Date: Wed, 03 Dec 2003 22:48:39 +0000
From: Gerry Taylor <gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Special Memories - Chapter 6 - Gay - Authoritarian

This is the sixth chapter ex twenty two of a novel about slavery and gay
sex.

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

This story is entirely a work of fiction and all rights

to it and its characters are copyright, and private to
and reserved by the author. No reproduction by anyone
for any reason whatsoever is permitted.

If you are underage to read this kind of material or if
this material is unlawful for you to read where your
live, please leave this webpage now.

Contact points:

e: gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com
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w: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Erotic_Gay_Stories

The Special Memories by Gerry Taylor

Chapter 6 - The Spaniard

During the time Roge Harte was being trained another matter arose, which was
in itself unique and required urgent attention. Theft had not happened
previously or, indeed, since at the Lime Palace.

It is strange how we consider some things success and other matters failure.
For all times, the training of the Spaniard involved will be considered by
me as one of my failures.

The morning inspection is normally divided half and half between Aziz and
myself each week -- well, three and four days actually. I considered myself
easier going, even thought I am the Master, than Aziz, my head of household.
I think the old adage of 'talk softly but carry a big stick' would apply to
me.

The morning inspection was routine for all of us. It was a brief ten to
fifteen minutes for all of us to meet, Master with the overseers and slaves,
slaves and overseers with the Master. The serried ranks would form quickly
when the most senior overseer present clapped his hands twice and the slaves
streamed out of their various quarters.

There is no real reason to  talk or chat at morning inspection. The slaves
will have ample opportunity for that during the day, so even the most minute
of whispers can be clearly heard around the courtyard. I do not know if it
is the acoustics of it. It's just the way the courtyard is.

As I went up and down the ranks of the slaves, I heard it again and out of
the corner of my eye, saw that it was Ivan, the Ukrainian slave and who was
Bob's lover, was saying something to Bob on one side of him and the other
slave on his other side.

Two ranks later I was standing in front of him and he appeared to be
flushed.

'What is the matter, Ivan?'

'Master, I have lost my necklace. I cannot find it.'

I realised that he was not wearing the gold necklace, which each slave gets
at the end of his first 30 days of training. It is the slave's one and only
possession. It is my gift as Master to him, to show my care and duty to him
and a recognition of his obedience and loyalty to me. But it is also a sign
of the slave's ownership by me, his Master.

Originally, when there were fewer slaves, the necklaces would hang on pegs
in the slave quarters, but as their numbers grew Jess Tollman had made a
series of pigeon hole boxes, much as you would see in the reception area of
a hotel. When the slave was not wearing the necklace, it was merely placed
in the open box and no one, absolutely no one, would dream of touching it
there.

The idea of giving a necklace had come to me when the six slaves had come
wearing necklaces when they were presented to me by the al-Akhri brothers
and I had Taspells, my jewellers in London, produce similar ones for the
other slaves. It was always a proud moment for each slave to get his loop
necklace, which was of pure gold, easy to slip on for inspection and at any
other time when work was not being carried out. It was not something that
the slave lost or misplaced.

Ivan was upset at having lost his.

'Go back into the quarters and look again,' I said.

He sped off and I continued with the inspection.

I was just finishing when he came back out and said, he had found it. It was
not on his neck. So I said, 'Well, where is it?'

'It is in another box.'

There was a deadly silence in the courtyard as all the slaves and overseers
followed that conversation. Either he had put it in a wrong box or someone
else had. He could not take it out of the box, though open to view, simply
because it was another slave's box. It was not the done thing to put your
hand into another's box, let alone take something out of it.

'Whose box is it then?'

'The name underneath the box, Master, is Beno.'

Beno was one of two Romanian gypsy slaves whom my twenty-year-old nephew,
Jack, had insisted on buying as body slaves. To say that they were devoted
to him would be the understatement of any week. From the time Jack got up to
the time he stepped into the limousine with me to go to work, they were at
his side. From the time, he got back home, they were worse than Food and
Drink, anticipating his every wish and whim. They also at times slept on or
at the end of his bed, when Jack was not bedding one or both of them.

I knew that neither of Jack's Romanians had a necklace, although they had
completed their 30 days of training, simply because Jack had not been back
to London to  get them a necklace each. He had intimated to me that he had
the money in his account to buy them and might ask me to do so when I was in
London, but he had not formally asked me to do that and I had not. He is the
Master of his own slaves and he alone must decide on such matters.

Now the suggestion planted in everyone's mind in the courtyard was that Beno
had gone and taken Ivan's necklace and put it in his own pigeonhole box.

If so, it was a stupid thing to do. Beno could not wear it, as he was known
not to have a necklace. Maybe he just wanted to see it, but it also would be
stupid, because once all the slaves were wearing theirs when at inspection
for example, it would be the only necklace left in a box. It did not make
sense.

When Beno's name was mentioned, there was a wail of a cry and he sprinted
some five or six paces and half-hid behind Jack, who was looking as
surprised as anyone at these developments.

But if Beno had taken it, hiding behind his owner was not going save him
from punishment.

'Uncle Jonathan, something is wrong here. Vedel and Beno have been with me
since dinner last night. When was Ivan last wearing his necklace?'

I looked at Ivan.

'At the evening meal yesterday, Master, and up to the time I went to bed
with Bob.'

'There, Uncle Jonathan, Beno could not have taken it. He was with me all the
time, unless he did it in the middle of the night.'

To tell the truth, I was getting just a bit annoyed. This was no way to
start my weekend.

'Someone here,' I said 'took Ivan's necklace and put it in Beno's box.
Whoever did it had better say so now or anyone who knows who did it step
forward.'

There was no movement for some seconds when one of the slaves stepped
forward and I saw that it was a slave whom I had bought from one of my
neighbours Ahmed al-Karim. He looked very nervous. I had not really spoken
with him at any length ever, as he was purely a farm slave and worked under
Yuriy Obov's direction on the vegetable farm.

I went over to him.

'Did you take it?'

'Oh, no, no, Master! I saw someone last night go over to the boxes in the
middle of the night, reach up' -- Ivan's box was one of the high ones -- 'and
then bend down towards the low boxes. I did not see who it was, but the
slave then went back to his pallet, on the other side of the quarters.'

I patted the nervous slave on the shoulder. If the slave was from the
quarters, it could not be Beno. So he was out, and from the petting that
Jack was giving him calming him down, it was clear that Jack believed what
this slave had just said.

'Who was it then? There are only 25 to 30 slaves in Ivan's quarters.'

With that there was a commotion two rows back and when I looked some slaves
were moving away from another one who had pissed himself and was standing in
a pool of his own urine in the courtyard.

His piss had splashed out all over the place, because he had not directed it
by holding down his penis. He was one of those slaves who had had on their
arrival at the Lime Place a large Prince Albert through the piss hole of
their urethra. When I had had the Prince Alberts removed from all those
slaves purchased from Ahmed al-Karim, some of the holes had sealed in time.
Some had not. His was one of those which had not sealed itself, so when
pissing not only did his piss come out the tip of this penis, it also came
out the back.

Ignoring the piss, I went and looked him straight in the face. It was Diego,
a Spanish slave. He was a farm slave, about thirty five, small and compact,
sallow skinned and jet black hair peppered with grey, well-muscled and built
up after his neglected state after his arrival at the Lime Palace over three
months previously. He was wearing his own necklace which I had given a while
back.

'Why?"

There was not need to ask if he had taken the necklace. His face said it
all. He was trying to articulate words and not succeeding.

'Why?' I repeated.

'Because he loves his gypsies more than the other slaves!' and he signalled
Jack and his two Romanian gypsies, Beno still half-hiding behind Jack.

There was no logic here. Jack's slaves were his. Mine were mine. But I saw
that envy or jealousy does not need or even use logic. Jack was fond of his
two gypsies and that was enough to make this slave envious of Jack's
affection and care of his own slaves. Now I was getting angry and anger is a
poor companion in matters of justice, which this situation demanded.

'And I, your Master, do not love and care for each one of my slaves? Is that
it?'

Well that was not logical or rational either, but as I say I was letting my
anger get the better of me.

'You were starving when you came here. You have received all the medical
treatment you have needed. You have even been given a new set of teeth. You
have been given a buddy. I myself have even given you your necklace of this
Palace. And you are jealous of the slave of another young Master?

It was really only the second time, I had publicly referred to Jack Tuttle
as a Master. If the truth be told, he was more of a big -- though younger --
brother to his two adoring slaves.

I signalled Jess Tollman over.

'Give the overseer your necklace.'

Diego trembled as he took off the necklace and handed it over.

'Take this slave away for punishment' I said to Greg.

When I was calmer some half an hour later, I asked to see Greg Logan, the
assistant retrainer and told him to suggest a punishment programme for the
next thirty days for Diego and to let me see it.

As I believe training up the next generation of overseers and that the
punishment should fit the crime, I told him that I wanted Jess Tollman, his
assistant, to administer the punishments on his own by way of practice and
so to see also how Jess viewed both the crime and its punishment.

When Greg returned to the retraining room, he found Jess occupied with a
leisurely inspection of the cupboards. Diego was kneeling in the middle of
the room as they had ordered him to, awaiting further instructions.

Greg invited his assistant to compose a fitting punishment programme for
thirty days.

`The Master wants daily and detailed reports. Show me when you have thought
of something and I will submit it for approval.'

Greg received an eager `Yes, sir' in reply and left without a glance at the
slave on the floor.

Jess took a writing pad and a pen from one of the drawers and sat down at a
table. He leaned back in his chair and let his gaze wander around the room,
sometimes closing his eyes, sometimes letting them linger on Diego's body.
After a while, he began to take notes in a slow and deliberate handwriting.

The results of his musings were duly placed before me by Greg. My estimation
of Jess rose as I perused the list. I told his overseer to have Jess report
to me every evening to keep me abreast of the procedures applied and their
effect.

`Go ahead', were Greg's words when he re-entered the retraining room.

`You are to use this. Instructions are printed on the back.'

He handed Jess a small packet and a lime fruit.

`One pair for you, two for him' he added, passing one pair of gardening
gloves from the cactus gardens and two pairs of rubber gloves to his
assistant. Then he closed the sound-proof door and left Jess to his own
devices.

As Jess let me know when he reported to me that evening, he followed the
printed procedure to the letter, as far as basic technique was concerned.
First, he put a plastic cover over the table he had been writing at. On top
of it, he placed the retraining room's first-aid box.

`Come over here', he addressed the Spanish slave for the first time.

Diego approached on legs somewhat numbed after the long period of waiting.

`On your knees, hands on the table', said Jess.

>From his new position, Diego watched as the retraining assistant donned a
pair of rubber gloves. He poured the contents of the packet - a dull green
powder - into a plastic bowl, added water and lime juice and stirred the
rapidly thickening mixture with a wooden spatula. Coming over to the table,
he firmly set down the bowl between Diego's hands.

`Put your hands in', he commanded.

Diego hesitantly did as he was told.

`Rub them together, I want the stuff on every square millimetre of your
skin', Jess continued, `Scoop up the rest. Now hold out your hands in front
of you.'

The Spanish slave's hands were coated liberally with paste. The second pair
of rubber gloves was for the Spaniard. Jess slid them on over the smeared
hands. From the first-aid box, he retrieved a roll of bandage which he used
to stick the gloves to Diego's forearms and seal them off. Jess removed his
own gloves, whereas the slave kneeling by the table was given the gardener's
gloves to put on over the others. Then he was handed two small bricks.

Picking up one of the lighter camel canes and taking a chair, Jess said to
the slave, `Come outside.'

Diego's second punishment was merely to stand in the portico of the
courtyard, his arms stretched out on either side of him with a small brick
in each hand. Every time his arms dropped below 45 degrees, Jess was sitting
there at hand behind the slave to give his buttock a stroke of one of the
lighter camel canes.

The bricks were not heavy on their own, but by the end of the first two
hours his buttocks were already red with the welts on his buttocks.

When an exhausted Diego was finally allowed to put down the bricks from his
shaking hands, Jess took him back to the retraining room.

`Put your hands in the sink', was his instruction.

Jess removed the bandages and rubber gloves, then turned on the water to
wash off the paste from the offender's hands. The skin had been dyed
completely red. The packet was a sample I had bought when thinking about
options for new crops on my fields. Henna is still used with great artistry
in Dahra to paint ornaments on the skin for special occasions, as anyone who
has ever seen a bride's decorated hands will attest. Diego's treatment,
however, was crude and all-encompassing. The red colour shouted 'thief'.
Jess informed him coolly that he could expect a re-application every third
morning for the duration of his punishment period.

Jess' punishments were simple, yet clever. The demon Theft was caught
red-handed and her instrument -- Diego - had his hands dyed red. It was only
afterwards that I realised Jess' second punishment for Diego was the sign of
Justice herself, the balancing of the scales of justice, imitated by Diego's
outstretched arms and his light caning of Diego's buttocks was the human
hand which assists justice.

Diego came to me after dinner as every slave is entitled to so approach me
and tearfully apologised for his action. He kissed my feet having got down
on his knees without the use of his arms, over which I do not believe he had
much muscle control and begged my forgiveness, asking that his days of
punishment be doubled, but not to reapply the red sign of his theft. I
refused.

Jess' third punishment was simplicity itself.

After the serious effort of trying to keep arms outstretched on the first
day, the second day's punishment was to be tied to the vaulting horse, as I
called it, in the retraining room and have Samson inserted into his rectum.
Samson is one of three large dildo each about nine inches long and about
three inches wide in diameter.

It took all of twenty minutes to get it in, lubricated and all that it was.
The Spaniard, for whom his back orifice was clearly his most prized personal
body part and who had been fucked only very infrequently by former slaves
and even less by his current buddy, who had other sexual preferences, showed
that he felt violated to the core of his being.

When he begged Jess to take it out, Jess merely replied that Samson was the
size of the hurt that the slave had caused Beno and that he would feel for a
single day what Beno had felt for a single morning.

If nothing else, Jess' punishments were clever, single day variations on the
entire list of punishments I had left for retraining purposes.

The red henna on his hands was more important and hurtful to Diego than the
physical punishment itself and he continued to approach me six days in a row
-- I was not going to deter any slave from approaching me in the evening --
begging me to double his punishment period and not to re-apply the henna and
allow the colour to fade away.

He cried on the veranda steps each time until his buddy took him away. On
the sixth day, I granted him his request, but I am a merciful Master -- I did
not double the days of his punishment.

Jess Tollman showed his promise as a retrainer because Diego broke utterly
and totally on day eight and Jess was there `to pick up the pieces' as he
said. He came to me and suggested that the punishment be suspended, not
totally cancelled. He gave his reasons, good ones. I agreed on condition
that the slave apologise publicly to Beno, the gypsy slave. I was glad in a
way that this crime, for that is what it was, was one of envy and not of
race or social caste.

One the great points of any programme, be it the retraining of a slave or
whatever, is that it is not written in stone and can therefore be modified
to meet changing circumstances.

It was not really amusing, but in a way it was. Beno when he heard that an
apology was to be given to him, would not meet with Diego until his own
Master was present and standing between him and Diego, even though it was
totally public in the courtyard. I don't know to this day what he expected
that Diego might to do to him. But the apology was given, the red henna
colour still garishly visible for all on his hands, with Jack present
standing between the two slaves.

I had Yuriy put the Spanish slave on rock duty for a month and when he had
done that job without a whimper, I had Jess give him back his loop necklace.

But in my heart, I always considered the Spanish slave Diego, one of my
failures, because I had not been able to get across to him from his first
day at the Lime Palace and in the first instance how much in general I cared
for him and his fellow slaves, even to the extent of giving him all that I
had provided him and with a buddy of his own choosing, for support,
friendship, companionship, even for sex.

If love as shown by Jack for his slave Beno was blind, then envy and
jealousy in Diego's case made him even blinder to my care of him as his
Master or to my duty to him as his Master. He had forgotten that for him and
his fellows slaves his and their only purpose now is to serve me at my
pleasure.

The fact of the matter is that slavedom is hard to grasp for the slave and
not all slaves grasp it well. The application of slavedom by the Master is
also hard for the Master and not all Masters grasp it well either. History
will judge me on the issue, but I never counted Diego the Spaniard among my
successes.

Jack, who had been drawn, into the Diego-Beno affair, had been somewhat
bemused by the whole issue and I tried to explain to him how much love and
affection meant to those who had little else in their lives. My slaves might
live in a safe environment, have reasonable food and accommodation and what
many a slave-owner of my acquaintance might consider a light workload, but
all of this pleased me and that is what it was about at the end of the day
for me -- my pleasure, whether that involved sexual contact or not with my
slaves.

I did not tell Jack how well he was coming on at the Bank. I felt that he
was under the tutelage of Gustav Ahlson, the general manager. Why have a dog
and do the barking yourself as they say. But Gustav had told me that he was
more than pleased with Jack, having put him through the mailroom, stationary
and now had him on dividends. Gustav was fair, but niggardly in his praises
of any of the staff -- nephew of the boss included.

Jack had his own schedule, eating his breakfast in his rooms, prepared,
brought up from the kitchens and served by Vedel, while Beno shaved him and
looked after him in the shower.

When I said, rather sarcastically to him one day when I heard of this, "Why
do you need someone to wash your back for you now?' he replied with a bit of
a blush which he never seemed to be able to control, `Sometimes, Uncle
Jonathan, I need him to do my front as well and he has a mouth which is
almost as soft as Marko's.'

While I had my initial misgivings about the pair of gypsies, in time, I
began to change that opinion, as Aziz told me that after cleaning out Jack's
rooms each morning and doing a schedule that he has laid out for them with
Rolf in the gym, they would come to him and offer to do the needful around
the inside of the Palace, which as far as Aziz was concerned, always had
matters to be attended to. As Aziz did not say anything negative about the
pair, that in its absence, was praise indeed.

But come five o'clock, they would drop everything and up to the roof to
await the first sign of the returning limousine on the west road horizon. It
took me a long time to figure out why everyone seemed to know of the
limousine's arrival well in advance of it coming onto the access road to the
Palace. But there was always more than a fair share of slaves in the
courtyard when I arrived, for one reason or another.

I cross-examined Aziz one day on this and he was vague with something on the
lines of `the Palace must always be ready for the Master.' When I saw Jack
grinning, I knew it was not the full answer. I cornered him on it and the
secret came out.

When the limousine would come onto  the last three miles of the straight
road to the west, Faisal the driver was under instructions from Aziz to turn
on the lights for fifteen seconds, which would be seen clearly from the roof
of the Palace. I wondered to myself how many other tricks Aziz had up his
formidable sleeves as head of household.

Anyway once Jack alighted from the limousine each weekday afternoon, Beno
and Vedel would dance attendance, as if had returned from an overland
expedition to  the Rub-al-Khali instead of a day-trip to the capital city.
And if he came out of the car with a book or paper in his hand, this had to
be taken off him by one or the other of the two and held in the slave's two
hands and the item paraded into the Palace, lest Jack were to sprain his
little finger on it. But at the end of the day, that is what slavedom is
about, serving the Master and the Master's pleasure.

Jack's Arabic was coming on quite well. We still had the habit of speaking
it after midday in the Palace. I was therefore not very surprised to see him
running down into the courtyard one evening after dinner -- with a shout of
`back before midnight' - to get into a jeep with two others, obviously
Dahrans.

The following morning as we walked up to the limousine, he said, they were
two sons of one of the neighbours and that the three of them had spent the
evening listening to ElectroMod -- and gave with one of his big grins an
imitation of a video star -- around a CD player introducing each other to
their respective favourite music -- some from bands in Scotland, some from
the Arabian peninsula, some from heaven knows what corner of the world.

End of Chapter 6