Date: Wed, 15 Dec 2004 17:09:39 +0000
From: Gerry Taylor <gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Seventh Desert - Chapter 10 - Gay - Authoritarian

The Seventh Desert by Gerry Taylor

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

Keywords:  authority, control, loyalty, slavery, punishment, retraining,
submission, gay, sex

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.

  Chapter 10 -- The price of accidents

  It was upon a collective sigh of relief that Jock and my sister,
Elizabeth, in particular Elizabeth, left Dahra. She was as effusive as
ever, thanking me for the dinner and the various gifts. My estimation of
Jock went up a notch. He merely said 'I'll see you in London soon,
Jonathan. You know how to contact me if ever the need should arise on any
issue.'

  Faisal took Jock, David and myself to the airport in the Rolls. Fiona
and Jack followed with Elizabeth in their own car.

  It was not until the shuttle was in the air that I felt as if a trough
of low barometric pressure had lifted off the top of my head and I
realised how difficult it is to keep a cap of some things, which out of
expediency have to be kept well within the borders of Dahra.

  Jack had decided to drive on to the city, taking David with him as he
had business with Annan and Annan. Fiona said that she would take a taxi
home, but since I was not working at the Bank that day, I offered to drop
her off. We shared some iced-tea in the back of the Rolls, and over our
glasses shared a much relieved smile.

  'Glad the mother-in-law drama is over?'

  'As mothers-in-law go, in general I think I've been lucky. In many
ways, your sister is a delightful person. But I do hope that any further
act will be staged anywhere on the globe except in Dahra!'

  'I can second that.'

  'And talking of staging, you asked Jack how we had staged our dinner,
right?'

  'I remember the look on his face when you nonchalantly issued your
invitation.'

  'I do, too. But how on earth could we have explained to Elizabeth that
she was neither going to be invited to our home, nor yours? We needed a
performance. And if there was to be a performance, it was easier staged
at our house.'

  'A Queen's Gambit?'

  'You could call it that. I admit it was risky.'

  'Whatever you did, it worked.'

  'We thought about clearing them all out for the night, but it would not
have been believable, pretending that we lived at the Wisteria Palace
alone. The greatest risk was Fergal, my most recently bought slave. He
was lifted last August. His photo was I believe in the papers and on
telly. Fortunately, our neighbours down the road are very nice, and did
not mind taking him in for a day and a night.'

  'I suppose that's were you evacuated Thor as well?'

  'Yes. We had both their GPS settings changed and Jack drove them over.
We could not give Thor the choice. All the others we asked whether they
wanted to be present for the show or be excused. You know Gustav, he
talks about Thor as if he were a kid. Thor is twenty three, an adult
slave. But he is not ours. I can't threaten a slave with something I am
not able to carry out.'

  'Threaten with what? Did you say you would sell anyone who talked?'

  'I am glad it's all hypothetical now, Jonathan. They proved their
loyalty, the performance was excellent, and I think they even enjoyed
themselves, with the kilts and everything. I am very pleased with them
all, including Fergal who just said that after all someone needed to keep
Thor company. All our slaves passed the test, and that's also a credit to
you and your trainers.

  `But look, I could not sell a slave who had been blatantly disobedient
in such an important matter. What are the odds that he would be
disruptive with the next owner as well? I would lose face, if a slave who
used to be mine turned out untrustworthy and badly trained. And you know
how Dahra is like. It would also reflect badly on Jack. Possibly even on
you.'

  'I had not thought about that.'

  'Surveillance takes many forms. I love this country, but Dahra is
dangerous. Especially for someone like your sister. My slaves had a
chance to cause us immense trouble, and they knew it. I had to make it
clear that whatever the outcome, they would gain nothing. I said that any
of them who disrupted the show would be signing his own death warrant,
his buddy's as well, and for any number of the others we might decide on.
I said that I would treat an indiscretion as an escape attempt, and turn
them over to the courts.'

  I looked at Fiona, who had shadows under her eyes. She returned my
scrutiny.

  'We took them to watch Madar Sicsou, didn't we?'

  'I think you and Jack learned about the risks of slavery the hard way.'

  'You can say that again. We also learned about its perks, though.'

  'And you were ready to carry it out.'

  'I guess it's a question of setting priorities. None of my slaves is
more important to me than my family. My family now includes your sister.
And you.'

  'Thank you, Fiona.'

  'Thank you for taking care of Jack's dad.'

  'Let us just be glad the heat is off.'

  'Yes, imagine a visit from Scotland heating up Dahra. Anyway, next week
we will make them all a surprise present. You know that Gustav's slaves
have never been much into double bunking. The first thing ours did when
we moved in was push their beds together two and two. I have been in and
out of furniture stores for a while now, and next week we will have ten
solid beech wood double beds delivered.'

  'The interior designer strikes again!'

  I heard her laugh, and was confident that we would all get over the
effects of this unannounced visitation.

  'Jonathan, now that I have revealed our tactics, will you indulge my
curiosity in return?'

  'That depends on what you want to know.'

  'Fair enough. What I am curious about is this. When Jess was my driver,
and had shielded me during the stampede in that department store, what
was your reward to him?'

  I remembered Jess Tollman's recent infraction. It had been the last
straw in an extremely stressful situation. Fiona misinterpreted my frown.

  'Don't say if you don't want to.'

  'No, I don't mind telling you. Jess had been sold by two of his
so-called friends in the US. I had them lifted to order. They had a taste
of the opal mine, but Jess, generous as he is, persuaded me to let them
work at the Palaces. That's where they are now.'

  'I see. So his reward was what? Watch them undergo what he had
undergone?'

  'That's right. In one sense yes. He now also has those who enslaved him
as his own slaves so to speak. He is their Supervisor. '

  She looked out of the window for a while, then turned to me again.

  'Well, as opposed to Jess, I guess I can be thankful to them.'

  'Thankful?'

  'Without their help, would I have had this excellent chauffeur and
bodyguard for free?'

  'Fiona, they were his friends. They got him drunk and drugged him and
sold him.'

  'Friends or strangers, we couldn't buy slaves if nobody did that.'

  I had to think about that for a moment.

  'You mean, every market needs suppliers?'

  'Sure. It's what we pay them for.'

  We approached the high wall surrounding the Wisteria Palace's gardens.
Fiona took a remote control from her pocket, and pressed it to open the
gate.

  'You look tired, Fiona.'

  'I am tired. I think I need to adopt a Jack Tuttle relaxation technique
today.'

  'And what is that?'

  'Sunbathing of the roof.'

  It turned out to be one of those days with little stopping or time to
think. Two of my farming neighbours called unannounced and Dahran
hospitality decreed they be looked after. I spent a solid fifteen minutes
approving bank transfers and signing cheques, as it was close to the end
of the month, and Dahra, like some other Middle East countries, observes
both the Muslim and Western calendars simultaneously.

  The General Manager of the opal mine, Zabian al-Kibbe, was pencilled in
for a working lunch, nothing major, just a briefing which he says he
wants to give me each month.

  `You don't interfere,' was one of his comments.

  `Do I need to?' I quipped back.

  He smiled and we turned to the P & L account for the month. It showed
almost three million euro profit, much higher than any other previous
month, almost half a year's profits based on the previous full-year
accounts.

  Zabian al-Kibbe must have seen my upraised eye-brows.

  `Some new practices I have implemented; the new machinery kicking in
better than expected; but I expect that the new slaves will make a real
difference, when I am able to re-shuffle more freely on work rotas,' he
replied.

  `Why do you think I got the mine so cheaply from Farouq if it can
produce this kind of monthly profit?'

  `Farouq certainly needed your cash quickly, but I think that he feared
also that the mine would quickly run its course and fail.'

  `A mine can always run its course and run dry.'

  `But here, Sir Jonathan, we are implementing new practices and
following seams which, without the new equipment, we could not before. We
have actually brought a new vein on stream since we got the new
machinery.'

  'Zabian, you have just mentioned how you appreciate my lack of
interference. There is one thing I would like to do though. I have a
slave here, an Overseer, whose duties mostly involve work in the
retraining room. I want to send him to the mine as a trustee, to help you
keep a sharp eye on those former mercenaries once they are delivered. He
will be there to serve, not to interfere.'

  'The loan of a slave is no interference, Sir Jonathan. A trustworthy
Overseer who has worked as a retraining assistant will be a valuable
asset. Perhaps, if you transfer the slave a few days in advance, the
staff can instruct him in our procedures and show him around?'

  'Certainly. It seems to me though that you still have something on your
mind?'

  'Yes. There is one other thing which I would like to suggest.'

  His voice was calmer and quieter as he made this statement, as if he
were treading in new territory. He was looking me in the eye.

  I cocked my head.

  `I would like to tell the slaves that the maximum period they will
work at the mine is five years.'

  `How long does the average slave last at the moment there?'

  `The easy way to calculate the working life span is to make a tot of
the last one hundred slaves who have died at the mine over the past three
years. It would be four years and six months, give or take.'

  `Are you saying, Zabian that I am going to have to replace slaves at
the rate of almost sixty a year? That's almost' - I did a quick mental
calculation -- `one point two million euro worth of slaves?'

  `Under the old system I had to operate for Farouq, yes. Under the new
systems I am putting in, we will lose about twenty slaves a year.'

  `Just less than half a million in wear and tear of slaves.'

  `That's opal mining for you, Sir Jonathan, in temperatures over a
hundred degrees. It's not farming,' and he gestured towards the fields
with their spurting water-cannons.

  `Talking of heat and such matters, why did you decide now to have all
the uncut slaves at the mine skinned? Was it a matter of routine or `for
reasons of health'? I don't object in principle.'

  `The opal mine is a very hot mine, Jonathan. I have always had all
metallic body ornamentation removed, such as nose and nipple rings, to
say nothing of genital, scrotum and penis rings and cinches due to a
midday heat in the Seventh Desert, quite capable of heating the metal to
skin-burning point. `

  I had little conception of the slaves who worked at the mine, and I had
little compassion for the forty two former mercenaries I was about to
send there.

  `And why do you want to tell the slaves about this five year
maximum?'

  `To give them hope. Hope makes all of us live longer.'

  `So, how many will complete five years over the coming year?'

  `At the moment, thirty two slaves.'

  `Can these be given some responsibilities in the final year, sort of
trustee status?'

  `Most have that at present, not all.'

  `See that they all get some responsibility. Those who are in the top
half percentile I will have work here on the farms. The other half, I can
always sell at market value.'

  `Their market value will be negligible.'

  `I would disagree, Zabian. All your slaves sold to me to this day have
been good and obedient workers. Tell these thirty two slaves all of that.
Tell them also that you have seen the gardens where the Master's slaves
walk in the evening, the water gardens and the swimming pool. Give them
something to avoid, but even more, give them something to aim at, even
though some may know by now that I, their owner, am the Retrainer.'

  Greg Logan went on ahead to the opal mine a week before the first batch
of slaves was due to be moved there. I asked him if he wanted to bring
his buddy Juan Luis Serrano with him. Juan Luis has an important job at
the Palaces in looking after all our solar panels. I knew Greg would have
liked to bring him; it was not so much that he was his fuck-buddy, but
that he was becoming quite attached to the Spanish slave. He said no,
that it was not necessary.

  As I did not want Juan Luis dropping back into his depression, I
instructed Greg to come back to the Palace every weekend for a day at
least and so assure Juan Luis of his attentions, in and out of bed.

  It had been really Gus Jennings' idea. Gus, a former U.S. army
Master-Sergeant, now general manger of my Aloe sap and sunscreen
operations said that I really needed a helicopter if I was going to be
going down and back to the opal mine.

  I said that I had got a good deal in renting one.

  But Gus, who had done his mathematics on the matter -- I had filled him
in on Greg Logan going down to the mine for a week and then coming back
to report to me and also to be with Juan Luis, he raised an eyebrow of
sceptical disbelief and I felt my arguments slipping away.

  So, it was I ended up buying a Puma ExCom, which I had hangered at the
private end of the capital city airport, and a flexible arrangement with
the helicopter company as to the use of one of two pilots who were always
on standby whenever needed for general flying duties with the company and
so could be assigned to me when needed.

  I issued instructions to the pilots to have Greg collected each week on
a Friday and returned on a Saturday. Yet another set of flights for a
growing log book and I instructed that the settings on Greg's ankle
bracelet be set to the borders of the Sheikdom and not to those of the
Palaces.

  It gave me a great deal of pleasure and indeed of hilarity, to watch
the other Supervisors and Overseers at the Palaces, when I told Greg
Logan that his transport down to the opal mine would arrive in the
courtyard at eight the following morning. I rubbed it in, by saying that
it was a hot three hour journey down in the back of a Transit van.

  He seemed a little puzzled that so many Overseers were around at the
given time.

  I genuinely do not think that he connected the `put-put-put' of the
helicopter rotors with his transport until the black Puma ExCom dropped
out of the skies into the courtyard.

  Laughter erupted in the courtyard at the expression on his face when he
saw what his transport was to be.

  `Greg, an important Overseer like yourself has to travel in style. The
Puma ExCom will bring you back in five days time to Juan Luis,' who was
standing beside him.

  `Thanks, Boss, I won't let you down,' was all he could manage to say
and he gave Juan Luis a long hug, who at the end of it was trembling a
little.

  I heard Juan Luis say in a low voice, `You will come back, Gregorio,
won't you?'

  `In less than a week.'

  Some days later, I smiled to myself when I met Juan Luis coming up the
steps of the veranda with his box of tools humming to himself. Being
outside the Palace proper, he dropped to his knees and made an obeisance.

  `Master, good days.'

  `Good days to you as well, Juan Luis. You are happy today singing to
yourself.'

  `Yes, Master. In three days time, mi Gregorio will be back from the
other place to be with me.'

  `The other place?'

  `The place where he is now working, Master.'

  `Ah, yes.'

  Greg Logan had been discreet even with his own buddy as to where he had
been assigned.

  `I think he likes you a lot.'

  `Yes, Master. He said he needed to be back with me every weekend.'

  `And you like him a lot also, don't you?'

  `Yes, Master. He is strong, yet he is gentle.'

  I gave Juan Luis a slap on the shoulder and left him up to his work
with the various Palaces' solar panels, in which he now seemed to revel.
Most well trained slaves need just a word of recognition and
encouragement. The less enthusiastic know that more serious forms of
encouragement are just a compound away.

  Terry Peoples had become very attentive after the purchase of his
brother Luke. I had Luke declared off-limits to all in the Palaces pro
tempore. He was only sixteen and although he said he had been
masturbating since he was thirteen, he was a virgin as regards both women
and men. However, I did send him for sex training. He was certainly old
enough to be able to handle that.

  To keep him out of harm's way, because he was certainly a beautiful
young man once he was cleaned up and his hair cut in the style of the
Palace, I had him assigned to work with Flavio in the kitchens.

  I also assigned him the thirty-two year old Sevil Garibov, my wine
waiter slave, as his buddy. Sevil had a very low sex drive, though quite
handsome and talented sexually in many ways.

  `Look after him, Sevil and keep him from harm. He stays a virgin until
I say so.'

  `Master,' was Sevil's summarised response of understanding and
acceptance of the commands.

  As I say Terry, Luke's brother, was becoming very attentive and this
was proven when I almost upended myself coming out of my bedroom one
early morning. I sometimes wake before sunrise and one particular
morning, my bed companion who had been put through his paces three times
before midnight was still snoring quietly and sporadically in my bed. I
had gotten up, shaved, showered and dressed and the slave still had not
moved. My policy there is to let sleeping dogs lie and all that. A slave
is in my bed to serve me sexually and once that is done and I am no
longer interested in him for that moment, he might as well enjoy the
comfort of my bed. It has, I have found, the advantage of making other
slaves more anxious to serve me.

  On leaving the bedroom, I all but fell over Terry lying at the door
covered in a blanket. My exit and near fall had awakened him.

  `Master,' he whispered up at me.

  `What are you doing here?' I automatically whispered back for such is
our automatic response.

  `Just in case you needed anything in the night, Master.'

  `Your night duty is to James and indeed, your morning duty is to him
as well.'

  `Master, after sex at night, James sleeps until I am back with him
after the sun rises and he never knows I have been gone for the night.
But I do service him in the mornings, Master. I do.'

  `Terry, Terry, what am I going to do with you? Come down with me
before we wake the whole Palace and we shall have breakfast.'

  My early breakfast on mornings like this is nothing more than some
fruit juice as might be in the fridges and one of the biscuits the slaves
have. A little insipid, but totally nutritious.

  Terry was thrilled when I pointed to a chair at the breakfast table on
the veranda and he wiggled his butt on the surface of it as he sat down
and grinned his shit-eating grin smiling from ear to ear as he took a
biscuit I offered him. He had brought out some of the fruit juice from
the kitchen and he poured us each a glass, peering at his reflection in
the glass and looking at me through the transparent top of the glass.

  Here was a slave who, really since the age of nine, had known no
freedom and who had served his previous Master and my former neighbour as
a teenage sex slave.

  `What do you like working at most, Terry?'

  `Everything, Master.'

  `And what do you like least at work?'

  `Nothing, Master. I like everything I am asked to do. I have lots of
friends with the other slaves. And now Luke is here with me. What more
could I want?'

  He had all but forgotten any previous life before slavery. His memories
of life in the US were few and far between, he said, and the few he had,
were not all that pleasant. He now existed only to serve me.

  `And how is Luke?'

  `He is very happy to be here, Master. He loves the whole idea of being
here. He wants to learn to swim better and one of the Supervisors, Komil,
is going to teach him some gymnastic exercises. He works in the herb
gardens with Sevil, when they are not working in the kitchen.'

  `Yes, I know. He is safe here.'

  `Yes, Master, like me.'

  I thought to myself in the aftermath of the recent invasion that
`safe' can be a rather relative concept at the best of times.

   For some reason best known to my neighbours, June seemed to be a good
month for dinners. I was invited to no fewer than eight and I tend to
leave Faisal, my bank driver, alone after his official duties of driving
me to and from the bank and use Jess Tollman.

  After his recent punishment, his behaviour like his uniform was
impeccable. Perhaps, I had been overzealous with his flogging, but it was
a lesson not just to him, but to all those who served me that there is a
dividing line over which the slave must not go.

  `Jess, a little background music.'

  `Yes, Master. What would you like this evening?'

  `Something calming.'

  `Yes, Master.'

  I deliberately left the choice open neither confirming the country and
western or the something else. Some easy-listening orchestration, but not
country and western, filled the Rolls at a very low volume. Good! The
slave had avoided my semi-trap skilfully. It had been the same on two
previous occasions when similar verbal ploys had been used. He was
beginning to think of his Master's wishes above all else.

  On drawing up to my neighbour's Palace, Jess was out of the Rolls in a
flash, even though there was an attending slave already opening the door.
As I got out, I said to him, `Ten o'clock, if not earlier.' That would
keep him on his toes while he waited for me.

  All of my neighbours were businessmen in the capital city; few of whom
actually lived during the week at the Palaces on the farms they
cultivated. Each enjoyed an unlimited, but paid for, supply of fresh
water from my wells. Each of the businessmen were totally Dahran, though
all had been educated outside Dahra in various other countries and quite
cultured within an Arab setting where courtesy to a guest is a paramount.

  One incident showed how important the guest was. It was the last dinner
hosted by one of my neighbours in June. He and two of his wives and some
business acquaintances were present and several children from late teens
down to some six and seven year olds, these latter who could or would not
sit still. We were around fifteen or sixteen in all, sitting on low sofas
around a number of central tables. Several slaves, male and female were
in attendance dressed in unisex blue silk-like tops and cream coloured
pyjama-type trousers.

  All was well. The dinner was delightful, non-alcoholic fruit juices
throughout. I suppose it was well past the children's bedtime and that
they were tired, because I could see that the mothers were having
increasing difficulty in keeping them amused and under control.

  As dessert was about to be served, one of the slaves came in with a
very large Waterford Crystal bowl of fresh fruit salad, a macedoine des
fruits orientaux floating in their syrupy juices.

  One of the children's timing was perfect. While amusing himself on the
floor, the child dove in front of the slave to retrieve a soft ball with
which he had been playing. The child's dive was actually across both
feet of the dark haired and tanned slave. To this day, I can in my
mind's eye see the wash of fruit salad leave the bowl, as the slave fell
face forward over one of the knee-high tables. It was like water being
thrown from a basin or bucket and the full force of it hit me right in
the chest. There must have been a gallon of macedoine and syrup, if there
was a pint, and the liquid and diced fruit splattered me from head to
waist and down my lap and legs.

  The only thought that came into my mind at the time was that the slave
had held on to the Waterford glass bowl and lying prone across the table
was still holding on to the bowl stretched out like a shield.

  There was uproar and there was consternation! My host looked as if he
were having a heart attack. His eyes were almost out of their sockets. A
slave rushed forward to get the fallen slave out of the way. Another to
retrieve the screaming child and return it to its mother who was
struggling to put down a plate of food and rise from her sofa all at the
one time.

  Two of the teenage sons were on their feet. I could only open my arms
and look down at my drenched clothes. Another slave had appeared from
somewhere and between him and his companion, they were holding the
hapless slave against the wall opposite me, as if he were trying to
escape from the horror of what he had done to his Master's guest.

  My host had recovered his voice. His eyes were no longer bulging as
they had been, but the anger in them was something to behold. He was
shouting something at one of the female slaves to get cloths to dry his
honoured guest.

  It was not a cloth or cloths I needed, but a complete change of
clothes. There was a small piece of something caught in one of the
buttons on the front of my shirt. I picked it off my shirt and held it
up, `Pineapple, I think.'

  I popped it into my mouth as the two teenagers stood there dumbstruck.

  `Definitely pineapple.'

  The two of them started to laugh. The father and the wives looked
aghast.

  `I did not know that you had a member of the Dahra national football
squad in your household,' I quipped to my host. `It was a perfect
goal.'

   I started to laugh at the funny side of the situation. I could
actually feel the slosh of the syrup now in my shoes. Suddenly, the other
children started laughing as well and soon there were tears of laughter
streaming down their faces as the slave girl returned with some paper
towels from the kitchens and I proceeded to try and mop myself up. Being
female, she could not touch me. The uncontrolled laughter began again,
when I started to wring the paper towel I was using into the crystal
glass bowl which had survived the accident.

  It was impossible to clean up the mess or dry myself off and I actually
squelched when I stood up. My host, who organised company take-overs in
the Middle East, was at a total loss. I looked at the poor unfortunate
slave being held against the wall opposite by the arms, a slave on either
side of him. He had a Central European look about his features.

  The laughter stopped when with my hand I silently beckoned him over to
me and he half-walked and was half-pulled across by his two minders. The
poor guy was actually trembling. Whatever about his fears of an accident
involving one of the Master's children, to harm a Master's guest was
bad enough, but to harm the Retrainer of Dahra clearly had him quaking.

  The slave stood petrified in front of me. His blue top was smeared with
some of the food across which he had fallen. His creamy pantaloons had
the remnants of one of the last remaining meat dishes down his right leg.

  `You understand Arabic or English?'

  His lips were opening and closing, but was unable to get a sound of his
throat.

  `He understands both, Master,' the eldest of the teenage sons
replied.

  `A word of advice. Never serve food when children are running
around.'

  The slave looked at me his eyes wide open and then he brought hands up
to his mouth as he started to convulse and ran from the room before he
could vomit.

  I held my hand open as if to give a benediction.

  `I think I should change into something dry. Anything dry.'

  `Father, we will look after Sir Jonathan,' the eldest of the teenage
sons intervened.

  I was looking at my host and I took pity on him. His dinner party was
in ruins.

  `My dear, dear host, there is no harm done and we have all had a good
laugh. As I am the only one to have had the fruit salad, I can pronounce
that it was excellent.'

  My host was still partly apoplectic and lost for words, but he nodded
and breathed deeply as the eldest of three teenage sons escorted me out
of the room and up to one of his own rooms.

  It was a typical western boy's room with Star Wars and music artists'
posters on the walls.

  `Can you start a shower for me and the easy way is I'll just wash it
all off,' I said as I started to strip off.

  The young man ran and switched on the shower and was out in a flash to
take my wet clothes from me as I stripped. He seemed to be quite
interested in my uncut cock as I saw him glancing at it more than once.

  `You are about my height, but much slimmer, do you have anything that
would fit me? Take a look while I am having my shower.'

  It is quite extraordinary how sugar and syrup can stick to you. I had
to stay under the shower for over ten minutes lathering myself a number
of times. The son came in at one stage and just stood there looking at me
with the water running off me.

  `You have never seen a naked westerner before?'

  `No, Master.'

  `We are just the same as you. Some of us have a little bit more
here,' I said pointing to my uncut cock, `but that is all.'

  `It is beautiful, Master.'

  I looked at the young man and I thought that he was going to have an
interesting life.

  `What have you found for me to wear?'

  He had an assortment of tops and pants, all a bit too tight. There was
one large white sweatshirt almost my size and I put that on. Our size in
boxers was almost the same.

  I spotted a dish-dash in the wardrobe, the long white traditional
gallabiya of Arab regions. We were almost of a height and it fit
perfectly. I rounded the clothes off with a pair of open sandals.

  `How do I look?' I said.

  `Very Dahran, Master.'

  To put my host at his ease after the accident, as I came in I said, `I
came here a Westerner. I shall leave a Dahran.'

  `Sir Jonathan, how can I ever apologise for my slave's clumsiness?'

  `My dear host, it was a simple and glorious accident. Is the child
hurt?'

  `No. The boy was just frightened. I think he is now asleep already.'

  I noticed that the wives and children had departed. The offending table
and the sofa I had been sitting on had disappeared. The two younger
teenage sons seemed to be upset about something and I got it in one.
Their father had been upbraiding them for laughing.

  `I hope your father has not been rebuking you for laughing at me.'

  Their eyes flickering over at their father indicated that I had hit the
bull's-eye.

  `What do you think of my garb? Better than on your brother? And no
pineapple on it?'

  They obviously had a good sense of humour, because they again dissolved
in teenage laughter, in which their father also finally joined.

  Flattery is one of the great virtues of the Middle East and I indulged
myself a little in thanking my host and his family for their genuine
hospitality. It was now after ten in the evening.

  `I shall have my driver bring you back your clothes in the
afternoon,' I said to the son whose clothes I was wearing.

  `That will not be necessary, Sir Jonathan. I shall bring you your
clothes tomorrow when they have been cleaned. Please do not trouble
yourself.'

  Looking at my host and knowing how these things work, I said to him,
`The slave. I do not want you to punish him. It was an accident no more.
And we have had a good laugh. There is no damage done.'

  My host replied, `Sir Jonathan, your wish is my command. I shall not
have the slave punished.'

  As we walked out to the Rolls which was at the porch entrance, I saw
Jess jump out to open the door and I saw his fleeting surprise at seeing
me in Dahran dress. Had he and I been on better terms, I would have
laughed my way back to the Lime Palace. As it was, I drove home in
silence, not explaining why I was now in Dahran dress and I refused his
offer of background music.

  There are those who think that being a Master and owning slaves is all
about cracking whips, physically and sexually using and abusing slaves,
dominating the weaker members of our species in humiliating acts of
serfdom and servitude. Nothing could be further from the truth. The
ownership of slaves is about attention to detail and getting the maximum
reward for the minimum investment. In my case, I am not a good Master in
that I do not seek the maximum reward and more often than not, invest
more than the minimum. I think however, that in the long term, I get
better results. And much more importantly, I get the results I want.

  My philosophy is that a reasonably happy slave is a damn sight more
productive than one who has to be supervised every waking moment of the
day.

  Stan Mercer, my Property Manager, has the maintenance and repairs to
the Palaces and farms down to a tee and it was on his excellent
accounting system that we expanded to the sale and delivery of the
vegetables and the Aloe sap and purgatives. Apart from his property
Overseers, Stan controls the four accounting staff who document
everything for all the Palaces before it is paid for.

  Ben Trant, my secretary with his assistant Gianni, always kept me from
being overwhelmed with correspondence.

  That is not to say that I do not enjoy the ownership of my slaves and
what might be termed in the minds of some as the domination of their
lives. I did not invent slavery in Dahra, but I accept the service and
servitude of slaves to me. And in return for their continued obeisance to
me, I venture to say that they are happier and more balanced slaves than
ever they would have been with other owners or even may I dare say so as
free individuals with little or no purpose in their lives. On that I may
stand to be corrected in some instances, but not I believe in too many.

  A number of my slaves did have happy relationships and marriages, but
very few. The majority of them, from what I have seen and heard were
already in relationships of social chains, with nowhere to run back to
when physically enslaved for the first time and almost a quarter of them
were drifting from one broken relationship to the next. By my ownership,
I took away a number of their options and gave them purpose and a future,
without distracting complications. Does that make me a better person or
an altruistic Master? I think not.

  The best case in point is that of the forty two slaves, former
mercenaries, who now work at the opal mine for me. Unwanted by society,
even the military sections of society apart from a few private
contractors for mercenaries, their enslavement took away the nonsense of
little-boy heroics in adult bodies and gave them a real life do-or-die
situation. Work for me or die! Even the most obtuse slave can understand
that. Working for me in temperatures of a hundred plus day in day out for
five years, they will more than likely end up dead. Such is the rough and
tough end of slavery.

End of Chapter 10

To be continued...

Contact points:

e: gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com

w: http://www.geocities.com/gerrytaylor_78/

w: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/erotic_gay_stories

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.