Date: Thu, 21 Aug 2003 21:21:08 +0100
From: Gerry Taylor <gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Reluctant Retrainer - Chapters 10 & 11

These are the 10th and 11th chapters of The Reluctant Retrainer, part two
of a trilogy of novels of gay sex.

Keywords: authority, control, slavery, punishment,
re-training, submission, loyalty

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
will be unlawful for you to read where your live, please leave his
webpage now.

Contact points:
eMail: gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com
Web: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Erotic_Gay_Stories

The Reluctant Retrainer by Gerry Taylor

Chapter 10 -- Komil

al-Mera was much the same as I remembered it from previously. Its deep
harbour port was one of the best in the region, modern, efficient, and
dating back in slaving terms four hundred years or so on a slave lane
which went from Central Asia right down to Rub al-Khali, the Empty
Quarter, and the overseas routes from Somalia and the Horn of Africa.

The auction rooms were in light blue and gold, compared to the pastel
shades of the other one in al-Qatim, but otherwise identical. The dealer
had been apprised of my arrival and its purpose. As the drive down was
traffic-free, I arrived about ten minutes earlier than I had said.

The dealer was a little flustered at my earlier than expected arrival,
saying that he had put the slave to doing some exercises so as to have
him in peak shape for when I came. I put him immediately at his ease and
said we could look at the slave while he exercised.

With a clapping of hands, doors were opened and we were led down a
passage way to what turned out to be a large indoor hall, where at
auction times the slaves would have been prepared for the showroom
itself.

In the middle of the hall, there was a figure doing one arm press-ups on
a mat. His body was bathed in perspiration. To one side of the room an
attendant was standing with a hose, obviously to have given him his
shower before I arrived.

As I looked in amazement at the gymnastic spectacle taking place before
my eyes, the slave on the mat changed arms and proceeded to do press-ups
with the other arm obviously to his own programme. The attendant with the
hose made as if to interrupt him, but I signalled him back.

The slave then did some form of lifting his body off the mat with his two
hands between his legs which were stretched out in front of him, and did
one of those little gymnastic twirls of legs around in a complete circle
before standing up with his arms stretched towards the ceiling. His back
was to us so he did not see us watching him.

I put my two hands together and have him a six or seven round clap of
applause. He jumped and spun round and immediately prostrated his naked
form head to the ground.

The dealer shouted `display' and the slave went to `display.' It was
only when I stood beside the perspiring giant that I knew how small I
was. My arm would have been like a child's compared to his bulging
muscles.

I said `rest' and he put his hands behind his back. I was relieved that
he stopped being at `display' as his member which had been flopping
around while he was at exercise now firmed up and before my very eyes,
extended to at least 10 inches if not more. It was a long time since I
had seen such a beauty.

The slave was blinking away the perspiration running into his eyes. His
chin was at my forehead level if not higher. I reached up and with a
finger pulled down on it so that I could look him in the eyes. I took out
my handkerchief and wiped away the sweat from his face. I don't know who
was more surprised, the dealer, the attendant or the slave.

`You are good,' I said looking into the clear brown eyes of the slave,
and motioned in a circular fashion the imitation of his gymnastic
exercises.

He smiled a quick smile and said in reasonable English, `Yes, Master.'

Close to him, there was a fresh smell off him though he had been
exercising. I took a rivulet of sweat from his armpit and tasting its
salt, put my finger in his mouth. His eyes registered shock as I rubbed
my finger off his tongue and in a split second, he was sucking the finger
as if it were a sugared lollipop.

I stood back from him. His erection was still there. I grasped it firmly
and he did not flinch. I rubbed my thumb over the cut tip and along the
slit of the urethra. His eyes widened a fraction. Sensitive, I thought to
myself and at that moment I felt the issue of pre-cum from his urethra in
reaction to the lightest of rubs I had given it.

Turning to the dealer, I asked the price in Arabic and was told twenty
eight thousand euro. I said far too much, that I just purchased a
Bulgarian of similar build in al-Qatim not two hours ago for twenty two
thousand euro five hundred.

`But, Master, he is so talented. He is adept and supple and his size,
Master, such tackle. The Master would have hours of delight.'

`Ah, my dealer friend, he is not for me but for a surprise present for a
friend who will have to make do with the Bulgarian.'

`Master, the Bulgarian is a farm worker and this one has much bigger
tackle.'

`Aha, so you know the slave whom I am speaking of?'

`Yes, Master,' the dealer wheezed.

`So why did the Bulgarian or this one not sell?'

`I think that new masters think they will eat too much, Master, unless
they have a speciality value.'

`How right you are, my dealer friend. But for me, he is merely to be a
present. And if you want me to take him off you hands now, tell me how
much you want me to write on my personal cheque.'

`Twenty five thousand, master, my last figure.'

`Done. But I have one final question to ask?'

`Yes, Master, ask any question you want.'

`No, not of you. Of the slave.'

Turning to the slave, I asked `Do you understand English?'

`Yes, Master, a small English'

`I want to buy you.'

`Yes, Master.'

`What is your name? Name?' and I tapped his chest.

`Komil, Master. Komil Rostov, Master.'

And then I asked a question, I had never asked a slave before saying,
`Do you want to be my slave?' and, at `you', I touched his chest and,
at `my', I touched mine.

I think it was shock that first registered on his face that he should
ever have a choice in such a matter. And then he dropped to his knees,
and kissed my feet, saying `Yes, Master. Yes, Master.'

Turning to the astonished dealer I said, `Well, where do I write this
cheque. Get this slave washed up. I shall take him with me now when I
leave.'

Five minutes later, after a glass of half-decent champagne and the
receipt of Komil's file, I was ready to depart. My new slave was
brought. The attendant had a series of chains and cuffs ready to put on
him as I might choose.

Holding up a length of chain to Komil, I said, `Yes? No?' and again
repeated it for him to clearly understand the import of the question,
`Yes? No?'

`No, Master' and he took my hand and touched it to his bent-down
forehead.

The attendant was going to put him in the trunk, but I said `No, in the
back of the limousine.'

The naked Komil sat on the floor his legs curled under him. I said
goodbye to the dealer and my driver was off in a cloud of dust. It would
be a two and a half hour journey back to the Aloe Palace and there was no
need waste it and that it should not be an enjoyable one.

I raised the darkened window between the driver and ourselves and then
darkened the back windows with a flick of one of the switches. Komil's
eyes never left mine for a moment. His look was not as fear, simply
curiosity and somewhat perplexed at the swiftness in the change in his
fortunes.

I checked and re-read his dossier again. He was only in Dahra three
months. Aha! He had been engaged but not married. Ah! A wrestler and
gymnast at the Uzbek equivalent of high school. He was supposed to be
even tempered despite his size. Well we would see about that, I thought.

Having read enough, I took off my jacket and tie. I slipped off my shoes,
all the times giving glances over to Komil, whose member was growing or
was that only my imagination. No, it was not my imagination. His cock was
stiffening. I looked down at it and up at his face. He looked down at it
and at me, and a big smile creased his face.

He reached out his two hands towards my shirt and I let him pull it off
over my head. Then to my mind, he did an extraordinary thing. Instead of
dropping the shirt on the floor or on the seat as I had untidily done
with the jacket and tie, he carefully folded it and placed it on the
seat. Then he reached forward to my belt, undid it, and eased down my
trousers. Likewise, they were folded. He then without hesitation slipped
a finger in each side of my boxers and pulled them down.

With an approving glance at my six inches of flaccid cock beginning an
ascension now that it was liberated and heading for a more respectable
7.5 inches, he let it lie on his tanned fingers, and lifting it to his
lips, his eyes never leaving mine for a split second gave me the best
blow job of the month.

I am not really a one geyser wonder, but when I come, it does take a
while for my batteries to recharge, so when he had sucked me for some
fifteen or so lapping motions of his mouth, I knew that he knew all about
blowjobs and that I would come very quickly unless I stopped him.

While I can top or bottom, I usually prefer the more dominant role and I
now asserted myself. I pushed Komil back on the carpet floor of the car
and checked out his body.

Komil's nipples tips were pert and outstanding in their centres with a
beautiful rose area of sensitive flesh around each. His belly had a nice
definition of abs without them being over developed and an almost flat
belly button on his taut abdomen. A light brown treasure trail led down
to two of the most beautiful testicles I had ever seen which were crowned
with a cut member, certainly on some ten inches, which did not taper as
some cocks do, but was almost of equal girth from crown to base. Well
not exactly, the base was that little bit thicker as it emerged from a
thick black forest of shining pubic hair.

I took the tip of his cock in my mouth and he groaned aloud. I ran my
lips and the slightest scraping of teeth over the corona of his glans.
Komil jerked and shuddered.

The shaft from his flange and frenullum was rough so I let my lips
tightly embrace it. He groaned and groaned and I could feel the strength
of pressure inside his distended member now all of its 11 plus inches. I
could not take it all in my mouth as it tip was gagging the back of my
throat, but I made valiant attempt after attempt.

Komil was moaning now more than groaning, and his hands were clutching or
at least trying to clutch at the carpet on the limousine floor.

I could feel that he was close to coming. I little realised how much,
because as I was just firmly gripping the corona of this glans again,
there was an almighty spurt of sweet semen which hit the back of my mouth
and uvula, followed by at least another six spurts. Each time he came,
the body of this Uzbek giant lifted from the floor of the limousine as
shouted and shuddered, until he was finally spent.

In our limousine, there is a small fridge behind the front seat. I took
out some water and gave it to Komil. He looked at taking it in a cut
glass tumbler in astonishment but took it with a care and gentleness that
was touching. I refilled the tumbled twice and he seemed to be sated.

I then took out two of the small packs of butter spread you use for
crackers and indicating to Komil to put himself on his hands and knees
with his butt facing me, I spread the butter over his hole which was as
tight as it was warm. He shuddered slightly at the coolness of the butter
direct from the fridge and shuddered ever so slightly again when the
first of my fingers worked its way into his passage way.

Komil's tightness was extraordinary, but one finger was followed by two
and then a third after some minutes. He was now breathing heavily. My two
fingers had touched his prostate one or twice, but as he had come, it
might just be sore as can happen with some guys when they are spent, so I
did not linger deliberately over it.

I now felt myself totally hard, and kneeling between his legs,
positioning myself at a good angle, I slipped in as gently but as firmly
as I could into this gentle giant. He gave a big sigh and I was in. I
left myself inside him for a minute with very little movement and then
set up a gentle rocking motion of in and out.

Twice if not three times I felt myself having touched his prostate which
was now quite hard, so it was safe to assume that I could penilely attack
it in safety.

For some fifteen minutes, I let Komil feel the insertion and domination
of my penis inside him. But all good things come to an end. I could feel
the tightness of pre-ejaculation building in my scrotum and within a
minute, I had unloaded two, if not three, well blasted loads into his
tightness.

Taking a tissue I wiped myself off and saw that I was quite clean. Komil
had been washed inside and out before we had left al-Mera. I wiped his
butt with the tissue before disposing of it, and then gave him a firm
smack on the butt to tell him to turn over and around which he did.

He seemed a little quiet and somewhat bemused.

I said `OK, Komil?'

He nodded, and then said `OK, Master' and gave a little smile. The
putting up his first finger, he sort of shook it pointing to his back
side, and put up the first finger again in the air.

It was his way of saying that it was the first time he had been
butt-fucked or bare-backed or both.

The rest of the trip sped by as I was dressed and was actually helped by
Komil who for the size of his fingers, buttoned up my shirt with the
precision of a diamond merchant handling gems, shoved the loose ends of
my shirt into my pants and fastened my belt as if he had been doing it
for years. And again, the smile.


Chapter 11 -- Yedo

We arrived back at the Aloe Palace just before half past six. I had
utterly enjoyed the trip back even the last half hour of just looking at
Komil kneeling in front of me, his large cockhead just resting on the
floor, his beautiful balls really the size of mandarins, not peach sized
any longer now that they had been relieved of their seed hanging down in
his scrotum.

I realised as we drove back to the Palace that I had in fact purchased a
larger version of Yuriy. The new slave Komil and he had many similar
physical characteristics.

I could not resist my temptation in once or twice, well ok, maybe four or
five times, fondling his balls with the toes of my right foot. Komil
would never move or flinch. I certainly was not hurting him and I got the
impression that he was enjoying the attention.

I had so enjoyed the afternoon that I decided to have a little fun at
Aziz's expense when I got back to the Palace.

As I had not told anyone when I was actually going to arrive, the
courtyard was empty and on going into the Palace with Komil, it was only
Bob, the Canadian slave, I happened to meet.

He took one look at the size of Komil and said `Holy shit!' and then
immediately, `Sorry, Master.'

I told him to tell no one anything other than I had arrived and was in my
quarters, to call Food and Drink the two body slaves, and to let Flavio
know that dinner at eight would be for four, and then to come to my
quarters.

A couple of minutes later Food and Drink bounced into my bedroom suite
and skidded to a halt. Both are of a similar slim build and height at
about 5 foot 7. The Uzbek dwarfed them by at least a foot in both height
and width. Food and Drink are really the most terrible cowards, because
the whites of their eyes were wide with surprise and Drink even half
crouched behind Food as they shifted from foot to foot.

`I am expecting a delivery van in a little while. Run up to the roof of
the Palace, sit there until you see it coming in the distance and then
come back and tell me that it is arriving. Do you understand, both of
you?'

`Yes, Master.' `Yes, Master,' and the two scuttled off with backwards
glances at Komil.

I stripped off my clothes. The heat of the day had not yet gone; it had
turned sultry and close. I motioned Komil to follow me into the shower.
Naked for all but the titanium bracelet on his ankle, he had nothing in
the line of clothes to shed. A body like his would never be hidden by
clothes in this Palace that was for sure.

I showed him the controls for the shower and how to get the water
running, switched them off, stood back and pointed to them. He had the
shower running perfectly in less than fifteen seconds. So, we had a quick
learner on our hands.

It was his turn now to touch me freely as I had touched him in the car.
Wetting myself under the tepid water, just as I like it, I handed him the
bar of soap and raised my hands over my head to see what he would do. He
got the message immediately and started to lather my body with the soap.

It was highly erotic for me in that this huge slave with the gentle hands
was touching me all over. When he got as far as my genitals, he stopped
in doubt. I took his hand, the one with the soap in it, and firmly placed
it on my cock. There was no more doubt, not even when I turned around and
had him do my back and even bent down for him to do the crack in my ass.

It must have been about that time that I noticed that Bob was in the
doorway.

`I am back, Master'

`How long have you been there?' I asked with a smile.

`About two balls and one washed crack in the ass, I would say, Master,'
he replied with an impish grin.

`You have given instructions to Flavio?' I could rarely be annoyed with
Bob.

`Yes, Master.'

`Food and Drink will be down from the roof in a few minutes to tell me
of an expected delivery. When they arrive, I want you to make sure that
Aziz is kept out of the courtyard on some excuse. Got that? I will send
Food or Drink down to you, to let you know.'

`Yes, Master,' and off he went.

Komil at this stage had showered himself more by just standing under the
spray than anything else and was looking at the toilet.

I motioned him over to it, and immediately, he let fly a pent-up piss
that would have done a horse proud. I realised it was about his time for
shitting, and having been in training for three months or so, would be
accustomed to doing it only twice a day, upon getting up and before
evening food.

I indicated to him to sit down on the toilet, but as slaves generally
just squat over a shit-hole holding their knees, he squatted low over the
toilet, but not actually sitting on it, and with controlled precision
dropped three turds without problem or any sense of shame or lack of
decorum into the bowl. He turned to push the flush button -- there was
not a handle on this particular toilet, but I said `No' and his hand
stopped in mid-air.

Going over I took the nozzle of the douche which was clipped onto its
hook beside the toilet, ran it for a few seconds until the water was
tepid, and with two fingers on Komil's shoulder I had him bend until his
head was almost touching his knees and backed him over the toilet bowl.

I don't think that he had been given a real douche enema before. Usually
at the slave marts, it was a hose of cold water and a smaller hose up the
anus. Here the douche was smooth and about five inches long. It slid into
his anus quite smoothly. Maybe some of the butter of the afternoon's
activities was still greasing his butt hole. He did not move, or grunt or
groan. He just stayed there while I inserted it fully. I pressed the
button to release the flow of tepid water into his rectum and counted up
to ten, then pulling out the nozzle gently. A warm enema to my mind
should always be a pleasure and never a pain.

With the palm of my hand on his butt, I pushed it down until he was
sitting on the toilet bowl. He was looking at me, waiting. I pretended to
count off seconds on my wrist watch with an exaggerated swing of my
forearm to look at the watch. At twenty seconds, I said, `OK, Komil'
and a rush of watery shit hit the toilet bowl with force, which I flushed
away -- a goodly load if I were to say so myself.

Again, I stood him up and repeated the procedure, though this time
counting up to twenty as the flow of water went into him. Towards twenty,
his butt muscles flinched as if there were a lot of pressure inside.

Again, I did my wrist watch routine, for twenty seconds and again, a much
large force mainly of water hit the toilet bowl which I flushed away with
just a little excrement in it.

We repeated the procedure a third time, for thirty seconds, at the end of
which Komil tried to widen his legs apart -- clearly a lot of inside
pressure. I don't think that he would have been really able to move more
than sit down on the toilet bowl -- there must have been over two litres
of water in his rectum at this stage, and he let fly into the bowl with a
waterfall force, followed by a deep breath and a pant.

`Well done, Komil, that's all.'

`Ok, Master,' he said with another deep breath.

Just then Food and Drink appeared breathless. A vehicle was coming! I
told Food to tell Bob that I was going down to the courtyard and told
Drink to tell Yuriy and Greg to meet me there. Off they sped. I gave
Komil the towel I had used and told him to dry himself and gesticulated
to him to wait in the bedroom suite.

I went down to the courtyard. It was deserted. But as the sound of a
motor drew near, a white Transit came into the courtyard. Some seconds
later, both Yuriy and Greg appeared from their quarters.

The van driver signed over his delivery and Yedo stepped out. He had been
squatting in the back of the darkened van, so he was blinking in the
light. His wrists were attached to the standard neck collar. With his
elbows sticking out, he looked ever taller than his 6 foot 7.

Drink who had appeared, with his usual curiosity to see what was
happening, kept me between himself and the new giant -- coward that he
was.

Yedo finally got his eyes to focus and seeing me, went on his knees and
made obeisance with his forehead touching on the courtyard ground. A
little tricky when your hands are tied behind your head, but he managed
it admirably.

With my foot, I got him to kneel up, and asked him `OK, Yedo?'

`OK, Master.'

I indicated to Yuriy to take off the wrist cuffs and the neck collar and
Yedo massaged his wrists and neck at their release.

Beckoning that coward Drink over, I told him to take Yedo, - `that is
his name, Drink' - up to my suite and give him a shower. He was to stay
there until called.

And in a terrifying moment for Drink, I took his hand and put it on Yedo
prize-sized flaccid cock and told him to be off. He looked up at Yedo a
full foot above him, half expecting his hand to be bitten off. I gave him
a smack on the butt and off they went.

Yuriy and Greg were standing just there.

`We are going to eat at eight and Aziz also. What do you think of the
new arrival, Greg?'

`Big' was the laconic reply.

`Well, there is another one as well up in my bedroom suite, and I want
the two of them shaved and prepped for after the meal. I am going to
spring a little surprise on Aziz.'

The two of them grinned.

`After the meal, I am going to bring these two giants in and ask Aziz
what he thinks of them. If he goes for one, I want both of you to go for
the other -- really to go for the other.'

The two overseers had grins a mile wide.

`Off you go, Greg. And Yuriy, let's find Aziz.'

Aziz was in the kitchens in an argument with Flavio. I winked to Bob as I
went in but with a finger to my lips warned him not to respond.

`Ah, Aziz, I want you to have dinner with me and the overseers this
evening. I have a number of matters to discuss about the Palace and
won't have time in the morning. All is well here, Flavio?'

`Yes, Master. No, Master. Aziz, chicken. Me, lamb.'

I looked at Bob for clarification. `They are having an argument over
what to have for you and your guests tonight. Flavio did not know who
they are to be.'

`Guests? Ah, Flavio. I understand, me, Aziz, Yuriy and Greg. OK?'

`What would your suggest for the menu, Aziz?'

`Chicken, Master.'

`Chicken it is, Flavio,' and I gave him a big wink which Aziz,
triumphant in winning that menu argument, could not see.

Flavio's meals as always were superb. He could have graced any great
hotel and not have been found wanting. A chicken fricassee on a bed of
white rice, baby carrots and sweet beans tiny roasted new potatoes. A
crème anglaise of pure custard which he knew Aziz loved for desert. Water
and a four year old bottle of Chablis. Simplicity itself! Perfection to
the palate!

I mentioned again during the meal to Aziz the need for him to have an
assistant. He said he had Ross. I dismissed the idea. That was only to
help with the Swedes, while they learned a little more Arabic and he had
learned a little more English. No someone who might ease his burden in
running the household--Aziz looked pleased at that--and mentioned that he
was not getting any younger--at that he looked quite alarmed. Greg was
beside himself with glee and spluttered into his wine glass. Yuriy made
up for his grin by pretending that it was Greg's swallowing the wrong
way.

`So, Aziz, since you are not going to make up your mind on the matter, I
had two specimens of slaves sent round this afternoon from the auction
rooms. We can choose one or none, as the case may been and sent one or
both back in the morning.'

`Slaves? I have seen no slaves arrive this afternoon, Master.'

`Oh, I saw them arrive, Aziz' said Greg, `you must have been busy.'

`Yes,' Yuriy said warming to the deception, `I was there and they were
sent to take a shower. Do you want to see them, Master?'

`I suppose, we should. That is if we are going to send one or both back
in the morning, if they are not right.'

Bob who had been serving the table was told to fetch the two new slaves
and we all watched Aziz's face as the two walked in, prepped and shaven,
hair trimmed to perfection, with the slightest glint of oil on their
skins. Food and Drink had worked their body magic as they knew how to do.
The two giant slaves made obeisance and went to `display' position
without even being told.

Aziz's face was a picture of frozen incredulity. He looked at Komil and
then he looked at Yedo, and there was the most extraordinary
thunderstruck look in his eyes.

`Perhaps, Aziz, you might like to inspect them a little more closely,'
I said, and he got up hesitatingly.

Komil was nearer to him, and Aziz looked at the golden tanned Uzbek
perfunctorily.

Aziz moved to the darker Bulgarian who irradiated strength, his black
hair in an even stubble, his armpit hair shaven to a thin strip in the
depths of each axila. His fingers touched the centre of Yedo chest as if
it were made of fine bone china. He looked at the strength of his limbs,
the perfection of his abdomen muscles and the appendage between his legs,
so large that it was concealing his balls.

`Well, Aziz, what do you think? Do you think one or other might be able
to help you in your duties?'

I thought that Greg would explode, but a withering glance made him
suppress his mirth.

`Bob, give Aziz some more water,' I said as he sat down on his cushions
again.

`You want me to decide, Master?'

`Indeed, Aziz, unless you know that neither will be any good. In which
case, they both can go back to the auction rooms tomorrow.'

`No, Master, I think the dark one might be of some use,' he ventured
tentatively.

`Yedo, the Bulgarian? Turn around,' I said to the slave imitating a
pirouette with my fingers and he turned and did one of the shoulder poses
which bodybuilders do. Every muscle on his perfect body a picture in
itself.

`What do you think, Yuriy, Greg? Would you agree?' Aziz looked alarmed.

He looked even more alarmed when Yuriy and Greg, warming to my deception,
both expressed a clear preference for Komil, the Uzbek.

`Look at his build, Master, much better. And the strength in his arms.'

Komil flexed himself knowing that that he was being spoken of. Even his
proud member reacted to half-mast.

The look on Aziz's face was near tragic, so I put him out of his misery
by saying, `Aziz, you must decide. The slave is to work with you. That
is if you want one of these two.'

`The Bulgarian, Master.' was all he could manage and his hand trembled
as he took another sip of water.

`Yedo, it is then,' I declared `Go sit beside the overseer you are to
help.'

He understood where he was to sit, but I don't think he understood what
was said about his role. Sitting down beside Aziz's right leg, the
overseer put his hand on the slave's shoulder just moving a thumb up and
down the skin every so often. His eyes were as bright as few times I had
seen them over the past months. They had shone like that when I had asked
him to head my household and when he was given his overseer's fly-whisk.

Aziz swallowed a number of times and then seemed to find his voice,
`Thank you, Master, thank you,' he said, but his eyes were on the neck
and shoulders of his new assistant.

`Yes, Aziz, well chosen,' Greg said and Yuriy with a sly smile agreed.

`So what am I going to do with this other one,' I said. `Send him
back, or find something for him to do here?'

With that the silence in the room was broken by a loud rumble from
Komil's stomach. Maybe it was the smell of the food in the room - slaves
only eating twice a day upon getting up and before going to bed.

Yuriy roared with laughter. `If you keep him, he will eat twice as much
as any other slave.'

I told Bob to get eight of the slave biscuits from the kitchen. I had
quite forgotten to have either of them fed. Bob returned immediately with
the special protein and vitamin balanced biscuits on a plate. I took four
and indicated to him to give the other four to Aziz for Yedo.

`Sit,' I said to the hovering giant in front of me, and pointed to a
spot beside my right leg. I broke a biscuit in half and said `Open.'

Komil opened wide and I could see perfect teeth in his mouth -- well
almost perfect. I popped in the half biscuit and gave him the glass of
water which I had been sipping. That went down in two gulps and he
continued to run his tongue over his teeth getting the last crumbs of the
biscuit to swallow. `Open' and I popped the other half of the biscuit.

Aziz was doing likewise with Yedo whose eyes were glued on the plate of
biscuits and on Aziz to the total exclusion of all others in the room.

I was about to give Komil his next biscuit, when I felt his fingers
rubbing the back of my ankle and leg. He did not blink or move a muscle
just waited patiently there to be fed.

I asked Yuriy if he would have work for Komil the following day.

`That means, Master, you are going to buy the second slave?'

Aziz looked up in alarm at the suggestion.

`I already have, Yuriy, the two of them' and with Greg and Yuriy, I
burst out laughing. Even Bob joined in having been privy to the deception
which we had played on Aziz.

It took Aziz a while to smile and then to laugh at how he had been
tricked.

`Aziz, the slave is a present for you. Because everyone in this
household respects you. He is to help you during the day and if you want
him, he is to be yours at night.'

`Thank you, Maser, I want him more than you can ever imagine.'

The quietness with which he said that stopped our merriment. He continued
in a very fast fluent but dialectic Arabic which I could see that neither
Yuriy nor Greg were able to follow.

`When I was very young, Master, in the home of Master Abdou's father,
there was a Turk as big as this slave here. I followed him everywhere as
a child and would get him pieces of food from the kitchens -- that is
before slave biscuits were sold. I would work beside him in the field -
he with a huge adze, I, with a tiny one.'

`And at night, I would put my back to his chest and he would hold me
embraced in his arms though the night. He would call me his warm desert
stone because as a child I was always warm. With him, I was always safe,
even from the other children who might ever wish to hit me. He would just
look at them and half shut his eyes like a cat and they would leave me
alone.'

`Then one morning, he was taken away. The Master had sold him. I never
felt safe again until you, Master, asked me to be your head of household.
Now with this giant at my feet, I feel again the safety I felt as a
child.'

He stopped talking and there was silence in the room. The others knew
something important had been said, but did not know what.

`Master, I have said too much and taken too much of your time and abused
your generosity. I shall now retire for the night.'

I got to my feet and embraced, Aziz, my slave. Yedo had got to his feet
as well. I looked at him and putting my hand on my heart, I said `Aziz
is my friend' and I then put my hand over Aziz's heart. `Master and
Aziz like this' and I put my two hands together. `Yedo, understand,
yes?'

The slave answered `Yedo, understand, yes.'

It was enough excitement for one day.

Subsequently, I learned from Yuriy that Aziz would personally feed Yedo
each morning and evening, Yedo sitting at his feet being fed four
biscuits at each session -- twice the usual amount due to his massive
size and bulk. And at night, he would wrap Yedo's arms around him and
sleep cradled in the arms of his giant.

I heard that here was nothing explicitly sexual in their relationship
because that aspect of it was handled by Mamoud and Mehmed, the two
layabouts as I called them, who themselves were hung like young bulls and
who on the first occasion -- the very next day in fact - that Aziz
introduced them to Yedo, he took them one under each arm, with the ease a
housewife would a couple of bags of shopping, and walked into the slave
quarters from whence they did not emerge for over two hours.

But normally in the mornings, when Mamoud and Mehmed had milked each
other in the showers, Yedo would walk across from Aziz's overseer's
quarters and while being shaved by one, would be sucked off by the other,
earn alternating the duty.

The solving of one problem, that of getting someone for Aziz, brought
into focus that another immediate problem remained, the handing back to
Farouq al-Hamdi of his four mining slaves...


to be continued...