Date: Mon, 25 Oct 2004 22:24:29 +0100
From: Gerry Taylor <gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Seventh Desert - Chapter 1 - Gay - Authoritarian

The Seventh Desert by Gerry Taylor

This is the first chapter (ex twenty two) of a novel about present-day
slavery and gay sex.

Keywords:  authority, control, loyalty, slavery, punishment, retraining,
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 it is unlawful
for you to read such material 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




Preface



In ancient times, the wisdom of mythology had it that our destiny rested
in the lap of the gods. It was a convenient way of explaining the
inexplicable twists and turns of life. Perhaps, come to think of it, it
was not too far off the truth, because we see time and time again that
Fate, or rather any one of the three Fates, may intervene unexpectedly
and offer us a new option, a new path or a new choice.

In my own life, this has been the case, and in the previous Dahran
trilogies, I have mentioned how, on at least four occasions, the hand of
one or other of the Fates has done just that and intervened.

This volume of my writings comprises a set of further recollections from
200x onwards about matters--some ordinary, some quite
extraordinary--which happened to me in Dahra, that arid but beautiful
desert land on the Persian Gulf which has been home to me for the past
number of years.

My name is Martin -- Sir Jonathan Martin, at your service - and I trust
that you will learn something from my experiences, for such is the
foundation of all knowledge, and, more importantly, of wisdom.



Dahra,

April 200x



Chapter 1 -- The plots of life



...`There was a thunderous knocking on the bedroom door and Yuriy Obov,
the Head of Stables of the Lime Palace rushed in.

 `Master, Dahra has been invaded!'

                             The Dahran Rebuttals



For as long as local inhabitants could remember and as they confirmed to
me, Dahra had been at peace. Originally, it was a small nation of tribes
on the Gulf, - too small to be important, totally desert and mountain
apart from a coastal strip to be of interest, too hot to be enviable, and
until the discovery of oil and gas some thirty five or so years
previously, too poor to be worthy of military invasion. Its only claim to
local and historical fame had been its two deep-sea ports renowned in
times of yore for being centres of the slave trade.

Dahra had been politically ignored by the big powers and regional sheiks
whose interests homed in on the larger countries, on the arable lands, on
the pockets of oil and minerals, and on deserts a little cooler.

To the western ear, cool deserts might sound to be an oxymoron - a
playful contradiction in terms - but to the Arab ear and mind, deserts,
according to their location, are rated differently. The Dahran Desert, as
it is collectively called, is one of the hottest in the world because of
the lack of winds and the location of the Dahran mountains and hills,
again due to a climatic quirk, get winter rains in the winter nights,
which the desert itself does not.

It was therefore quite a shock to me to hear that the country, since it
had emerged as such, at peace for over a century under three generations
of the present Sheik's family, had been invaded.

My Palaces located on the Western Road some sixty miles from the capital
city had gone into shutdown mode -- such is the modern terminology. Steel
shutters came down to protect the lower floors. Protective gratings had
been raised at all entrances to the Palaces to impede motorised entrance.
I made certain that the secure room in each Palace was ready to receive
its designated Heads of Household, Stables or myself.

My Head of Stables at the Aloe Palace, Yuriy Obov, had been on night duty
when a messenger came pell-mell up to the Palace from the head of police
for the Western Road area and I had been informed within minutes.

Because of the financial implications internationally for Deckams, the
Bank where I work and of which I am the Dahran partner, I put in a call
immediately from the secure room at the Lime Palace to our London centre,
which operates 24/7 as our American cousins say so mathematically. The
call was brief. I the duty offer more news would follow when such was to
hand.

Success and disaster are two impostors who inhabit the same tent and who
from time to time stick their heads out to look at the wider world. So
close and incestuous is the relationship between the two that the flip of
a coin, the falling of rain, the loss of a nail in a horseshoe, a slip of
the tongue--and one or the other can be found staring you in the face as
you pass by their abode.

I have long come to realise that some things I can change in life, and
these I do. Others I have to put up, and so have patience to bear them.
In knowing the difference between the two, I believe I have wisdom.

I could do nothing about the events unfolding as I looked at Dmitri, the
slave beside me in the bed - there to give me sexual comfort and show me
the techniques that he had learned from my sex trainers at the Palace. I
felt it in my bones that I was lucky.

 `Master, you are still awake,' he whispered. `It is the middle of the
night.'

I asked myself why do we whisper when we are in our own home and bed. It
is a habit hard to break. I pulled up the light blanket we use during the
Dahran night until it was over both our shoulders. I felt the slave's
hand massaging my upper belly and slowing circling downwards. I could
feel Dmitri's fingers running through my pubic hair and circling my
cock.

`Master, you are getting hard again,' the slave whispered.

`Does that surprise you,' I whispered back, `with all the massaging
you are doing down there?'

`No, Master. What I mean is that you have already come twice tonight.'

`Perhaps a mouth on my cock will help me sleep then? But first show me
your nipples.'

Dmitri sat over my stomach as he has been taught to do -- his height and
length of body is perfect for this -- and brought his nipple down to my
mouth. Sometimes I lick; sometimes I suck; sometimes I nip; sometimes as
the mood takes me, I bite hard. I was just nipping the very nub of his
pectoral tender points.

With my hands I was massaging his cock head with its abundant emissions
of precum. He is never allowed to come until morning when with me.

`Now my cock.'

I saw, in the darkness, the outline of Dmitri's face and the makings of
a grin, as his head disappeared under the blanket. I remember looking at
the bedside clock's red digits. It was after three, and then I merely
felt warm and all was peaceful.



Our mind acts one way. Our bodies another. According to the red digits of
the twenty four hour clock it was half an hour before the expect sunrise.
The first streaks of early morning light were beginning to peek over the
horizon with their blurs of pink and salmon hues. I looked at Dmitri
sleeping the sleep of the just in the bed -- not a care in the world. I
started to get out of the bed and that did awaken him.

`Master,' he said groggily, his eyes half open with sleep.

I was already hard again with my usual morning boner, so I moved back
onto the bed and kneeling between his legs, I raised them over my
shoulders. His anus was still greased from last night, and when I slipped
in and started pumping for all I was worth, Dmitri's eyes flew open.

`Master,' he said again, this time with a look of deep satisfaction on
this face suggesting that he was pleased at being able to service his
Master. I felt his sphincter muscles begin a contracting and relaxing
sequence which I had instructed that all my slaves learn. It quickly
brought me over the edge. There was nothing subtle in the way I felt
about taking him that morning. It was a reaction to the news.

`Master,' Dmitri said for the third time when he felt me come, and he
raised his arms to encircle my chest.

 `You sound like a broken CD, Dmitri.'

He grinned that wide Slavic grin of his.

`Would you like me to fuck you, Master? Just once before we get up. It
is the best alarm call of all to be fucked in the morning.'

`Who said that?'

`Dmitri Soliduk, the Master's most obedient slave,' he said with a
laugh and I smiled back at him.

`No, we have things to do. I cannot delay. Run my shower for me and help
me dress for the day.'

With a bound, he was out of the bed and into the bathroom. The shower was
running to perfection when I walked under it, and I left myself to
Dmitri's magic soapy touch. I realised that he himself had not yet come
and while on other morning, I might have dallied with him in the shower,
this morning was not one such time. The slave could hold his seed for
another day.



It was just after seven o'clock in the morning when the second call came
through from the Police Captain. This time, I took the call myself. I was
already up almost the full hour.

`Sir Jonathan, stay put. The fighting is still going on at a beachhead
south of al-Mera. A second front, an attempt on the television station in
the capital city was repulsed and the invaders have fled into the Dahran
Hilton which is now under siege. Stay put. I will ring you later,' and
the Police Captain was gone.

I had a hundred questions, but at the same time I was speechless. I
flicked on the television in the bedroom to the local Dahran channel 9.
They normally broadcast a breakfast programme which doubles as a local
news broadcast. Ominously, there was nothing for the interested viewer
but the channel logo being entertained by the plucking of zither or some
such instrument.

CNN made me sit up in the bed because they had flames coming out of one
of the floors of the Dahran Hilton, and `government sources' confirming
the invasion which was being contained in both the capital city and on an
unidentified shoreline south of the city.

Other channels were broadcasting news of the invasion with all the relish
of those who delight in disasters either natural or man-made and which
ensure yet another month's paycheque in informing the world at large.



By the time I got down to breakfast, my three Heads of Household and
Stables -- the latter being the old name we retain in Dahra for farm
managers -- were standing waiting for me. I motioned Aziz al-Aziz, the
only freeman among them, to sit with me and to have breakfast. While the
other managers are utterly trusted by me and have more power than many
CEO's, they do not sit in my presence as they are my slaves.

Ben Trant, my slave secretary, was hovering nearby as he normally does,
but I dismissed him as indeed Bob Conrad, the other slave who serves my
breakfast table.

I updated them on what the Police Captain had told me and what I had seen
on the television just now.

As we were speaking the morning delivery of seaweed phosphates arrived. I
have a business interest in the firm, as Abdul one of my slaves is
technically owner of half of it. The driver got down from the cab no
sooner than it was stopped and he dashed over to me, apologising for
interrupting me and my overseers.

`What news do you have?' I asked peremptorily.

`Sir Jonathan, army columns have moved down to south of al-Mera since
midnight. An armed incursion has been stopped on the beach but there is
fierce fighting.'

`How do you know this?'

`My cousin is in the police and he told me that driving north was safe
but not south to al-Mera and I also have this Master,' and he held up a
Japanese transistor which he switched on. There broadcasting on whatever
high frequency channel it was, were the battle instructions being given
to the army columns in al-Mera. So much for modern technologies making
the secrecy of military broadcasts a thing of the past! What did mystify
me was the fact the today Dahra had army columns driving south to
al-Mera, when yesterday it did not even have an army.

Dahra shared a strange coincidence of a non-military trivia nature with
Costa Rica and Lichtenstein in that it did not have a standing army, and
yet I had been informed by various sources and again now by this
phosphates driver, that it did.

I gave instructions for the delivery of phosphates to be unloaded as
usual but for the driver to remain at the palace for safety's sake.

I looked at the anxious faces of my overseers.

`Let us keep these developments to ourselves. Keep the slaves busy, but
working at not more than a minute's run from any of the palaces. It will
require some rescheduling of duties, but do it for today.'

The overseers took their instructions and departed to implement them.

I really did not have an appetite, nor indeed did Aziz whom I noticed had
not touched his coffee. He had not said a word and I knew that if he had
counsel to offer, he would offer it.



It was just some three hours later when a green army helicopter, with no
markings, simply landed slap bang centre in the middle of the Lime Palace
courtyard. Bob Conrad who was on the steps of the veranda ran out to meet
a gesticulating pilot who explained that his instructions were from the
Police Capitan and that he had two seriously injured soldiers on board
and needed to get them to a Dr. Fournier.

Bob summoned over various slaves who had come to see the helicopter land
and had them take the two stretchered solider over to our resident Palace
physician and surgeon, Yves Fournier, whose staff went into immediate
overdrive.

One of the good things about well trained slaves is that their training
kicks in at the right time, part of which is to keep me, their Master
informed immediately of any strange developments. And these events were
certainly up there with the unusual and strange.

The pilot was brought in hospital to speak with me. I took the initiative
in asking the questions and felt that if there were military proprieties
to be observed I would soon find out.

`What can you tell me of this invasion, lieutenant?' for such I judged
his single epaulette badge to be that of a junior officer or second
lieutenant.

`Sir, there is a beachhead ten miles south of al-Mera which has been
surrounded.'

I noticed that his accent was not Dahran, but that of one of the Emirates
further along the coast.

The young officer continued, `We have also information that a second
bridgehead of some thirty or so troops tried to take the television
station in the capital city, but have been routed. They have taken over a
hotel in the city centre.'

`Who has invaded and in what force?'

When the lieutenant mentioned the name, I was shocked. It was the Sheik
of Dahra's own family name. Aziz al-Aziz was at my side and filled me
in.

`Jonathan, it is the Sheik's second cousin. Their grandfathers were
brothers. This man has always been judged to be a little mad and
certainly unstable. But even for him, this is extraordinary. He has not
lived in Dahra for a number of years because he believes that he should
be Sheik and not his second cousin.'

Bob Conrad had come out of the kitchens and looked at me.

`Master, can I get you anything?'

The lieutenant did not seem perturbed in the least by my slave's
nakedness. I looked at him.

`Have you eaten today?'

`Not yet, sir.'

I looked over at Bob.

`One full breakfast and some fresh coffee.'

`Immediately, Master.'



Small talk is difficult in such circumstances. At times, it succeeds but
more often than not it fails.

`What else can you tell us?' I asked.

`Not much, sir, that I am allowed. The fighting has been very fierce. We
understand that they are mercenaries or private contractors. They are
aiming at our troops to kill and we are taking no prisoners. I am not
sure how many platoon units they have, but I believe not more than
fifteen, or a hundred and fifty mercenaries in all, plus the other two
units in the capital city.'

`You are not from here?'

I thought I might be able to winkle out some information as to how he
came to be here.

`No, sir, I am not and I am not allowed to speak of it.'

`Thank you. No offence intended. Ah, here's your breakfast,' I
commented.

Bob placed the breakfast tray on the table and started to arrange the
plates off it. The soldier was sitting down before I could say anything
else and wolfing down his food, clearly a hungry soldier who had marched
on an empty stomach.



While the officer was eating I had Bob find out the condition of the
wounded men.

`Bob, go across to the surgery and find out from Randy any news of two
patients there.'

Randy is one of my slaves in charge of Dr. Fournier's hospital ward and
surgery.

`Why did you not head for the University hospital?' I asked as the
University hospital was in a straight line from al-Mera, while we were on
the Western Road.

Between bites, the officer replied, `There has been fighting between the
television station and the hospital, sir, and ground to air missiles were
launched at helicopter gunships. The Police Captain, whose men were
stationed beside our field hospital knew that you had medical staff here.
It involved no extra time and was much safer.'

With that, Bob was back to say that both soldiers were stable but
seriously wounded one with a stomach wound and the other most likely
would lose an arm. He looked shaken as he gave us the news.

`Dr. Cal and Dr. Nacho are also helping Dr. Yves in the surgery,' he
commented.



During that day, which turned out to be a slow and long one, our medical
staff attended a further four soldiers, one so seriously injured that he
died in the surgery, and the other three with either bullet or shrapnel
wounds.

As soon as I could I rang Charlie Deckam from the secure room again to
update him on the situation and availing of our remote control system
made a backup copy of all the bank's Dahran branch files. For over an
hour and a quarter I watched them upload to our branches in Madrid and
New York.



At eleven o'clock when the heat is high, the slaves normally return from
the farms and fields for whatever classes are on. They seemed to very
skittish and nervous, but I walked among them showing calm and a stiff
upper lip. It was neither the time nor the place to show outward feelings
of the nervous tension I could feel clutching at my heart.



After midday no further injured came as we heard that the route to the
University was now open again.



After my lunch, I again walked among the slaves from building to building
and classroom to classroom, I went over towards the swimming pool and gym
and decided to have a swim. Some of my gym manager's special programmes
were in progress, and as he saw me coming in for the swim, he pulled two
of his better swimmers of their treadmills and told them to be my pacers.

`No winners and losers today,' I said.

`Losers' would normally get five strokes of a camel came and the right
to `challenge' me to a re-swim, while `winners' had the right to
kneel by my side at lunch or dinner time as might be appropriate and get
the odd tit-bit I might decide to give them.

`Yes, Master' was the chorused reply as they slipped into the water.

I set off at a brisk pace and the two kept one stroke ahead of me for my
twenty lengths in perfect synchronisation with my own stroke.

The swim had its desired calming effect on me and I signalled the two out
of the pool and into the sauna with me for twenty minutes where I took
them both at a nice slow pace in a warm heat that was somewhat cooler
than the midday sun's. I was in no mood for small talk, so I listened to
the slap-slap of my thighs on the upturned backside of the first slave,
while I finger his companion's tight butt-hole opening it up in
preparation to service his Master.

When I had emptied myself into the second slave, his companion was
grinning.

`What?' I asked.

`I am just happy, Master to see that you are happy and that I have been
chosen to be with you today, Master and we have pleased you for a little
while,' he replied as his mid-European companion recovered his breath
from my fucking.

`Let's swim another two lengths and a bowl of ice-cream to the
winner.'

`Yes, Master,' they chorused with big smiles.

I was only half way up the pool on the second length when the two had
already finished theirs and were giving each other victorious high fives.

`Who won?'

The slaves looked at each other.

`We both did, Master. Exact same time.'

They obviously wanted to share the bowl of ice-cream officially.

`Exact same time?'

`Yes, Master,' both said with a conspiratorial grin.

In the face of great danger, it is good at times to look at the mere
trivial and to acknowledge its presence in our lives, so I said, `I
think we had better make that two bowls, if that is the case.'

`Yes, Master,' the two said with huge smiles, as they hoisted
themselves with a single fluid movement out of the pool, and each reached
down a hand to pull me also out of the water.



I could not get through to the Ministry of Finance where I would have
liked to have spoken with my friend, the deputy to the deputy Minister,
Tariq al-Akhri, but either the line was simply out of order or it was not
answering. The tone did not sound right.

Still in the secure room, I put in a call to Tariq's younger brother in
Geneva who answered his number immediately. I came immediately to the
point.

`Abdou, just a brief call to say that we have backed up the Bank's
systems to both New York and Madrid. In that sense, I can tell you if
anything happens to the Bank here, there will be no loss to the
Sheikdom.'

As Deckams handles one third of the Sheikdom's liquid investments, the
figures involved are considerable.

`Jonathan, thank you for the call. I would have expected no less from
you. I understand, as of fifteen minutes ago, all the invaders at the
Dahran Hilton have been killed and the main force at the beach in the
south is now negotiating a surrender.'

I said nothing. I could hear Abdou, one of the Sheik's closest advisers,
breathing deeply over the thousands of miles of phone line.

`There was a traitor in the cabinet,' he finally said.

`I thought the leader was a second cousin of the Sheik?'

`Yes, but the Minister for Communications had thrown in his lot with him
and was already at the television station ready to broadcast the news of
the Sheik's overthrow. They wanted to keep the station on the air and
that is why they had some of their troops there to protect it and him.
Now...hold on a minute, Jonathan,..'

I could hear his voice on another phone and then Abdou was back on the
line.

`The last of the invaders have surrendered at the beachhead. I have to
go, Jonathan. We shall speak again. Thank you for your trust and your
call. It will not be forgotten.'

I immediately called Charlie Deckam, our esteemed Chairman in London and
gave him the news.

`How have the markets reacted?'

`Marvellous, Jonathan, bloody marvellous. We have been selling short all
day on Dahran stocks, and before New York and Chicago close this evening
we will have made almost four billion sterling as we now buy long and
cover our positions.'

Charlie sounded like a child whose birthdays had all come at once.



At the times of greatest stress, it is important to appear under total
control. The arrival of the other wounded soldiers around midday did not
help the afternoon as the doctors worked away on them, particular on the
most seriously wounded one who finally expired.

The same pilot was at the control as in the morning. He said that the
invaders had taken a lot of casualties but had not yet surrendered. My
information was now more up to date than his.



I stood down the precautions which we had been enforcing for almost a
fortnight following the skeletal and mysterious warning of the Police
Chief on the steps of the Bank, and I told my Heads of Household - Aziz
al-Aziz at the Lime Palace, Pete Downings at the Lemon Palace and the
Head of Stables--we use the old Dahran title for farm managers--Yuriy
Obov, Dumi Bod and Komil Rostov of the good news -- or at least, as much
of it as I knew.



Dahra, before its oil was discovered, was among the poorest of countries.
In a mere thirty five years, it had been transformed from a country where
in its hinterlands, history and traditions still lived in the Middle
Ages, to being one of the richest in the world. This had been reinforced
by the discovery of the third or fourth largest separate deposits of gas
-- depending on how you calculated them -- in the world.

While its capital city was ultra modern, Dahra's countryside and
interior lived quite definitely in the past under a number of headings,
one of whose very important features was slavery -- the best kept of
international and diplomatic secrets. It certainly was one of the best
kept political secrets of the new millennium, known but not known, spoken
of in very special international circles but never mentioned in public,
and never ever in the media in any format whatsoever.



As for myself, I was the owner of some seven hundred slaves, some bought,
others given in gift to me, all existing only to serve my will and to add
to my pleasure as their absolute Master.

While the right of total ownership as Lord and Master is one of the
facets of ownership of slaves, the other and equally important and
balancing facet is the responsibility of the Master to the body of
slaves, not just for their care, feeding and maintenance, but most
particularly for their safety, quite simply because on their safety, the
Master's own safety frequently depends.



It was actually after nine o'clock that night the Police Captain sped
into the Lime Palace courtyard with a colleague whom I recognised as his
deputy. The Captain was all apologies as soon as the jeep had pulled to a
halt.

`Sir Jonathan, I have been delayed on the way as I had various families
in my area to visit on behalf of the Sheik. A thousand apologies for not
being able to given you more information previously on the problem we
have been facing for the past two months.'

I nodded. I knew that the Police Captain acted as a conduit for the ruler
of the country to various families related to the monarch, where the
personal contact and relationship is all important in this Middle East
environment.

`Two months, Captain? You have me at a disadvantage.'

`We knew of the proposed invasion two months ago, when one of those
plotting it came to the Sheik and offered the information for sale. He
was paid a small fortune to stay with the plotters, and this he did.'

`But who was behind it, Captain? Who wanted to invade Dahra?'

I was not giving away any information which I had from Abdou al-Akhri.

`It was the Sheik's own second cousin related to the southern tribes.
He has always been a hothead and a trouble-maker. He believed that his
own grandfather should have been Sheik instead of the present Sheik's
father, and so should have now been ruler himself. He had no support in
Dahra so he assembled almost hundred mercenaries or private contractors
as they are called, not a single Dahran among them. Being from the south,
he landed in boats just south of al-Mera early this morning expecting the
southern tribes to help him which they did not.'

My face must have shown incredulity. My mind felt detached from my brain.
I know I was shaking my head

 `And what of the fighting in the capital city, Captain?'

`I am told there was a traitor in the Sheik's own cabinet who was
willing offer support to the second cousin. It was the Minister for
Communications and Information who wanted to be a sort of chief Minister
to the new Sheik. Some of the invaders went there to support him. But
they are now all dead, the Minister as well.'

 `But, Captain, I thought that Dahra did not have a standing Army? I
have never seen any military presence.'

`We don't. But we have money. His Excellency simply hired two entire
regiments from the armies of two of our neighbours for the past two
months. I cannot say which neighbours. Each member of each regiment will
be on his way home having earned a small fortune for just two months'
work.'

`And what of the invaders?'

`The Sheik's second cousin is dead and very few of the invader are
still alive. Anyone of the invaders who was wounded is not longer alive.
The others will be tried tomorrow, and executed the day after.'

The image of the scimitar of Dahra flashed before my eyes. I had seen it
being used for executions twice on video and once in real life. Mass
executions any other place I thought would make headlines around the
world. Would Dahra be able to keep it under wraps? Dahra's justice was
so quick that it would astound the more leisurely pace of western
argumentative courts and their Socratic question and answer legal
systems.

`Tomorrow? The day after?'

It was as if the Police Captain was reading my thoughts.

`Sir Jonathan, this is a Dahran matter and will stay a Dahran matter.
The Sheik himself led the two regiments in defence of the country. To see
him in battle fatigues standing on a jeep was an inspiration to every
Dahran. I and a hundred of my men were to standby ready to give our lives
if asked. We were ready as a second wave behind the two regiments to die
for our Sheik and our country. We were not called to make that sacrifice
as it turned out. His Excellency is embarrassed that his own second
cousin, who is also related to his third wife, was the invader of his own
country. Justice will be swift and it will be quiet.'

I had more questions to ask of the Police Captain, but he was looking at
his watch.

`Again, my apologies, Sir Jonathan, I must go. His Excellency wanted me
to call on you as soon as possible and I have another four families to
call on, further out the Western Road.'

The Police Capitan was all hyped up. The adrenaline was clearly still
running in this veins.

`Sir Jonathan, you should have seen the invaders being cut down on the
beaches. What a day for every Dahran!'

I shook his hand and that of his deputy, saying `Well done!
Congratulations!' and on the promise of a more leisurely return visit
for dinner for himself and his deputy who had not even turned off the
jeep engine, the Police Captain departed with a screech of rubber on the
flagstones of the courtyard.



I rang my chairman, Charlie Deckam, in London immediately thought it was
quite late, after the departure of the Police Captain and filled him in
on the further detail. Information is power in the banking world and
fortunes have been made in days of yore on pigeons arriving safely to
bank dove-cots. Satellite phone lines were a lot more reliable.

`We have been worried for your safety, Jonathan. But you sound calm.'

`I am calm, Mr. Chairman, but at the same time shaken by such an
occurrence. It is unique in the history of Dahra and I hope it will not
affect the confidence of the markets in the country.'

`At the moment, it is the headline of the day. On the hour, every hour.
Chicago is balancing our last positions. We shall monitor it from this
end, and any change at your end, just let us know.'

On that promise, we signed off.



I felt as if the hand of fate had touched not just the shorelines of
Dahra and the steps of the capital's television station that morning,
but in some way that hand of fate had involved me, not just as an
international banker and businessman. I was not wrong as it transpired,
though my slaves never knew of it, and my Managers and Overseers kept the
details of it to themselves.



In one April morning, the lives of one hundred and sixty eight
mercenaries, freebooting private contractors had been snuffed out in an
ill-conceived plot. The conspiracy and attempted coup in which they had
participated had backfired for them in the most fatal manner. I
subsequently found out that only seventeen on the Dahran side, including
the fatality in our surgery, had been killed, and their widowed families
would now be looked after in total comfort for life.

I found it strange that there were no remaining wounded among the
survivors. I held my own counsel on that point expecting to hear a
whisper the reason for their non-existence. I did not hear and I thought
to myself that Dahran justice, civil, criminal or military must only
exist in two colours, black and white, or in this case, dead or alive.

Of all the ill-conceived plots to overthrow a benign government this one
must have ranked high on the scales of lunacy, because as far as the
outside world was concerned, it was the weekend military expedition that
failed as spectacularly as it had begun.



On the way to the Bank, I told Faisal, my driver to go past the Dahran
Hilton. I could scarcely credit my eyes as they gazed on the blacken
shell of the once star of the hotel industry in the country. There was
little wonder that none of the invading unit had survived had been
clearly a scorched earth policy in downtown Dahra.



Upon arriving at the Bank to begin the new week, there was surface
tension. For the first time in its history, the branch in Dahra had not
opened for a workday the previous day. No comment was made about the
extra forced holiday. No one commented even on my slightly late arrival,
if such were the norm, though it never was, as I had had to tidy up bits
and pieces at the Palaces.

Charlie Deckam rang during the morning and made the strange comment that
if I were not so ensconced in Dahra that he would have offered me
promotion.

`No way, Mr. Chairman, thank you. I am firmly embedded in Dahra now and
for the foreseeable future.'

We both left it at that, but I felt that it was nice of Charlie to offer
it anyway.



The Bank actually placed over half a billion in Korean bonds that morning
after the abortive invasion as if to prove that the day was as normal as
normal could be. Colin Bowman, the junior partner in charge of Bonds
looked pleased with his endeavours when I spotted him in the cafeteria. I
checked for newspaper headlines and TV reports. Thankfully a delightful
political scandal of major proportions was breaking in Brazil, dominating
the headlines, and caused financial eyes to look at another
sub-continent.



On my return to the Lime Palace that evening I had Klaas Oostende, my
Dutch slave masseur, give me a long massage beside the pool. I told him
to take his time. He did. The sexual tension in my body, even after a
great massage, did not allow me luxury of an even more languorous
session.

The slaves swimming up and down in the pool lanes, without a care in the
world, were enjoying their free-time. I called for Dmitri, the new
Russian slave who had been given to me as a gift, and whom I had enjoyed
in bed the previous night. When my massage was over, I bent him over one
of the benches beside the pool and took him quickly. He had been just as
good the previous night as well. He looked very chuffed at being given
such public attention.

Dmitri's body and his ever-tight hole had been ready for a good fucking,
and fuck him I did unmercifully. Various of the slaves lined the edge of
the pool, their grinning faces resting on their hands under their chins,
as Dmitri was put through his paces, and they envied the attention their
Master was giving the Russian.

Power unexercised atrophies, so too sexual prowess. Each of my slaves in
the Palaces has been trained to know as had every slave in the pool area,
that I could have any of them, any day, any time, any place, any why.

When I had quite spent myself, various of the slaves called over
`Master, Master, come for a swim', and linking a smiling Dmitri
arm-in-arm, we double-dived into the pool for a quick ten lengths.

Several of the better swimmers among the slaves had lined up for the swim
because they knew that their reward on beating me would be to kneel at my
feet at dinnertime and get an extra slave-biscuit, plus a morsel of
whatever Flavio produced out of his state-of-the-art kitchens.

Were the swimmer-slaves to lose the swim they would get five strokes of a
camel-cane from one of my retrainers. As it turned out three beat me and
two lost. There were grins and crestfallen faces as I rested on my arms
at the end of the swim.

`Do you want to try double or nothing?' I asked of the two who lost.

They looked at each other.

`Not today, Master. We have to improve a lot to beat you.'

`Well, get out of the pool and prepare for your punishment.'

`Yes, Master,' the two wailed as they put the palms of their hands on
the poolside and with one fluid motion hoisted themselves out of the
pool, and went to seek their punishment.

The other three were grinning ear to ear.

`What are you lot grinning about? I may have been tired after fucking
Dmitri. That's all.'

`Yes, Master,' one of them replied with a big ear-to-ear smile, `you
said that last week as well.'



I got out of the pool, and Dmitri presented me with a camel-cane. I had
beaten him by half-a-length. He was no longer grinning as earlier on. He
bent over and clutched his ankles to receive his own `loser's five
strokes of the camel-cane. But Dmitri was a good sport and I had not the
heart to put much force into the strokes. He realised that and made a
show of making sufficient noise as if he were enduring the torments of
the damned, much to the amusement of the slaves, as he counted off the
strokes with a `Thank you, Master' added after each one.



The plots of life were very much on my mind as I tossed the camel-cane to
Klaas, who too had been looking on in amusement, and told him to give the
other two slaves who were also clasping their ankles, their five strokes
of punishment.

Klaas likes doling out punishment and before I had left the pool area,
the swishing sound of camel-cane on bare backside flesh resounded round
the pool area, as the slaves stoically and silently, in their cases, took
some real punishment.



I put my arm around Dmitri's waist and said `Come on, Dmitri, get me
dressed.'

I could feel the extra warmth on this butt generated by the strokes he
had received as I patted his butt.

`Okay, boss', he replied with a genuine smile in international Russian.



End of Chapter 1

To be continued