Date: Tue, 15 Feb 2005 15:48:23 +0000
From: Gerry Taylor <gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Seventh Desert - Chapter 22 - Gay - Authoritarian

The Seventh Desert by Gerry Taylor

This is the twenty second and last chapter 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 22 -- The coming of age

  When Gustav and I sat down for lunch together the following day, there was
no need to dwell lengthily on yesterday's revelations. We both, in a new
light, saw what we had done and what we had thought we had been doing.
  'I have considered it, Jonathan,' Gustav Ahlson said. 'Whatever bizarre
ideas I have been entertaining; the result is that I am a slave-owner. In
this Sheikdom, I have the same rights as you, as Rashid, as anyone who has
bought slaves.'
  I nodded.
  'It is the truth, Jonathan, even though I do not like the way I have come
to realise it. I suppose it all got to my head. The notion that I was their
benefactor, their saviour, heaven knows what. And at the same time knowing
that they could never leave me.'
  Apparently I was not the only one who had spent the evening engrossed in
thought.
  'One thing I am worried about,' Gustav continued, 'is how far we can
believe the account we heard yesterday. How do we know that we have not been
taken for yet another ride?'
  I thought about Sir Graham Chormunley, the British Ambassador, claiming
that he had known nothing about the plan to export prisoners to Dahra until
a week before their initial proposal, when in fact he had been one of the
instigators of the plot and had presented me to his partners in diplomacy as
'his candidate'.
  'I am sure these two would tell any number of lies without batting an
eyelash, Gustav, but the question is, why should they now at this point? I
would wager any bet that every single previous indiscretion was calculated.
However, I don't see that they had anything to gain by inventing this tale.
And it coincides with everything Bo Bostrom has told us.'
  'Perhaps,' he said, 'they really thought they owed us something, for
settling their deal with Rashid instead of one of us. Even though, strictly
speaking, it is none of our business whom they make such deals with. Maybe
they opted to pay their debts in diplomatic gossip.'
  Gustav looked down at his hands, where I observed, the Swedish ring was
still missing. Given time, the pale spot it had left on his finger would fit
in with the rest of his Dahran suntan. Some traces disappear all by
themselves. The traces of living with a lie for all those years would not
disappear so easily.
  'I probably still don't want to believe it,' he murmured.
  'Yes, the same notion induced me to almost threaten Bo Bostrom out of his
wits.'
  Not to mention how close I came to thrashing my newest slave into telling
me what I wanted to hear, I silently added in my thoughts.
  'Let us face the facts, Gustav and move on from here.'
  'I want to speak to them tonight,' he said, 'and explain their situation.
They must know that from now on, I expect them to obey me.'
  'Do you think there will be trouble?'
  'I don't know. But I have already had so many worries in this matter,
Jonathan, I would rather prefer to have you by my side.'

  The double doors of the Aloe Palace dining hall stood slightly ajar.
Through the crack, I could make out a section of the dining table. Behind
me, I sensed the silent presence of Yuriy, Radek, and fifty of my sturdiest
field slaves.
  Swedish is not a language I understand. I do however read body language
and I did, moreover, manage to discern Gustav's earnest tone, a brief
silence and the ensuing cacophony of heated responses. Then, it was Gustav's
turn to speak again and this time he seemed to address every one of his
Swedes separately and by name. Bjorn frowned and shook his head. At one
point, there was movement from one of the Swedes. Jon Lundt had risen from
his chair. Calmly, he walked over to Gustav, took his hand and knelt down to
kiss it in a gesture of quiet reverence. Watching this, Olaf, the Aloe
Palace's Head of Household, slapped the table angrily, rose and pointed an
accusing finger in Gustav's direction. What he shouted was lost on me.
Gustav did not reply. He looked around the assembly. Then he sighed, stood
up, walked towards the door behind which we were hidden and opened it wide.
  'Come inside, please. Yuriy, I want a belt on each of them. Bind their
hands and stand them up.'
  Yuriy and his helpers streamed into the room. I stood on the side and
observed. My slaves were two to each Swede, and had the advantage of
surprise. Each of the Swedes was grabbed from behind, arms turned on his
back and held there until a waistband had been locked on. A cuff was placed
on each wrist, and attached to the belt. The field slaves grasped the
Swedes' arms, pulled them up and moved them to a standing position behind
the chairs on which they had been sitting until a few moments ago.
  The only voice to be heard in the room was Olaf's, who was uttering a
string of what were obviously insults in Swedish in Gustav Ahlson's
direction. His hands at his sides were clenching and unclenching. But the
two field slaves who had immobilised his wrists now held him and his
shoulders and bulging biceps strained to no avail. Bjorn, held in a firm
grasp between Radek and another of my Overseers, was staring at Gustav in
utter disbelief.
  Suddenly a cry of 'Master!' was heard from one of the Swedes. Olaf stopped
in mid-tirade and all heads turned towards Jon.
  'Master, please remember what I said. I am your slave. I am willing to
serve you.'
  Gustav was going to answer, but Olaf interrupted.
  'So that is what you want now, Gustav? You want us all to call you
'Master' and grovel at your feet? Feed us slave biscuits and water and
expect us to be grateful for your bounty? Well, let me tell you, it is not
going to happen. We have put up with the conditions here at the Aloe Palace
and stuck to the rules because you said it was necessary. We believed you.
But now we know that you lied to us, and we don't believe you any more. You
just want to use us like this Rashid al-Akhri or your precious neighbour
here. But if the Embassy finds out that you are misplacing their trust, they
will fly us all out of here, diplomacy be damned! How about it, Gustav,
maybe you would also like to fuck us all in a row?'
  In the ensuing awkward and embarrassing silence, I walked over to one of
the now empty chairs and sat down. With a smile at Gustav Ahlson, I
remarked: 'This slave of yours talks a lot, doesn't he?'
  Gustav remained silent.
  Now Bjorn took a deep breath.
  'Gustav, please, whatever Sir Jonathan has said to you, whatever Olaf said
just now, please think about what you are doing. Do you want to destroy the
life we had together? We were happy at your house. We cooperated. We never
asked for more than you could give us. You are right to be annoyed. We
should have thought about you when we were voting and remembered that you
are the one who pays the bills. But you have always said that you did not
consider us your property. Do you want to betray our trust now? Do you want
to go back on your word?'
  Gustav looked at his lover. Then, his face expressionless, he turned
towards me.
  'You know, Jonathan, this other slave of mine talks a lot, too.'
  The room was silent again.
  'I will answer your questions,' Gustav spoke into the silence, 'not
because you, as slaves, are entitled to an answer, but because there are
some things I want you to know. Bjorn, I do not want to destroy the life we
had together. It was a good life and I do not regret it. But it was based on
an illusion and it is over now. Olaf, whatever I decide, I will decide in my
own time because it is I who will be responsible for me and for you at the
end of the day. Should any of my future plans include you, you will find
out. Jon, I have noted your loyalty to me always. Stay beside me now' and
Gustav motioned to the two field slaves holding Jon to bring him over and
take off his cuffs, `but everyone else, right now, I want out of my Palace.
Yuriy, take them to the courtyard and wait there.'
  Twenty two stunned Swedes, their faces pale under Dahran suntans, their
wrists unyieldingly bound at their sides, were marched out of the room.

  When we were alone, Gustav turned to me.
  'I am afraid I will have to treat them as if they had just been enslaved.
Which, in a way, they have been. If they see themselves as free people, it
is because I made them believe they were free. It is my responsibility and
my problem to deal with.'
  'I will not interfere with your decisions, Gustav. Especially not now,
knowing that I have been operating under the odd illusion myself. Whatever
you want to do, my slaves and my Palaces are at your disposal.'
  'Thank you. The first thing I need is time to think. I do not want to
presume on your generosity, but could you perhaps keep them out of my sight
for a while?'
  'Gustav, I have cells for many more than these to say nothing of five
compounds. It is no problem at all.'
  My friend gave me a wry smile.
  'Yes, next to your three fully furnished retraining rooms. It looks as if
all your investment into infrastructure finally pays off.'
  'Just tell me what you want, Gustav. Indeed, just tell my Overseers what
you want and it shall be done.'
  'Let's go outside', Gustav said.

  All Swedes were lined up in the courtyard, each with one of my slaves to
his right and one to his left. Gustav Ahlson turned to my Head of Stables,
who was standing at 'rest' before the line-up.
  'Yuriy, my slaves are to be split up among the three retraining buildings
here at the Aloe Palace, the Lemon Palace and the Lime Palace. It does not
matter which of them is put where. I want them all in separate cells.
Morning and evening, each is to be taken out to piss, defecate, be cleaned
out, given a shower, then locked into his cell again. Each is to be jerked
off in the shower. The belt and the wrist restraints stay on all the time. I
assume there are sufficient hooks you can attach them to somewhere in the
cell?'
  'Yes, Master. The belts can be linked to the walls,' Yuriy replied.
  'Good. I believe my slaves all need some time to think without
distractions. And, Jonathan, do I remember correctly that you have this
never-ending supply of butt-plugs at the Lemon Palace?'
  I smiled at him. 'If you want butt-plugs, Gustav, I think I can help you
out.'
  'Yuriy, one of the smallest size for each. Two biscuits morning and
evening, with plenty of water. Except Olaf. I think he can do with water
only for a couple of days.'
  'Yes, Master.'

  As we watched the last of the departing figures leave the courtyard, my
friend gave a deep sigh.
  'Bjorn was right, Jonathan. I did deceive them. And now I have betrayed
them all.'
  'You were deceived yourself.'
  'I have been a fool. Imagining I could build myself an isolated island,
imagining I could deny the truth by using quaint euphemisms, imagining I
could be part of a system and not be part of it at the same time.'
  'It is the past, Gustav. What do you want to do now? The Aloe Palace is
somewhat understaffed at present. Can I offer you some temporary help? I
could have Pete called over, if you would like him to keep an eye on things
for the moment and bring some slaves to staff your kitchens and do the
indoor work.'
  'Thank you.'
  'It is no trouble at all. And what about tonight? No need to let a bunch
of untrained slaves spoil your evening. This whole episode has been a coming
of age.'
  'I think...' Gustav looked around the courtyard, at his Palace, and
towards the pool and gym area. 'I think I want to use the sauna. And if I
may take further advantage of your generosity, I would like to borrow one of
your masseurs. My back feels as if I have been wearing steel armour all
day.'
  'With pleasure, my friend. I will have Vitali sent over. Actually, may I
offer you Ross, too?'
  'So that I should not languish for want of body slaves?'
  'Do with them whatever you want, Gustav. And if you don't want them, just
throw them out.'

  Two days after all this excitement I had a surprise visit, one which I was
not expecting in the least. It was from Budd Chavez, former diplomat at the
American Embassy in Dahra and now working at our own Deckhams head office in
London learning the profession of merchant banker.
  His call from the Dahran Diamond, as I say took me by surprise, and he
asked to see me and could he bring a person with him. As he referred to me
twice during the phone call as `Sir Jonathan' rather than `Jonathan' on its
own, I surmised that either he was not on his own or he was being recorded.
Only he and I knew of the coded warning in the `Sir' bit. I said by all
means and knowing Mr. ABC, as I had nicknamed him after his first names
Augustine Budd, to be totally honest, I felt I had nothing to fear meeting
anyone whom he wished to introduce, nor did it feel that more than an
introduction was being planned, albeit a formal one.

  It is quite amazing what a good career change can do for people. Budd
Chavez walked into my office with all the self-confidence that a young
merchant banker must possess. Even his clothes seemed to hang better on him.
He extended his hand to greet me, which I avoided and gave him the best bear
hug I could manage. Though I had been in London twice in previous months at
Board meetings, I had not seen him as he had been visiting firms being
targeted by the bank's clients as potential takeovers.
  `Budd, you look very well. I have missed seeing you on the last visits to
London.'
  `Sir Jonathan, I'm well and as the Boss says `working hard'.'
  It was one of the favourite phrases of our esteemed Chairman Lord Deckham.
I also noticed that he was referring to me as `Sir Jonathan', implying that
his companion was creating a formal presence and not a presence of
previously shared intimacies.
  `Sir Jonathan, may I introduce, Bob Marshall. Bob and I were at university
together. Our paths crossed in international finance. When I went to State,
he went to Justice where he still is, and all of Deputy to the Assistant
Deputy Secretary.'
  I thought of my friend Tariq al-Akhri, also a Deputy to a Deputy and the
true power behind a financial throne.
  `Bob, delighted to see you. Any friend of Budd's is a friend of mine.'
  Bob Marshall was a well-built, executive type in his early thirties. His
light brown hair was perfected combed and even his quaff appeared to sit in
perfect place above a lightly tanned angular face. I got the impression of
one of who did gym work, rather than a person who took his six-foot frame to
the great outdoors.
  His handshake was firm, dry and in control. Anything less would have
disappointed me.
  Looking at the two of them and noting the time, I said, `Did you come out
on the New Concorde?'
  Bob Marshall answered saying, `Yes, Sir Jonathan. My second New Concorde
flight in two days. I came Dulles-Heathrow, where Budd joined me and we came
Heathrow-Kuwait and just took the shuttle down.'
  Polite conversation and small-talk over, I gestured to some sofas to the
side of the office.
  `Well, Budd, what brings you to Dahra introducing a friend whom I would
say you have not seen in some years?'
  Budd blushed slightly, `Yes, Sir Jonathan, we have not met up since about
four years ago in DC. Bob knew I was now working for Deckhams and Sir
Jonathan, I would repeat `I am working for Deckhams'.'
  He looked at me and I knew what he was trying to say. The political
intrigues of diplomatic life had turned him off public service of that kind.
  `Bob asked me if I knew and trusted you well enough to introduce him to
you. I presumed to say that I knew you very well and would trust you with my
life.'
  I was looking at Budd. He could have a very serious mien about him at
times. I glanced at Bob Marshall and I got the impression that he was
admiring the sincere boy-scout attitude of his former university friend.
  `I said, I would introduce you and then leave you and him to whatever he
has to discuss with you. So, if that is okay with you, I will leave you both
and say hello to Gustav if he is free.'
  Glancing back and forth between the two visitors, I got the impression
that Bob Marshall was pleased that his entree had been effected and that
Budd Chavez was not now to be part of whatever was planned for discussion.
  `Actually, Budd, it's not okay with me,' I said with a cold smile. `You've
come from London on the mere request of a former university friend who has
used your friendship with me to gain access. I would say that merits you
hearing whatever Bob here has to say, whom I presume has also paid for your
return ticket to London and your stay at the Dahran Diamond.'
  Bob Marshall was one to read the quick changes of temperature in a meeting
and made a perfunctory attempt to keep the meeting on the rails that he, or
his bosses, had planned.
  `Sir Jonathan, I do sincerely thank you for seeing me, with or without
Budd's introduction. What I have to say comes with the highest authorisation
and is meant only for your ears alone.'
  `By which I presume you mean to say that you are not recording this
meeting in any way, Bob. And also, it means that if I were ever to reveal
it, you could simply deny it either took place or the subject of the meeting
itself. Bob, Budd Chavez stays, not that he may have any interest in what
you are going to say, but simply to show to you, that I trust him implicitly
and if he gives his word, now or after this meeting that he won't mention it
ever, I can assure that the Grand Canyon will have long disappeared from the
face of the earth before he ever does. He also stays so that you can tell
your bosses that the meeting did not go, just as you had planned it.
Now...now, what do you wish to say that is so important that it needs two
supersonic flights in two days.'
  Bob Marshall looked across at Budd Chavez, who said, `I told you he would
not be a pushover. I'll leave, Bob, if you insist on it. I respect you in
that. But I'll have to stay if Jonathan even half-requests it. And you have
my word as to silence in whatever matter you wish to discuss here.'
  I noted the dropping of the `Sir' and I am quite sure that Bob Marshall
noted it as well because he took his cue to explain his visit.
  `Sir Jonathan, the US government has known for some time of your work and
your holdings here in Dahra. We are also aware of the agreement that you had
two years ago with the EU on the transfer of prisoners to you. The
Department of Justice is going to put into effect a number of sweeping
changes in the federal prison system and in order to do that we are going to
have to find a home for almost three hundred special prisoners for starters.
I deliberately say a home, because the government no longer wants these
particular prisoners to be in jail, but cannot release them.'
  `They are dangerous to society?'
  `No, sir. It would simply require presidential pardons for such a large
number that it would not be politically possible, now or in the future. Some
are purely white collar crime, others, like some of your EU cases, are
miscarriages of justice, but the majority are due to the inconsistency of
prison sentencing in the various States in the US. The one example which
sticks in my mind is a prisoner in jail for eight hundred years for a
three-strikes crime, the third time being the theft of toilet tissue.'
  I paused briefly to reflect on his words. The government no longer wanted
these particular prisoners to be in jail. Why? Why not simply leave them to
rot in prison? And how was letting some prisoners officially 'die' supposed
to resolve judicial inconsistencies? A number of sweeping changes. Bob
Marshall was certainly generous with vague phrases, but sparing with hard
facts. Did he expect me to swallow the phrases, and waive the facts? If he
had somehow been assured of my inveterate gullibility, he was in for a
surprise.
  `I get the impression that I have not been your first port of call, Bob.'
  The Deputy to the Assistant Deputy Secretary looked taken aback and looked
at Budd as if the source of that leak, which it was not, but merely an
inspired guess and by his reaction, a bulls-eye.
  `For this particular part of project Orpheus...'
  `Project Orpheus?'
  `We have a classicist at Justice who called it that. Orpheus apparently
went into the underworld to get someone to safety.'
  `Not quite, Bob. Not just `someone'. He went to get his lover, Eurydice,
back. He went to get her back out of the hell of the underworld, if that
were possible.'
  `For this part of Orpheus, Sir Jonathan, you are my first call. For
another part, no.'
  `The other part being?'
  He hesitated and that was the point of no return. He would either have to
trust Budd and myself to hear his confession or he had to leave.
  `We set up several trial units for five hundred prisoners in a South
American country, I cannot reveal where and it has not been totally
successful. A disaster in one case. A very bad learning curve.'
  `How many dead?' I asked, because to my mind there could be nothing else
but death in such an equation.
  `Initially, just under one hundred dead in one prison alone. The prisoners
revolted, killed the guards, set up their own quasi-republic for three days
in a unit. We had to send in private contractors to get the rest under
control.'
  `So why the urgency now?'
  `We have heard, Sir Jonathan, that the European Union is going to ask you
take some four hundred or so other prisoners such was the success of their
clearing out of the stables, as one of their prison people put it somewhat
indelicately. My boss felt, and I agreed that if you took this new EU batch
you would not have time for our lot to be added to your other four hundred
slaves.'
  It was the first time that Bob Marshall had used the word `slaves'.
  `Four hundred?'
  `That's the number of slaves I was informed that you had on your various
properties?'
  `Ah!' I murmured.
  Well, it was not the first time in history that intelligence information
was slightly out of date.
  `Well, Budd, what do you say to all of this?'
  `Jonathan, this is way out of my league and far, far beyond two
missionaries.'
  Bob Marshall made no sign of being surprised at the reference; so I
surmised that he knew about the two missionaries now my slaves.
  I stood up.
  `Bob, for varied and many reasons, I am going to refuse this offer. It
stays as far as I am concerned among the three of us. I understand that you
will have to tell your superiors. My plans for the immediate future will not
include US prisoners of any sort. Please forgive me for being direct. But in
such matters I find it best not to dissimulate.'
  Bob Marshall looked a little shocked and, if the truth be told, he looked
a little green. It was as if this were the first time that someone had
actually turned down such a lucrative project on him.
  I glanced at Budd Chavez and his expression was in neutral.
  I offered both visitors an invitation to join me for dinner in the capital
city, but Bob Marshall declined and Budd said `the shuttle leaves in an
hour.'
  As they were departing, I allowed Bob to walk ahead of Budd and myself. I
put my arm over Budd's shoulder.
  He looked at me and asked quietly, `You're not angry with me for putting
you in this situation, Jonathan? Or maybe disappointed?'
  `You did no such thing. It is a business transaction. You oiled the wheels
of the operation. And how could I be disappointed with you, Budd? It's your
integrity which they were relying on to get this deal to fly. They have used
you, just as they have used me now or wanted to use me. At the end of the
day, it is a business proposition in which I do not wish to participate.'
  Budd looked at me and said `How is Terry? Will you tell him I was asking
for him.'
  Bob Marshal had stopped walking and was now too near for me to reply more
than `He's well and I'll tell him you were asking for him. Come and spend a
holiday here whenever you want.'
  `You wouldn't mind?'
  `Not in the least. It would take your mind off banking, if nothing else,'
I said with a smile
  As my arm was around Budd, Bob Marshall did not see me give him a pat on
the butt which Terry Peoples had so pleasured on Budd's one and only visit
to my then home at the Lime Palace.

  In November, an event occurred that I had put in motion some months
earlier. I put in an order that Nigel Broaders, barrister-at-law to be
lifted. He was a person whom I had met casually the previous summer at my
old school and while his actions had not pleased me at that time, it was his
actions had brought him to the focus of my attention. If the truth be told,
I thought he was obnoxious, but it was not for his lack of social graces
that I had him lifted.
  I do not have reports done on friends or acquaintances as I deem it
impolite. People's private business is their own and no one else' as long as
they don't impinge hurtfully on the lives of others.
  However, in the case of Nigel Broaders, I had made an exception to my own
rule. I had Josh Green in the Cayman Islands, who organises my enquiries for
me, do a report on him. The report was worse than my first and only brief
experience of him, quite damning of a truly sad individual who had betrayed
various clients down through lack of preparation of his briefs, including
allowing a nineteen year old mentally challenged youth change his plea to
murder who should have been given bed in a psychiatric hospital rather than
in Broadmoors. Nigel Broaders only common denomination with me was that we
had both gone to the same public school albeit separated by a ten year
period.

  When I initially and calmly placed the order it was as if I were ordering
a piece of furniture. I was asked questions. Did I have a deadline? Delivery
by plane or ship? As I was not pushed, I answered nonchalantly `whenever'
and `however' and similar to the multiple questions posed. And so it was
that six weeks after the order was placed, I was informed by Ahmed al-Atti,
the owner of the slave centre at al-Qatim, that my new slave had arrived.

  When I walked into a naked Nigel Broaders' cell some days later at the
slave centre, he recognised me immediately, jumped up and ran to me as if I
were his saviour.
  `Jonathan, is it really you? Thank God you're here. You won't believe what
has happened. Get me out of here, please! I don't know where I am or what
has happened to me.'
  It went on in this vein for nigh on two minutes and I never addressed the
slave a single word, not that he realised that he was now a slave, nor I his
Master. Suddenly, his voice began to falter and he was staring at me.
  `Jonathan? Jonathan, what is it?'
  `Nigel, you are in Dahra.'
  I saw the lack of understanding in his eyes.
  `On the Persian Gulf,' I filled him in, `and you have been made a slave. I
am your new Master.'
  Nigel looked at me half-smiling, half-incredulous. He did not know if it
was a bad joke whose punch-line he had missed.
  `Slave? Master? Dahra? Jonathan, what the hell is going on?'
  I looked over my shoulder at the two waiting attendants and nodded to
them. They were well-muscled slaves from the centre and they took my new
slave out to a frame in the training room and strung him up.
  Nigel's body still had its body hair and I noted that he wore his years
well. There was little to no fat on his body, with well-defined ribs now
that he was stretched naked in an x shape on the frame.
  For the first time, his eyes showed fear, definite fear.
  `Jonathan, for God's sake, what is going on?'
  `How sensitive are your nipples, Nigel?' I said as I took up a small
pliers from a table beside the frame. `If my fingers were strong enough, I
would do this with my fingers alone, but these small pliers will do the job
admirably.'
  I put the tip of his left nipple between the lips of the pliers and
squeezed the handle. His scream bounced off the walls of the empty training
room.
  `Bruised, but not bloodied. Not even cut, Nigel,' and I did the same with
his right nipple, squeezing that bit harder now that I had the practice.
  When Nigel Broaders got his voice back, he half-shouted at me, `Jonathan,
for God's sake, why are you doing this?'
  There were tears in his eyes and he was gasping.
  `You like to hurt, to see people hurt, Nigel, but don't like being hurt
yourself. Isn't that so? Does the name Jason Smithers ring any bells?'
  He looked at me as if I were insane and then something clicked in his
memory.
  `At the school, this summer? Is that the pupil you're talking about?'
  `That's him, Nigel. A young lad whose nipples you pinched so hard that
they were actually bruised and cut.'
  `Jonathan, are you saying I am here, because my fag wanted to play and his
nipples were pinched. He came into my room with a hard-on. He wanted sex.'
  `Maybe he did, Nigel, and maybe he didn't. You did not give him a choice
and now I am not giving you one either. He's not really the reason you are
here. Normally, I don't allow ornamentation, but I am making an exception in
your case.'
  I nodded to the two centre assistants, one who came over with two large
five centimetre nipple rings in stainless steel hanging on a top section of
fine steel wire and the other with a hand-held pincers.
  One of the assistants said in Arabic `Master, you have not done this
before, I am told. May it please the Master for this humble slave to show
him the procedure.'
  I nodded approval and noted how the head of the nipple was pinched by the
slave and pulled out almost three centimetre.
  `Now observe, Master, how the head of the pincers must move down the skin
of the nipple as far as possible. The rings you have chosen are heavy and
will require quite some support. When you are happy, squeeze the pincer
handles very firmly. If it does not work the first time, we can do it again,
but it is better to do it well the first time. Less blood, fewer holes.'
  `Jonathan, please no. Please don't,' the new slave begged as he realised
what was about to happen to him.
  I positioned the pinchers which the slave had handed to me, pulled out the
left nipple, let the pincers slide back down the nipple as far as possible,
finding what I believed would be a good spot to give the rings adequate
support.
  I looked the extremely intelligent and very handsome Nigel Broaders in the
eye and said `Remember Jason' as I squeezed as hard as I could.
  The slave, if he had screamed before, roared his pain as a hole was
punched though his nipple. The assistant was immediately there threading the
thin steel wire of the nipple ring through the pierced nipple.
  `Well done, Master, a beautiful perforation. Are you sure you have never
done this before?'
  I recognised flattery when I heard it and proceeded to do the right nipple
in similar manner. The second assistant threaded on the second nipple ring,
while the first applied some form of styptic and sterilising powder.
  My new slave's face was registering pain, incredulity, shock, confusion
and who knows what else all in one. I left him to his confusion with orders
to the centre to have him delivered to my training compounds as soon as his
medical tests were done.

  When Nigel Broaders arrived at the first training compound five days
later, two of my best trainers were waiting for him. Their instructions were
to ensure that I had a well-trained and humbled slave by the end of six
weeks.
  `Consider it done, Boss,' was the reply and the gates of the first
compound closed behind the new slave, from where he would not graduate to
the next compound until fully compliant with his trainers' instruction and
methods and until they themselves were happy to see him progress onward.

  Some slave-related incidents occurred almost immediately after this which
made me think that, after all my travails, I was indeed very fortunate in my
slaves.
  One matter which showed how much people and slaves can change was when
Jens Johanssen asked me when I might be free to come to the computer rooms.
Jens has an entire floor of one of the new out-buildings in the grounds of
the Lemon Palace. I had some reservations about his moving from his quarters
in the old Lime Palace, but he said that he would use those quarters at the
Lime Palace as backup systems and that the new systems he was installing
were state of the art, which the old ones seemed to be as well -- but that
was just to my untrained eye.
  The systems were indeed the latest and it shocked me to see how much
computers were now involved in running my Palaces. Almost two thousand
square feet of building were taken up with equipment. But what fascinated me
were four plasma screens on the walls of the Deck Room, as Jens was calling
it. There were three black swivel chairs in the room. He saw me looking at
them and at the screens, rather similar to the ones at the opal mine
complex.
  On each screen there were hundreds of red and green dots. He pointed to
the first screen and in the top left-hand corner it merely said `Aloe' in a
green square. After a second, some of the dots shimmered and moved a
fraction.
  `Every slave and every Overseer at the Aloe Palace, Master.'
  Pointing to the second, he said, `The Lime Palace,' and then pointing to
the third, he said `the Lemon Palace. These displays you can now also see on
your own computer in the study, Master. Ben will show you how to view the
screens.'
  `How do you manage that, Jens?'
  `Interconnecting satellite dishes, Master.'
  `You're not using a satellite, I hope.'
  `No, Master, definitely not. The dishes are on the roofs of the Palace.
It's called line of sight. You can also view this on your own computer
screen in your study.'
  `In my study at the Lemon Palace?'
  `Yes, Master. Ben Trant can show you what to do when you need to know how
to do it.'
  `What else, Jens?'
  I was looking at young Abdul, his buddy and lover, across from us, who had
adoration in his eyes, I felt reassured. Jens had told me that he would
never do anything which might threaten Abdul's safety now that he found what
it was to love another human being.
  `The programmes you gave me to look at from the opal mine,' and he pointed
to two boxes on the floor.
  `Yes, let me know what you think of them when you have examined them.'
  `Yes, Master, I have,' and he handed me a 100MB zip disk. `The programmes
are rudimentary. Clever but rudimentary. On the disk, there are some much
more advanced safety features and a new set of parameters and timetables for
using the slaves at the opal mine to better and more profitable advantage.'
  I took the disk in my hand and looked at it and at Jens.
  `If you want them to use it, just have them put it in a zip drive and run
it. It has an auto-run feature, if that is clicked on. The new programme
will take over the system for about fifteen minutes while re-writing the
systems.'
  `I'll give it to the General Manager at the mine, Jens and shall let him
decide. It will be his decision, so do not be disappointed if he does not
run with it. I know that you enjoy programming, but you know nothing about
the practical work procedures at the mine.'
  `I understand, Master.'
   `Abdul, whose idea was it to have the green squares on the screen?'
  Abdul beamed.
  `My idea, Master. Do you like the colour?'
  Bingo! I knew Abdul's love of green and it was a semi-inspired guess.
  `Yes, Abdul. It is beautiful, just as you are. Are you looking after Jens
well in bed?'
  `Yes, Master. I now make him come many times just with my tongue.'
  I looked at Jens under my eyebrows who was beginning to blush a bright
pink even with his tan.
  `Yes, Master,' replied Jens. `Abdul has to be seen to be believed.'
  `Well, if that is the case, I will want to see you both in my bedroom
before too long.'
  `Yes, Master,' said Abdul. `We'll be there. Won't we, Jens?'
  `I am going to the opal mine in about two weeks, Jens. Hold on to the disk
for me. Remember to put in an alternative to the auto-run feature. My
General Manager will need to examine and test your programmes before he
decides if he will use any of them. I'll bring it and those boxes back to
the mine when I go.'

   When walking back to the Palace, I met Igor and Basili, who work in my
cacti gardens and complimented them on a particular cactus they had put on
my breakfast table one morning. They were still getting up at the crack of
dawn to find an early morning-flowering cactus or succulent to brighten my
day.
  `But you are living at the slave-quarters of the Lime Palace? And you come
here to the Lemon Palace then?'
  `Yes, Master, we walk down the avenue with the succulent of the day. It
was just a question of getting up a little earlier.'
  I looked at the two Byelorussian slaves whose lives was now looking after
my cactus gardens with Georgi and Dieter, and who had taken it upon
themselves to give me a surprise cactus each morning on my breakfast table.
I smiled to myself at the way they used the technical term `succulent'.
  They were the best examples of slaves who had been lifted and had come
quickly to terms with their new life. They were buddies, but not really
lovers. Basili had said to me once, `we look after each other, Master, in
the showers each morning and then; we always sleep together at night for
that extra warmth.'
  `Come,' I said, beckoning them to follow me and went over to the building,
which housed the sand-buggies. Igor ran ahead to open the double-doors.
  `Do you know how to drive one of these, Basili? Igor?' pointing to one of
the buggies.
  `A car, yes, Master,' Basili answered, `not a buggy.'
  `The same thing. This is an automatic model. Just put it in gear.
Accelerate or brake. Try it around the courtyard.'
  `Me, Master?' Basili said, his eyes open with excitement.
  He settled himself in the seat, pressed the `on' button in my direction,
put it in gear and was off. His smile going around the courtyard would have
brightened any day.
  When he drew up beside me, I pointed to Igor, `You know how to drive?'
  `Yes, Master.'
  `Try it,' and he too did a circuit of the courtyard.
  When completed, he drew up beside Basili and myself, stepped down from the
buggy and brushed an invisible speck of dust from the seat where he had been
sitting.
  `You won't have to get up so early now in the mornings.'
  They looked at each other and knelt down at my feet and made an obeisance
as if they had not seen me at all that day.
  `The only thing, Igor, Basili, is that you will have to wear shorts. I
can't have you staining the leather with perspiration.'
  `Master, only the assistant Overseers and Overseers wear shorts.'
  `Then, I think, I must be looking at two new assistant Overseers in my
cactus gardens.'
  `Master, you will have the best cacti in all of Dahra,' Igor said, as he
bent to kiss my hand.
  I thought to myself that if all my slaves were as enterprising as these
two, even in Igor's original way of getting himself and Basili bought by me,
then I would always have fewer slave problems.
  It might seem a flimsy reason to create two assistant Supervisors, but
what is true power if not to be used on a whim.

  The one report I had actively been waiting for, for over four months and
which had two parts when it did arrive, finally lay on my desk. I had wanted
to find out why a certain Colonel Sterling in Ohio was behind the feelers
being put out on Al Vine and whatever other information could be gleaned.
  I am never quite sure of Josh Green's sources and how he manages to get so
much information from detective agencies around the world, even those which
have to penetrate military bases.
  If anything, Josh Green's reports were always comprehensive. A copy of an
Army medical report on Jim Sterling, his school records, two statements from
two high-school buddies -- a track athlete and a swimmer both now openly gay,
who had been fucked by him -- and statements taken from a number of
girl-friends who remembered dating him, as a `nice guy who never really
tried anything beyond kissing'.
  The message was clear in the reports. Jim Sterling was bisexual, but with
a tendency to be a top in his male relationships and a companion-friend-male
date in his female relationships.

  When Al Vine left the Army, his former lover Jim Sterling wanted to leave
also, but was prevailed upon by his uncle, Colonel Hal Sterling, to stay on.
>From a distance Jim kept tabs on Al, and when Al disappeared in April
working on a second mission for private contractors, Jim Sterling again
wanted to leave the Army to go looking for his former lover.
  Colonel Sterling realised that neither Jim's gay sexuality, nor his love
for the former Army private was going to go away too easily, and to keep his
nephew in the military, he told him that he would put out some feelers among
former buddies now working as consultants with several private contractors.
  The enquiry was made to sound as if the Colonel was making it on behalf of
Al Vine's wife. It was then through the grapevine and the mercenary magazine
that Gus Jennings had heard of it and had told me, seeking my help in
eliciting further information.
  In order to have the uncle's enquiry stopped in its tracks, the private
contractors who had hired Al for the `Dahran raid' as it was being termed
and to have the uncle thrown off the scent, got a fake death cert out of the
Philippines that Albert Vine was deceased, having drowned in a boating
accident. This had been sent anonymously to the Colonel.
  The second part of the report was to see how well Colonel Sterling had
taken the bait of the death certificate. The Colonel, knowing that the
enquiry had been on the private contractor grapevine had not been surprised
at the anonymous receipt of the certificate. He took it that someone was
doing him a favour and he took the cert to his nephew, Jim, believing that
would settle the matter for once and for all.
  In one sense, it worked. Jim Sterling stopped looking or wanting to go
look for his former lover, but became overwhelmed with guilt that his wife
had been widowed and the two boys orphaned.
  To my mind, Jim Sterling should have stood by his lover and he had reason
to feel guilty about Al's Army discharge, when Jim by his inaction had in
fact acted in a very cowardly and egoistical way. But Al's 'death' was not
Jim's fault. Al Vine was voluntary mercenary having freely chosen
life-threatening and violent occupations, first as a public mercenary in his
country's Army's infantry and then as a private mercenary contractor for the
forces of any dictator who would pay. These certainly had been Al's own
choices. However, his second choice had been coerced on him when the Army
had forced through his discharge.
  Now, I found out that Jim Sterling, Al's former lover had made several
trips over the summer months to Rockville, Utah and `accidentally' met Cathy
Vine at a mall. He knew that she had been forwarded in a brown envelope the
`death certificate' of her husband. Within weeks, he and she were an item
and going out on picnics every weekend with his former lover's two boys.
Whatever Jim Sterling's sexuality, it, his charm and well-exercised and
toned body extended its influence over women as well, because he became
deeply attached to Cathy Vine and her two boys and they to him, over the
summer and autumn months.
  In early November, six months to the day of Al's `death', Jim Sterling and
Cathy Vine were married. The way she put it to friends was that she needed
someone as good as Al to help her rear the boys. Rockville seemed to be a
practical place of brief mourning!
  Josh Green's report brought me up to date within three weeks of the
events. There was only one way to handle this to my mind and it involved
speaking with Al Vine face to face.
  I had Al Vine called and he came with his buddy Yasser, in tow, both
scrubbed down and smelling of soap, when they both kissed my hand.
  I was going to send Yasser away while talking to Al, but as Yasser did not
speak any great amount of English, I decided to let sleeping dogs lie and
did not dismiss him.
  `Al, I said to you before that I think you got a raw deal in the Army
which sort of catapulted you into everything else that has since happened to
you. I know you may have wanted to support your family. But you and the
other mercenaries have killed I don't know how many innocent Dahran people,
to say nothing of the military forces here in Dahra. Even the young son, a
child, of a friend of mine was killed in the centre of the city.'
  Al was `at rest' and I told him to kneel at my feet where I could observe
his body language easily.
  `But even with all you have done, I asked for a detective agency report to
be done on your family to see how they are getting on and I want you to read
the report here. I have just two questions to ask you before you do that.'
  `Master?' He sounded a little wary and confused.
  `Al, if you were not back in Rockville to look after your boys, who would
you want looking after them? Who?'
  `Cathy, of course, Master.'
  `And if you were not there to look after Cathy, who would you want to look
after her and the boys? Who would come to mind?'
  He looked at me a while and then said very quietly, `Jim Sterling,
Master.'
  I looked at him for a few seconds.
  Al Vine looked up at me, his eyes totally red and watery. He wiped his
nose with the back of his hand. There is no greater sorrow than to remember
better times when in misery.
  `My life is over back home, isn't it, Master?'
  He was rocking ever so slightly on his haunches. He was polite as ever
even on one of the worst days of his life.
  `Yes, Al, that life is over. I want you to have a new and fulfilling life
here with me,' I said as I handed him Josh Green's report, photos of his
ex-wife's and his ex-lover's wedding and all.
  As Al Vine knelt at my feet, I could see the turmoil behind his eyes and
then very softly he said, `Master, thank you for the report. I am glad for
Cathy that she has married again for the boys' sake and for her own and I am
glad it is to Jim. Maybe when he's holding them all, he'll remember me
sometimes.'
  I noticed that his buddy Yasser draped his arm over Al's shoulders as he
quietly started to cry.

  In one sense, Al Vine's slavedom was a summary of the vast majority of
modern slaves. Born a freeman, now a slave, here to serve and obey a Master.
While many accepted their new status in life well, few managed to adjust to
modern day slavery so well and as happily as Al Vine. That said Al Vine like
almost every other slave, by being human, had an inbuilt potential to be
dangerous.
	The Master is not there to right the wrongs of his or his slave's world. He
may, of course, as I do from time to time choose to enlighten himself and
perhaps the slave with a well chosen report.
       The inexplicable twists and turns in my life are most certainly
guided by the hands of fate. Fate had indeed tested me in recent times on
the horns of a dilemma with manipulating politicians and diplomats. But then
again, dilemmas help us to grow up quickly and come of age. In this sense, I
am we must be grateful to fate for the experience as it is from experience
that we learn so very much.
	While there are those who say that the Master owes his slaves nothing, I do
not agree with that statement, or the sentiments behind it. Under a
multiplicity of headings a Master owes nothing material, or financial, or
social to his slaves. That is correct, but he does owe a duty of care, food
and lodging to his slaves as his lifelong property. Were a Master's slaves
to be deprived of their Master, they would be sold on, disposed of to other
Masters in the marketplace that particular day.
	A true Master and I consider myself such, always looks after his property
whether that be made of bricks and mortar, of wood and veneer, or of human
flesh and blood. A true Master, also has a duty of responsibility to his
slaves because in the worst scenario were he to be deprived of them, he
would simply cease to be a Master. And that would never do, would it?

    Dahra
  October 200x

End of Chapter 22
The End

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