Date: Thu, 02 Mar 2006 20:31:32 +0000
From: Gerry Taylor <gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Dahran Sands - Chapter 21 - Gay - Authoritarian

This is the twenty first 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.

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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/

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Chapter 21 - The new citizen

Never sit in the place of a man who can say to you, `Rise'.

 (Arab proverb).



  I was sitting on the veranda getting a report on the al-Kadir property
from my new head of project there, Georgi Gridov.

  Unlike the other reports I tend to get, it was entirely verbal as
Georgi has limited writing and literary skills. That did not bother me in
the slightest. Georgi could get himself a scribe who knew how to use a
computer from among any number of the slaves. Vaz Atagi, one of my
supervisors in the fifth compound was also present.

  Bob came out and served us some lime-juice on the veranda and seeing as
something was up, I noticed that he hung around within hearing distance.
Bob, just like my secretary Ben, loves to be on the inside track of
things.

  As we were chatting away, Tony Sert, the head of a new complex arrived
at a nice trot. He had a three-foot camel cane in his hand as per the
message I had previously sent him.

  `Ah, Tony, there you are!'

  `Master, you were looking for me?'

  `How is the new sports complex coming on?'

  `It is on target, Master, another month, six weeks at the most and we
will have it ready. Swimming pool and all.'

  `Programmes in place and all?'

  I saw a second's hesitation in Tony's next reply.

  `It will be a fight, Master, to have the programmes ready from day
one. But I will do my best for you.'

  `Good, Tony. To help you, I am giving you the slave here,' and I
pointed to Nigel Broaders at the foot of the veranda steps. `He's
English so you won't have language difficulties in the morning at least,
and Tony, he is older than you. He is more intelligent than you, so you
have to put the stamp of your authority on him. Go down, have him bend
over and give him five strokes on his buttocks. Let me see how you do
it.'

  Without hesitation, Tony took the camel cane and bounded down the
veranda steps.

  `Slave, bend over and grasp the back of your knees and count off the
strokes!' he said in a loud voice, full of command.

  The camel cane flashed in the sun and the muffled voice of Nigel
Broaders counted off `one, thank you, Supervisor; two, thank you,
Supervisor....'

  When the number of strokes had been delivered, Tony bounded back up the
steps, as the slave straightened up there was sweat on his forehead.

  `Done, Master. Do you wish me to do anything more?'

  `Yes, Tony, pour yourself a glass of lime-juice.'

  Tony poured himself two thirds of a glass, and taking it, raised it in
toast to me and those present.

  `This lime-juice is mine, Master, to do with as I wish.'

  `Yes,' I said without thinking and a bit puzzled that he might not
like lime-juice.

  He nodded to me and went down the steps and handed my good Baccarat
crystal glass to a surprised Nigel Broaders who downed the glass in two
gulps. I heard a `Thank you, Supervisor,' being spoken.

  Vaz looked amused. Bob from the angle I was looking at him also looked
annoyed at his famous lime-juice being given to a mere slave and one who
had just been punished at that! Georgi was smiling at what had happened.

  `Tony, pour yourself a glass of lime-juice this time,' and I
emphasised the `yourself'.

  `Thank you, Master,' which he did and started to drink carefully.

  `What was that all about?' Vaz finally said to him referring
obviously to the previous glassful being given to the slave.

  Tony Sert first looked at me, not knowing if he had the right to reply
to another supervisor with me being there. So, he replied to me.

  `If this slave is to work well for me, Master, he must know that I am
able not only to punish him for no apparent reason, but that I can reward
him for no apparent reason either. The slave does not know me and he has
to learn to trust me. I think he will trust me in time, particularly if I
rub some Aloe sap on to his backside later tonight.'

  Vaz, who has a good sense of humour, roared laughing. Bob looked unsure
if not entirely nonplussed.

  `Tony, he is yours to do with as you please' I said. `He has not a
buddy yet, but if Dr. Miraldo tires of you any night, I am sure that this
slave will be a very willing bed companion for you. You have put him
through his paces on that score, I'm sure?' I commented looking at Vaz,
part of whose procedures in the fifth compound include the introduction
of the slave to the largest cocks from among the slave population of the
Palaces, and who was nodding at my comment.

  `Thank you, Master,' Tony replied. `He will be a big help. Thank you
for thinking of me. You say, Master, that I can do with him as I
please?'

  `Yes. What do you want?'

  `I would suggest respectfully, Master, that I get rid of the
adornments. He is the only slave I have seen in the Palaces to have them,
and with what I may have to get him to do, they could get in the way.'

  I looked at the large rings in the slave's nipples.

  `Have them removed if you wish, Tony. There were there anyway as a
punishment not as a decoration.'

  `Thank you, Boss.'

  There is nothing quite like sincere gratitude in a well-trained slave
such as Tony.

  Nigel Broaders stood `at display' in the courtyard, now well-trained
for service to me as my slave, not knowing why he had been lifted from
his legal life in London, not realising whom he had insulted and who had
unwittingly intimated his removal. He had been a predator hunter who had
himself been hunted. His former friends in the legal profession now
thought that he was an amnesiac wandering the world or dead in some
unknown place. If they but knew his fate!

  When Tony Sert was raising the matter of the steel piercings, I noticed
that the slave was staring at Tony, realising that his future lay in
Tony's wishes and in my commands. It was only for a fraction of a second
but I saw a combination of relief and adulation and thanks in the
slave's eyes for his new Supervisor. There might be some hope for Nigel
Broaders after all if he could just stop thinking of himself before my
needs as his Master.

  Poor Nigel, not only lost freedom, but lost purpose in life too! It was
up to me as his Master to give him a new purpose in his slavedom, and
that, come sand or high water, I would do!



  While in theory, the water-wheels are supposed to give water to the
gardens, it is really the Palace reservoir on its high vantage point
which provides all the volume and the force needed for the water and its
supply to the gardens if the two deep wells were ever to stop shooting
water out at pressure.

  I found myself at one point walking by a number of slaves who were
weeding some of the beds and stopped to look at them. It was clear they
had a feel for what they were doing, respecting the plants and shrubs but
getting rid of the offending weeds and dead leaves, and I nodded my
approval at their work.

  As I was standing there, Komil Rostov, who is my Head of Stables for
the Lemon Palace and who deploys the various hundreds of slaves in their
work, came along.

  `Boss, is there a problem? I heard you were out here.'

  `No, Komil, just looking at some work being done well,' and the
slaves smiled at Komil upon hearing the comment.

  I always feel tiny compared to the Uzbeki's six foot seven frame, but
I know from my own experience with him in bed, that his size is a direct
contradiction to his gentleness as a lover. When he had been lifted and
enslaved, he had been engaged to be married. His bisexuality had
therefore been a gift on finding himself in a totally male environment,
and in the small intimacies of post-coital relaxation he had made his
true orientation known to me.



  From the point of view of a slave-owner, Komil Rostov was a dream. Once
he knew his owner's wishes, he carried them out. He needed no
supervision himself, and when he did not know something he asked. Unlike
Yuriy Obov, who has a very hands on attitude in supervising the slaves
under his supervision even to the extent of stripping off and working
side by side with them on a time consuming or difficult project, Komil
would let his slaves work as best they could and would wait until they
came to him with whatever problem they have. When the work is over, it is
then that Komil reacts and congratulates even the weakest slave on his
performance and the good points of the slave's work done.

  Komil makes the slaves in his care feel wanted and appreciated. For
each of them, their own systematic approach works and I never interfere.
While I loved Yuriy dearly as my first slave, it was really to Komil that
I always felt myself close to on a sexual level and one of affection
which is why I try to arrange having him in my bed once a month.



  During the week at the Bank, I got a call from Tariq al-Akhri at the
Finance Ministry, where he is number three in the pecking order, though
he is in fact the true financial power in the Sheikdom.

  `Jonathan, if you are free for lunch, I'll send a car round for
you.'

  I agreed immediately because Tariq was a good friend whom I see few
enough times. As the middle of five brothers, he was a significant
influence in the country, both individually and with his younger brother
Abdou, who is very close to the Sheik.

  When Tariq's Mercedes collected me, the driver said his Master was
lunching at the Dahran Hilton which now had been fully rebuilt in record
time after the damage of the abortive invasion. There was little midday
traffic and we were there in no time at all.



  I was ushered through and up and into a private dining room, where
Tariq came to greet me and to present me to his own boss, the Minister
for Finance and his deputy, two elderly Dahrans dressed in white
disdashas with a simple gold trim. I had not met any of them personally,
though I had been at function where the Minister had been present.

  The lunch was Dahran cuisine and we reclined on various couches as the
food was brought in and served to us. I noticed that the Deputy Minister
ate sparingly, and the Minister even more so. They were there for matters
other than eating. Such matters would arise in due course and never
directly.

   Tariq was relaxed and kept the conversation going until about half-way
through the lunch, when the Deputy Minister with a mere gesture of his
fingers dismissed the maître d'hôtel who quickly took his serving staff
out of the room.

  Looking over at Tariq, the Deputy Minister started by thanking me for
the Bank's work in the Sheikdom. We do handle funds equivalent to 37% of
the Sheikdom's investments, and if I say so myself, through my previous
junior Partner, Gustav Ahlson and the brilliance of my other junior
Partner, Colin Bowman, we did more than well for the Sheikdom.

  `You do realise, I am sure, that the Minister and I leave the
investment side of things in the hand's of Tariq's brother, Abdou, in
Geneva and your Bank. Indeed, also for the running of the Ministry, we
rely entirely on Tariq here for day to day matters.'

  It was the nearest statement to confirming my opinion of Tariq as the
true financial power behind the throne as I was likely ever to hear.

  `The Minister is also, ex officio, on the Council of State,' the
deputy Minister said.

  Now that I did not know; there is no listing, at least not publicly of
its membership, other than it being twenty in number.

  `That, Jonathan,' Tariq chimed in, `is partly the reason for the
lunch today. Your very generous gift to the Council of State of the
Dahran Opal and of the twenty other Opal Daggers, as they are now being
called, has caused a little embarrassment.'

  `Tariq, Minister, Deputy Minister,' I said looking at each in turn,
`heavens above, there was never any intention of embarrassing anyone, I
can assure you.'

  `No, Jonathan, you misunderstand, not embarrassment in that sense. The
Sheik is delighted with the Dahran Opal which will now be in a
significant place when all meetings of the Council are taking place, just
as the Scimitar of Dahra is in place for the administration of justice.
The members of the Council have also seen great significance in the opal
daggers -- the deeply buried treasures of our land now on an instrument
of protection at the service of the Sheikdom. No, Jonathan, our
embarrassment is to find a suitable gift to give you in return.'

  `Minister, I can assure you I need nor want any gift in return. It is
I who have received more personally and in business from the Sheikdom of
Dahra that any one could ever want. I realise that you may think that you
have to give a gift but I can tell you, it is not necessary and there
must be no embarrassment or any loss of face at your end. Tariq, I am
sure you can explain it better. Anyway His Excellency has made a gift of
land to me, which is more than I could every have expected.'

  `I have tried to explain all of that, Jonathan, but not very
successfully,' Tariq murmured.

  `One small token of our appreciation is this, Sir Jonathan,' the
Minister said as he passed a small leather case to his Deputy who passed
it to me.

  Inside the case was a Dahran passport. I was being truly honoured. I
had never heard of foreigners being given Dahran passports. There was
even a passport photograph of me on the inside, thought I looked some
years younger.

  I looked at Tariq. I did not know quite what to say.

  `It is very rare that a person not born in Dahra receives a passport.
It has only been done in extremely few cases.'

  I pointed to the photograph. `Dahra makes me look younger,' I
quipped.

  `It is the photograph from your visa application of some years ago,'
the Deputy Minister said with a smile.

  `Minister, I am at a loss for words at this singular honour. Please
tell His Excellency the Sheik how much I am pleased.'



  The rest of the lunch passed off quietly and I found out that the
Minister tended his racing camel farm in the South and came to the
capital city only one day a week. The Deputy Minister had factories up
near Tarim in the north, and imitating his Minister came down to the
capital city on the same day. It struck me that the three in charge of
the finances of the Sheikdom were from the north, south and west and most
likely were from different tribes as well. So, I saw that Tariq al-Akhri
was left alone to run the finances of the Sheikdom, at least four days a
week!



  As he walked me down to his car after the lunch, Tariq apologised for
not being able to put more business the way of Deckams.

  `We spread a further twenty per cent among fifty other banks and Abdou
looks after the balance at the Geneva end. We would lose goodwill, if we
reduced the number of smaller banks around the world.'

  I stated that Deckams was very happy with its share and we would ensure
that the Sheikdom remained equally happy, `and Tariq, I am doubly
pleased that the Council of State and the Sheik are happy with my small
tokens of appreciation. It is difficult to make a gift to such a body as
the Council of State a private one. But that is what it is and where
possible, I would not like any public mention of it. That is the only
request I would make of the Sheik.'

  `Jonathan, I shall see to it that you request is honoured,' Tariq
replied.



  The al-Kadir property was coming on in leaps and bounds. It was a
marvellous sight to see line after line of slaves sweating in the sun as
they put in Stan Mercer's system of irrigation and then other kofilas
breaking the ground with their hoes and adzes in preparation first for
the fertilisation and the then planting of the fields.

  As a slave owner, with over a thousand slaves on my properties, I have
come to realise that I actually do enjoy owning slaves. The realisation
has taken a long time to gel, because I am an Englishman set in my
schooling, training and ways. However, also I am a banker and as such I
are trained to deal with life as it comes along and I try to make the
most of it.

  I enjoy the ownership of my slaves first for the simple pleasure that
they bring me in serving me in a thousand ways, both metaphorically and
literally, because as I say there are over a thousand of them. I enjoy
seeing their naked forms giving me wage-free labour at my Palaces and
their forced labour at my mine, all of this out of the sheer sense of
power it brings. While I enjoy many of them for the beauty of their
bodies, some I enjoy for their qualities of mind. Some further still, I
enjoy for their simple loyalty or their skills.



  In the greater scheme of things, I suppose I do contribute to slavery
in the modern world. I somehow doubt that if I did not buy my slaves that
there would be fewer slaves around. But as I do admit by buying them, I
am effectively creating or helping to maintain a market in slaves.

  I must hold up my hand and also confess that I have in my time ordered
the lifting of slaves - Jean-Pierre to save him from drugs for his father
and my very dear friend, Dr. Fournier; - Nigel Broaders for the heinous
act he had committed though he would never associate it with his lifting
and enslavement or the lifting of the millionaire Geoff Masters who only
wanted a life of slavery as his ultimate goal.

  I am contributing to slavery - a fact that I would never in my wildest
dreams have admitted to a mere six years ago.



End of Chapter 21


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