Date: Thu, 22 Jan 2004 18:40:02 +0000 From: Gerry Taylor Subject: The Dahran Way - Chapter 7 - Gay - Authoritarian This is the seventh chapter ex twenty two of a novel about slavery and gay sex. Keywords: authority, control, loyalty, slavery, punishment, re-training, submission, gay, sex This story is entirely a work of fiction and all rights to it and its characters are copyright, and private to and reserved by the author. No reproduction by anyone for any reason whatsoever is permitted. If you are underage to read this kind of material or if this material is unlawful for you to read where you live, please leave this webpage now. Contact points: e: gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com w: http://www.geocities.com/gerrytaylor_78/ w: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Erotic_Gay_Stories Yahoo! Messenger : gerrytaylor_78 The Dahran Way Chapter 7 The importance of fear Zeki Kemal / Berk Onur The purchase of the al-Shaad farm from Khalid and Abu, the two eldest sons of my dead neighbour, brought with it a number of problems, which had to be addressed and addressed quickly. I had the two overseers of the farm informed that I would inspect them and their slaves early one morning in March. It was an opportunity for me to try out in true working conditions the new sand buggy, which Stan had bought for me and not merely just run it up and down the avenue between the Palaces. It was really more like a golf cart with a special type of wheels and seated two people. When Aziz, my head of household, saw the buggy the first time, there was a gleam in his eye, which I pretended not to notice. I tried it around the courtyard and then handed the driving over to Komil, who for all his size, manoeuvred it expertly from the word go, former mechanic and all that he was. Accompanied by Komil on the buggy and a camel-cane under my arm, we went down the straight road between the Lime and Aloe Palaces and stopped at the start of the land of the Lemon Palace. Komil was looking at me. `Komil, would you like to be stables Master here?' `Master, if you think I can do the job. I am here to do it for you.' `Reach behind the seat. There is something for you there.' Komil pulled out an extra large size khaki pants and belt. I saw him swallow a couple of times. `Well, Komil, how many times do I have to tell a stables manager to get dressed? `Just once, Master, just once,' he said very quietly. I was sitting in the buggy, so he could not do anything by way of obeisance, so he leaned over and took my right hand and kissed the back of it. `Climb aboard, stables manager of the Lemon Palace, we have a job to do.' The land looked good, but under-worked, or not worked at all and I asked myself how twenty seven slaves could ever hope to cope there attempting to do what six hundred were hard pressed to do at the Lime Palace. There were abundant groves of date palm trees -- the Phoenix dactylifera --, which abound in the area and do so well under proper cultivation. In separate groves, there were rows and rows of fig trees -- the Ficus carica -- with their large smooth light green leaves. However, what was patently clear even to my untrained eye was that there was neglect in the groves. Figs had dropped to the ground. Fronds of the palm trees had not been collected from where they had fallen. I could not fathom out why the overseers had not made reports on all of this to the former owner, the late Mohamed al-Shaad. Despite enquiries, I never really did find that out to my satisfaction. The supervisors said they had, but had received no reply. The two supervisors were standing in shorts before two lines of poorly clad slaves as I arrived with Komil. The supervisors were a pair of Turks, Zeki Kemal and Berk Onur, aged 32 and 31 years according to their supplied files, admittedly now out of date. Zeki Kemal was according to his file, an anal virgin, while the other supervisor, Berk Onur, was not so, but by the same token had not been extensively used. I got out of the sand buggy. The supervisors and slaves just stood there, not knowing what to do. They did not even make an obeisance in the presence of their Master. I gave them something to do. `Strip! Get out of those clothes. My slaves do not wear clothes.' The supervisors looked at each other. `You two as well.' They were sharing my anger at not either having properly trained their charges nor instructed them to greet me in the manner proper to my station as Master. `Yes, Master,' they both quickly said and dropped their shorts and stepped out of them. Handing the camel-cane to Komil, I said to him, `Five to each of the former supervisors.' Komil obliged in an instant. The cane rose and dropped five times in quick succession across the backs of each of the two supervisors . The morning was cold with fear. `When I order something done, it is done immediately as you have seen your new farm manager do just now. His name is Komil. Do not forget it. I do not wait to repeat myself,' I said addressing all. `I am your new Master. Some of you may have heard of me. I am the retrainer.' One of the slaves in the first line simply dropped to the sand in a dead faint. No one moved to help him and I let him lie there. `I see you have indeed heard of me. From now on, you will do things in the style of my Palace. Have you any problems with that?' There was a faint murmuring of `No, Master' from the ranks. I took the cane from Komil and swished it in the air and demanded a clearer answer. The morning air resounded with a firm and clear `No, Master' from all but the one on the sand. I walked up to the two Turks, who both had heavy nipple rings and told them, `you two are now both slaves again and I shall see if within some months you are worthy to be assistant overseers again.' `Yes, Master. Thank you, Master' was twice repeated. The twenty seven slaves had not been purchased specifically by the previous owner, Mohamed al-Shaad, but simply had come with the estate when he had bought it some years previously, just as was now happening to me as well. They were heavily ringed, in the sense that not a single one of them did not have less than a single ring either in the septum of the nose, piercing their nipples, scrota or ear lobes. There was no general pattern. Many had one or more tattoos and four had genital cinches and one some sort of contraption separating his balls about three inches from each other with some sort of funnel up the scrotum to the cock itself. It did not look either pretty or comfortable. What concerned me however more was that there were clear signs of physical brutality and abuse on all twenty seven slaves. The general manager of my Aloe production firms in the capital city, Gus Jennings, when he had been a stables supervisor, had taught me a little trick in checking out slaves. The human skin is the largest organ of the human body and a strange one. It can deceive the human eye by appearing smooth when it is not. It also can conceal subcutaneous matter quite well, but a ridge of muscle or even fat under the skin, which has been subject to force, feels different. Don't ask me why, it just does. I ran my hand down the back of each of the slaves, almost as you would a frightened animal. I would feel ridges under the skin of each, particularly of the lower back and buttocks. None of the slaves appeared to have been flogged recently, but all had been extensively used anally. I asked each when they had last been flogged and then when they had been fucked and by whom. None had been flogged in the previous six weeks and almost all had been fucked by one or other or both of the supervisors in the past month. One pitiful specimen of a slave, with an arm, which looked strangely out of joint, had not been fucked in over three months and then, it had been by another slave. When we came to the fainted slave, I indicated to Komil to get him on his feet and two of the other slaves supported him as the came to. `Why did you faint?' `Because I am going to lose my balls, Master.' Fair enough, I thought to myself. So would I, under the circumstances. `Komil, take the slave's hand and put it under your cock.' Komil did as instructed and placed the slave's hand on the crotch of his khaki shorts. The slave's eyes never left Komil's face whose eyes were piercing in their glance. `How many balls do you feel in your hand?' `Two, Master?' he replied half in statement, half in question. `Do you know why he has two?' I did not wait for an answer to my question but answered it myself. `Because he is a good slave and he is now the stables Master of this farm, which I am now calling the Lemon Palace.' The slave dropped his hand from Komil's balls, as if they were red hot. `Good.' This statement was as much to the slaves present as it was to Komil. `We are going to get this farm working and you will be my slaves here. You will find that I am different to your former Master and that my ways are different to those of those, who have been your overseers here. You will all be trained in the ways of my Palaces, beginning this very day. Do I make myself clear?' There was a chorus of `Yes, Master' from twenty nine voices. As we drove back to the Lime Palace, Komil was very quiet as he can be, but as we drew close to our destination, he said, `Master, just tell me what you want and it will be done.' `I know that Komil. That is why I chose you. It does however mean that I'll have to get someone else to look after me at night.' `Yes, Master, but perhaps not forever.' I never had to worry about Komil or the lands of the Lemon Palace, though it was just a farm for the first two years with its basic outbuildings for the slaves. The building of the Lemon Palace proper is another story. The two former supervisors and twenty seven slaves were sent to the medical facility of the Lime Place and one by one passed very quickly through the retraining room with Greg and Jess. Komil had a very simple way of securing loyalty in that he copied Yuriy Obov -- fucking each of the slaves until there was total submission. He started with Zeki Kemal, who had never been taken up the arse and, who hated every minute of his first fucking according to Komil. The Turk instead loved being a top with the other slaves, Komil had learnt, so he took Zeki in the middle of the sleeping quarter the very first night of his return from the Lime Palace. As Komil's cock was all of ten inches and usually hard as warm granite, it took a long time for Zeki to take it full length the first evening. But Komil was in no hurry. He took two of the other slaves then the same night as Zeki recovered from his first fucking and then before the evening was up, had Zeki on his back on a table, having his open gullet fed with inch after inch of Komil's unwashed appendage. Komil told me that when Zeki Kemal, living up to this name in Turkish -- Zeki meaning smart -- saw that Komil was not either trying to deliberately hurt or overly humiliate him, relaxed little by little, even having to accept going to sleep with Komil up his now distended hole. Another of Komil's little tricks, which worked for him very well was to appoint the very weakest and most miserable looking of each group as the head of the work detail of five slaves, with the instruction that the two laziest slaves were to be reported to him every day, each of whom got two strokes of a camel-cane. But the best of Komil's procedures was to tell Zeki Kemal and Berk Onur that he would observe their performance over the next months, as they would be working on the farm and perform in his bed whenever called for. For the less satisfactory of the two slaves, he would recommend to have one or both of the slave's testicles removed. From that day, the two former overseers were the most hard-working slaves of the whole group I had purchased from the al-Shaad brothers. It showed me very clearly the importance of fear as a means of training, though not the best of means, I must admit, but a means that works with some very effectively. There were never two more hard working slaves for that particular month. One month after the first EU prisoners had come out of training, I was inspecting the Lemon Palace slaves one evening as they came back from the fields and Komil lined them up. `I have said, Master, that one of these two slaves is to be half-gelded. I cannot decide, which as one is lazy in the fields and one is lazy in bed.' `Why not let all the slaves decide, which of the two is to be gelded?' `Yes, Master,' and speaking to the slaves, Komil said, `Which of the two Turks is to be half-gelded, Zeki or Berk? Put up your hand if Zeki is to lose a ball?' Fifteen hands went up. `Put up a hand if Berk is to lose a ball?' Eleven hands went up. One slave had not voted. I was about to say something when Komil spoke my mind, `Who did not raise a hand?' One of the slaves took a step forward; he was small and dark. `Why did you not raise a hand?' `Because they are both the same and each should lose a ball. They both hurt me when they were supervisors.' I could only smile at that. Neither of the Turks had any friends in their hour of need. I walked over to Zeki, who was now perspiring freely in the evening sun. `Fifteen of the slaves say that you should lose a ball? Are they wrong?' `Mercy, Master. No, Master, they are not wrong but please have mercy.' I put my hand on his ball sack. His balls were full and round and hard in the scrotum. I firmly pressed on each. He did not move and I squeezed until his breath hissed in. I went over to Berk, who was as solid and firm looking a slave as his Turkish name implied. I asked him the same questions and he too begged for mercy as his balls were squeezed, literally hanging in the balance and in the breeze, as he half closed his eyes as the pressure became too much. `Komil.' `Yes, Master.' `The gelding of these two slaves is put off for three months during, which time on alternate days they will be on water guy duty and rock duty here at the Lemon Place and by night they will offer themselves to any slave, who wants them. If no slave wants them that night, the following morning they will get five strokes of a camel-cane. Is that clear, Komil?' `Yes, Master' Komil said, with a grin. Speaking to the assembled slaves, I said, `You have heard what I have said to the stables Master. These former overseers are now to service your sexual needs by day and by night. If at the end of three months, three of you say that either of them is to be half-gelded, it will be done.' There was a cheer from the slaves, with clenched fists up in the air, as they looked on the former overseers, who had tormented them and, who were now to be theirs for their service and pleasure. For some reason, maybe because of the higher vote against him, but for the following three months Zeki Kemal lived in constant fear and I can honestly say that his personality changed from one of overbearing to almost pleasantly human. Berk Onur was not far behind in finding ways to service the slaves at night, as many as two or three a night at times. At the time of writing this diary entry, both Turks are still in full possession of both balls, because both got two votes each at the end of the quarter. The slave, who could not make up his mind and did not vote previously still does not know, which way to vote. Therefore both Turks lived on the edge of fear as they tried even harder to service their fellow slaves. If the Turks lived in fear, it was my resolve to help Dieter Schaffer come to grips with his own demons in the area of sex with anyone other than his buddy Georgi. Because of Dieter's rape by Rashid al-Akhri, on those evenings when Komil could not be my bedroom body slave, I had Dieter present to witness my performance and handling of my slaves in bed. Normally when sex is finished, due to the humidity of the Dahran night, there always is a lot of perspiring. While my playmate of the night would wash me, I would always made a point of having Dieter come into the shower with me, though he would not have been involved in the sexual activity, to have him look at me being washed down by the playmate of the night and to get him accustomed to my touching of his more sensitive and intimate parts as I reciprocated. It took, I remember, just three sessions in the showers, for Dieter finally to take up a Loofah one night, move my playmate aside and speaking in perfect Arabic said, `Allow me, Master, to wash your back.' He started washing down my back with firm strokes of the hard fibrous surfaces of the Loofah. When I smiled over my shoulder at him and complimented him, as much for his Arabic as for his initiative finally, he smiled back at me and I felt some progress had been made on his sexual training and in his ability to trust me as his Master. I felt that his fears whatever they might be were dissipating and that trust being built up between us would pay handsome dividends in time. End of chapter 7. To be continued...