it was foaming.

  `But how are you, Ryan.'

  `I am strong. I don't mean in body, in mind. There is nothing I
cannot and will not do to get Chris healthy. The agency thinks I am
playing difficult and actually put up my fee to clients. I can now get
five hundred pounds a night; cash into my hand. I've told the agency one
client a week, two at the max. I also got a New Year increase at the
firm. The wife is also now working minding a baby five days a week. It
all helps.'

  `Is this evening agency work for you?

  `No, this is just me saying thank you for the last time from the very
bottom of my heart. If I knew how to please you any more than this, just
say the word, Jonathan. Please.'

  The salt of the earth from Beckton was washing my head and shoulders
with the sponge. He was close enough for me to scoop up some foam from
the surface of the bath water and to smooth it on his chest. I pulled
Ryan closer.

  `You please me, Ryan, just the way you are. No pretences, just as you
are.'

  I slipped my hand down his chest and down his belly, until the hardness
and warmth of his cock was in my hand. With my thumb, I worked a circle
around the knob of his cock, slipping back the foreskin. My thumb was now
rubbing the fraenulum under his piss slip and I could feel the throb of
his approaching excitement.

  I pulled his head close to mine with my left hand, and let my tongue
touch his lips. He groaned and I felt the first trembling spurt of his
seed pass through the shaft of his cock, and he shuddered again, and
again, again and again. The sponge was pressed firmly by his hand to the
back of my neck, he holding me to him, and I holding him to me with my
hand.

  When his shuddering has subsided, he looked at the bathwater and said
with a laugh, `don't drink the water, Boss. There's so much sperm in
it, you'll get pregnant.'

  I smiled at his simple and embarrassed humour.

  `I've done nothing for you, Boss.'

  `Yes, you have. You've updated me on young Chris's health. You have
given me the pleasure of feeling how much you trust me. You have shown me
the intensity of your sexual release. You have shown me you are caring
father and husband. All of these are not nothing. They are important in
the greater scheme of life. They show as well that you are alive in the
best sense of the word. Now let's get dressed.'

  `You don't want to fuck me? I owe you a fuck since last time,
remember? Have I done something wrong?'

  `No, Ryan, absolutely not, and yes, you still owe me one. As a matter
of interest, have you ever thought of working for yourself?'

  `As an electrician? A business of my own? My own boss sort of you
mean?'

  `Yes, being your own boss.'

  `Many a time, Jonathan, but between doing courses to qualify and
buying a house once I married, there was never any time to save.'

  `Would you like to be your own boss? If so, I am quite willing to be a
silent partner. I have been one in the past. I have no qualms about being
one again.'

   `Jonathan, you know my circumstances. Whatever will help Chris.'

  I was dressing casually as I was intending to go to a West End musical
later on. I saw how quickly and economically Ryan dressed, and zipping up
his pants, with a single flick of the wrist, not even looking for the
zip. In half my time. But then, I thought to myself, usually I have
assistance.

  I took out my chequebook and sitting at a small table to the side of
the bedroom, I wrote a cheque out to Ryan Smith, Esq. for fifteen
thousand. He had started to say something when he had seen me pull out
the chequebook. But I silenced him with a finger to my lips.

  When I handed him the cheque, he said `Boss, I didn't come here this
evening for this,' and he held the cheque up in the air. `I still have
four thousand in Chris's account -- that's what we are calling it.
Something left over from the last cheque, the agency's fees, the wife's
childminding....'

  I stopped him from itemising matters further by kissing him on the
lips. He was beginning to hyperventilate anyway. Those who are not
accustomed to money tend to try and justify every item of income and
expenditure.

  `Boss, as for my own firm, I've always worked for others, never for
myself.'

  `Think big, Ryan. If you do want to start your own firm, put together
a three-year business plan. Get some help to do that, if necessary from
an accountant, and leave a copy of it at the Bank to be forwarded to me.
Think big, Ryan, like that glorious cock of yours - big and full of the
juices of life. '

  He smiled at my attempt at humour and I smiled back at him.

  `I just want you to keep me informed of how you and your family are
getting on. If you go for your own start-up, I am there for you.'

   He was going to give me a handshake but seemed to think twice.

  `Jonathan, can I give you a hug? Just shaking your hand does not seem
enough after all you have done for me.'

  I opened my arms and he laid his head on my shoulder.

  `Thanks again' was all he said and I knew that he meant much, much
more than the two words. In his closeness, I could feel the growing bulge
in his crotch and I thought to myself that some men like to be in the
presence of power, of men in suits, of men in authority and of the older
man. I wondered how many of these were turning on Ryan Smith at that
moment. I let my hand drop and touch the outline of his cock trapped in
the crotch and upper leg of his slacks. He stayed in my arms and sighed
like a lost soul that no longer had a  need to wander.

  I took in the West End musical. It was good but not half as good as my
half an hour or so with Ryan Smith, and my mind kept returning back to
the event of earlier in the evening as cast and chorus swung their way
through the musical comedy hit that had run and run very successfully on
Broadway. For some reason, the Fates stroll into and out of the duration
of our lives touching them with their ethereal frottage, and I had felt
this afternoon dalliance with Ryan Smith and been one such contact.

End of Chapter 19

===========

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