Date: Fri, 03 Oct 2003 19:26:04 +0100
From: Gerry Taylor <gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Market Offer - Chapter 15 - Gay - Authoritarian

This is the fifteenth chapter of part three of a trilogy of novels of gay
sex.

Keywords:

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

This story is entirely a work of fiction and all rights to it and its
characters are copyright and private to and reserved by the author. No
reproduction by anyone for any reason whatsoever is permitted.

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

Contact points:

e. gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com

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

The Market Offer by Gerry Taylor

Chapter 15 - Jack yet again

There is no accounting for taste. As Frank's thirty day period of
retraining drew towards its close -- he was the only one wearing a nose
ring in the entire Palace to show his continuing punishment for running
away on his previous Master --Niko Zeil, one of the gift slaves from the
neighbours approached me and asked if he could be re-assigned a buddy. He
buddied with his fellow Afrikaner, Rob Kuiper. With his trim body and
gym-trained muscles, he was a former lifeguard and a handsome one at
that. Both he and Rob, he told me were tops, but they just buddied
together and had acted as oxen-slaves to a new arrival.

 `So who do you want to buddy?'

 He could have keeled me over with a feather when he said `Frank
Kovacs, Master'.

 Frank would be roughly the same age as Niko, but physically
underdeveloped to the same degree that Niko was gym-trained. Frank was an
indoors type. Niko the proverbial outdoors guy.

 `So what is Rob saying about all of this.'

 `He's fine with it, Master. Whatever makes me happy, he says.'

 `And Frank?'

 `He's afraid to ask you, Master, before his thirty days are up. But I
really like him. He's cleverer than me, he's funny and he's very
gentle in bed.'

 Niko must have seen my raised eye-brow.

 `After lights out, Master, when he's finished with his buddies, he
has come over to my pallet on two nights, and we have slept together. He
can sixty-nine like no one I know.'

 `So, Niko, you have fallen for someone with brains and sex technique,
who is afraid to ask for a buddy.'

 `Yes, Master.'

 `You've got yourself a new buddy, Niko. Now tell Yuriy and Frank to
come here.'

 Yuriy arrived first and I told him to get his bolt cutters to take off
Frank's nose ring.

 When Niko arrived back with Frank. Looking at the mismatched pair with
no correspondence in size or physique or tone or weight or fitness, I had
to conclude that Niko saw something in Frank which I did not, and vice
versa.

 `Well, Frank, Niko tells me that you were afraid to ask for a buddy.'

 `Sorry, Master. I did not know what you would say.'

 `And what do you see in Niko, Frank.'

 `He is the most beautiful man in the Palace, Master.'

 I had not the heart to correct his use of `man' instead of `slave',
but then he was relatively new our way of speaking. Yuriy had arrived
back with the bolt cutter, and I nodded to him to proceed. I thought that
Frank actually looked a different person without the nose ring, and I
told him that if the septum did not seal itself within a month, that the
doctor would put in two stitches which would do the job. Niko had been
holding his head from behind to keep it still while Yuriy did his
snipping job, and he bent forward and kissed Frank on the lips, sort of
upside down.

 `I haven't quite decided on what your punishment is to be for not
trusting me, Frank, in asking for a buddy. What do you think it should
be, Niko?'

 Frank looked alarmed. Niko smiled and said, `Master, I think he has
been punished enough and he is never going to run away again. But I think
you should see how Frank is able to sixty nine me.'

 At that, Frank, put an arm around Niko's waist, and I could not
contradict.

 With Yuriy, and the two lovers, I walked across to the slaves'
quarters where for forty minutes, I was utterly astonished at the sexual
skill of this puny specimen of slavehood. To say that Frank played
Niko's body like a Stradivarius would not do the Stradivarius justice.
From the first suck of Niko's finely shaped cut knob, a sexual
past-Master was in charge, and though Niko was sucking as if sucking were
going out of fashion, his hands clenching the sides of the pallet were an
eloquent statement of who was really in charge.

 Whatever fear that Frank's long abstinence from sex over eight years
due to the Prince Albert took the edge off his skills would have been
wrong. Though he had been bottom by two experienced buddies over the
previous weeks since his arrival at the Palace, no one had thought of
asking if he wanted to take charge of the sexual moment.

 When Niko sensed the change in Frank's cock deeply embedded in his
mouth, he pulled it out and looked over at me. There was the piss hole
and there was also a hole to the back of the frennulum where the Prince
Albert ring had been. He had no more than a second to give me a look
because Frank Kovacs went into sexual overdrive and erupted load after
load of semen across Niko's chest and throat hollow, but it was the
discharges from the second hole which were spectacular up Niko's face
and nose and eyebrows. In less than a minute, his face was almost
entirely covered in cum.

 Niko gave a wide cum covered grin and said, `he's like that all the
time, Master. Isn't he special.'

 Frank Kovacs was special in more ways than one.

 It was the arrival of so many non-English speakers among the new
prisoner-slaves which caused a bit of an upset in the language classes.
Andy McTee, the Scottish slave who taught English, was being helped by my
former London call-guy Ross Wells and, after his almost thirty days in
the fields, by Frank Kovacs, the former runaway slave, who had been a
kindergarten teacher. But it still was not enough to give the personal
attention that was needed.

 Though sub-ordinate to Andy, it was Ross with his usual cheerful
cockiness who led the `deputation' seeking extra help.

 I thought to myself that if they were badly off, then Hassan the Arabic
teacher on his own must be in dire straits. When I visited Hassan in
class, it turned out that it was his seventh of the day, and that he was
usually giving eight in all. He looked exhausted. When I reprimanded him
for not telling me of the situation, he said that he thought that I would
not have believed him or that he had been slacking.

 After his retraining, the first and only slave to be publicly punished
in the Aloe Palace, Hassan had been an extraordinarily good and effective
teacher according to Aziz. I said that I would get him some help, as I
wanted our system of speaking Arabic in the mornings and English in the
evenings to continue.

 I therefore called the slave dealers in al-Mera and al-Qatim, the two
old deep-sea ports, to have them find me teachers as they had done so
previously. It was my bad luck, so to speak, that Jack overheard my
conversation.

 `You're going to buy slaves to teach, Uncle Jonathan?'

 I thought that he was going to rebuke me, but no, he wanted to go and
see where the action was! Although, I initially rebelled at the idea, he
was his mother's son, and I finally relented.

 Getting the Arabic teacher-slaves was not as difficult as previously.
Both the slave-dealer houses knew what I wanted by this stage and in a
sense, I was trusting them. Each came up with two slaves. The dealers
kept extensive cross-referenced computer records of all the official
slaves in the Sheikdom.

 In al-Qatim, one of the possible teacher-slaves was in stock and the
owner of the other one had been approached to allow him to be offered for
sale. The in-stock slave was an Egyptian who had been `lifted' two
months previously because of a gambling debt. Arabs were not supposed to
gamble but he did and paid a high price. I had examined him front and
rear. His body was soft like an office worker's. I had him turn round
and the musculature on his back showed a lack of true manual work. Not
that that would be part of his duties.

 Jack seemed fascinated by the whole process of selection. The slave,
Nassr, was an educated businessman, aged thirty four, with a basic degree
from the Aswan Institute of Technology. He spoke very clear and
grammatically correct Arabic, but he had never taught.

 The second slave was a Moroccan named Walid and he was 49 years old. He
had been a slave of some importance in one of leading Dahran families but
had been smitten by a young slave, a favourite of his Master's. When the
two were discovered together, he had lost his rank and had been sold to
his present owner, who had no real interest in his intellectual powers,
but who had put him on a waterwheel on his farm, hence his very fit body.

 Although with no formal qualifications, his Arabic was better than that
of the Egyptian. When I asked where he learned it he said his father had
been attached to the local mosque and had always insisted on him speaking
properly. I had him look me directly in the eyes, and the one property
they possessed was resignation.

 I bought the two of them after a bit of haggling with the slave-dealer.

 Although I had really what I wanted, I had said that I would visit the
market in al-Mera further on down the coast, and as soon as our business
was concluded, Jack and I headed down that direction. It was also an
opportunity for me to show Jack some of the country that I have always
thought very beautiful with its harsh desert landscapes and magnificent
beaches reaching down to the bluest of seas.

 We had arrived at al-Mera in midmorning and the slave dealer had his
two offerings of Arabic teachers. The first I dismissed in my mind
immediately as he just did not have the qualities of a teacher. He looked
not only shifty; he actually looked as if he might be ill. He received
the most cursory inspection from me. Jack, who had been at my side, had
now disappeared.

 The second option caught my eye in that for an Arab his circumcision
was only a half one, which was unusual, revealing not the full head of
the penis, but just half it, and emphasised its ten inches of hanging
manhood. I rolled back the prepuce without any problem and the 29 year
old Iraqi, whose name was Sunar Hussein, began to get a hard-on. I kept
fondling his balls until his cock was jutting out at right angles to his
body, and then, of a sudden, I flicked the top of his penis with my nail.
He gave a little jump, but said nothing and his penis went to half-mast.

 `Did that hurt?'

 `No, Master, I am sorry for jumping. It was a surprise.'

 He appeared to be speaking genuinely. His folder said that he was an
oil engineer who had insulted one of his bosses some years earlier when
just out of college. He had not actually worked in the oil-fields, but in
one of the oil company offices as a training supervisor.

 I asked the slave-dealer to get me a document in Arabic, which I wanted
him to read. A newspaper was produced and I had the slave read the
editorial which he did flawlessly.

 `What work are you doing at the moment?'

 `I'm working in a factory, Master, making clay bricks.'

 `I'm looking for someone to teach Arabic. Would you be interested?'

 The slave looked quite shocked as if he had never been asked quite such
a question before or ever had his viewpoint taken into account.

 `Master, I would very much like to do that' and he dropped to his
knees and put the back of my hand to his forehead.

 I asked the slave dealer if he had any native English speaking slaves
in stock. He had thirty two and I requested to see their files. Normally
a client would never see the files, but he did not object and led me into
this office where an assistant produced files in batches of these and
fours as quick as he could get them out of filing cabinets.

 The majority of them were useless for my purposes. Blue-collar American
and Canadian workers, a few British construction men, none with any real
education beyond basic secondary schooling.

 Then one caught my eye. An east coast American cop, Tommy Saunders, who
had threatened to blow the whistle on corruption in his police
department. He had been drugged and shipped out in less than four days.
The note in the file said `presumed dead by his colleagues. Possibly
killed by drug dealers.' The interesting thing about him was that he had
a college degree. I asked for him to be brought to the sales area.

 The dealer and his assistant went into a private conversation.

 `Master, the slave is being punished at the moment for being
disobedient. He would not be ready for inspection for some time.'

 `If he can't come to me, I can at least go to him. Lead the way.'

 The dealer bowed and indicated to me to follow. We went through various
doors and corridors and finally ended up in quite a warm holding area. I
could feel the heat of the sun coming down through the roof. There were
banks of seats along either side of the room with slaves attached by
collars to hooks in the wall.

 One slave was spread-eagled against the wall, held by four restraints.
There was some form of gag in his mouth tied around to the back of his
head, but most noticeably of all there was, what I deemed to be a two
kilo weight such as would be on a vegetable market scales, hanging from
his ball sack. In front of him on the floor was a jug of water and a
ladle in it.

 This was the former cop from Rhode Island. His body was covered in a
sheen of perspiration, his eyes darting in his head following our every
movement as we came into the room. He must have moved ever so slightly,
as the weight on his hanging from his ball sack swung and I heard a groan
of pain. His cut cock was standing out at right angles to his body, a
drop of pre-cum dripping down from its very tip.

 I told the dealer to take out the gag, which was in fact some type of
cock shaped gag about four inches in length. The slave worked his jaw to
get the circulation going in his lower face.

 I said in Arabic to the dealer, `How long has he been like this?'

 The dealer looked at the assistant, and was told `For two days,
Master. He is being deprived of food and water until he obeys. He gets
only one ladle of water each the morning, but no food.'

 `What would he not do?'

 `Almost everything, Master. He is very rebellious.'

 I went over to the slave and ran my hand down his chest and belly. He
had a very white bikini line showing that he had never sunbathed in the
nude. My hand caused his body to move and this time he did groan out loud
as the pendulum-like weight swung back and forth.

 `Well, Tommy,' I said, `you seem to be a little tied up at the
moment.'

 He appeared surprised as someone speaking to him in English, but he
swallowed once and uttered a croaked but clear `Fuck you too.'

 `Would you like the weight to be taken off your scrotum?'

 He did not reply to what was essentially a stupid question.

 `A simple yes or no will do.'

 He half wet his dry cracked lips as best he could. I bent down and took
a ladle of water from the jug, and held the ladle to his lips. It was
like pouring water down a drain.

 `Another?'

 This time, he said `Yes' and a second later said `please.'

 I gave him two more ladles of water.

 `Now again, would you like the weight to be taken off your scrotum?'

 `Yes, please.'

 I indicated to the assistant, and he undid the leather binding and the
lifted off the weight.

 The slave gave a gasp and I just had time to step aside as a stream of
piss came from his engorged cock for what seemed an age. The weight must
have been closing off a bladder valve. It was as if a horse was pissing
such was the force.

 `When did you last piss, Tommy?

 `Almost three days ago before they put that fucking weight on my
balls.'

 `I want to ask you some questions. You do not have to answer them if
you don't want to.'

 `And if I don't answer the questions?'

 `I shall leave you here. Nothing more.'

 `And if I do answer your questions?'

 `If you are what I am looking for, I shall buy you as a slave for my
Palace. If you are not what I am looking for, I shall have this
punishment stopped. As a matter of fact, why are you being punished?'

 `I wouldn't suck that raghead's cock' he said indicating the
assistant slave-dealer.

 `Ah, a red-blooded American, I see.'

 `Fucking right.'

 `Have you ever taught?'

 `Taught what?'

 `Anything.'

 `I was a cop. At the academy, I taught new recruits for two years
basic procedures and form filling.'

 `I am looking for someone to teach my slaves English. Would you be
interested in that?'

 `You're asking me?'

 `Yes.'

 `What's the angle?'

 `Ah! Very fast mind, Tommy. You would have to acknowledge me as your
owner. You would always have to do what I say and you would have to be
trained in the ways of my Palace for thirty days.'

 `Trained? Trained how and when?'

 `As a red-blooded American, you might not want to know all the details
at this time. Let us say that it is to teach you how to behave towards me
and toward my family. By my family, I mean my slaves and those who
oversee my slaves, my managers so to speak. When? If you say yes, now,
and that training will have already started, but you will also have
acknowledged me as your owner and promised to do whatever I tell you. So,
is it a yes or a no?'

 `Yes' he said quite quickly.

 `Yes, Master,' is the correct way. So let's try again shall we,
Tommy?

 He did not need any further prompting.

 `Yes, Master. My apologies.'

 `Now I am going to have you released and I will tell you to do the
most difficult thing that you are going to be asked to do today and you
will do it and then - as they say where you come from - we'll get the
fuck out of here. Do you follow me?'

 He nodded and said `Yes, Master.'

 I indicated to the assistant slave-dealer to get rid of the cuff and
chains holding Tommy to the wall. The ex-cop slave almost fell to the
floor, but manoeuvred himself to his feet pushing himself back up again
the wall with one arm.

 `Now, Tommy, I want you to go on your knees and kiss the dealer's
feet and those of his assistant who has just released you, and apologise
clearly to them, for having caused them any trouble.'

 The slave looked at me as if I were mad, but remembering what I had
said, he very carefully and gingerly lowered himself to the floor, and
kissed the feet of the dealer and his assistant apologising to them.

 They both look stunned.

 `Now, Tommy, help yourself to some more water, and, while I get your
papers, you are going to take a shower.

 I nodded to the slave-dealer to get his papers ready and those of the
others, when I noticed that Jack was returning to the buying room being
follow by another of the slave-dealer's assistants.

 `Where did you get to?' I asked.

 `I was just wandering about. I found some more pens where the slaves
are kept,' Jack replied and was looking at the assistant.

 `What have you got up to, Jack?'

 `Uncle Jonathan, would you let me buy a slave?'

 `Impossible, Jack. The fact that you have to ask me shows that you
know you cannot.'

 `Uncle Jonathan, I am an adult and I have my own money.'

 At that last bit, I cocked an eyebrow at him.

 `You are merely a visitor here, and visitors are not allowed buy
slaves.'

 Wrong move, Jose.

 The assistant blurted out, `But, Master, visitors can buy slaves. They
cannot take them out of the Sheikdom.'

 The slave-dealer barked `Silence' in Arabic to his assistant, who
dropped his eyes and looked at the ground. Now the slave-dealer was
looking at his assistant with blazing eyes not knowing what had gone on
and clearly seeing his almost clinched sale threatened.

 `See, Uncle Jonathan, I can. I won't ask you for anything else.'

 Where had I heard that before? I thought to myself.

 `What's the sudden rush? Why all of a sudden? You hadn't this idea
half an hour ago.'

 `I saw somebody in the pens, Uncle Jonathan. Or rather two slaves. And
I would like to buy them.'

 I could hear Elizabeth's voice in his as if the twenty five years ago
were just yesterday. The same conviction, the same self-confidence of
getting what she wanted, when she wanted it.

 `Jack, you're not talking of puppy dogs or pets here. You are talking
about human slaves. Let me see what you were looking at.'

 `Thank you, Uncle Jonathan. I just knew you would.'

 And with that he led me towards a side door into what were further
pens. The slave-dealer wanted to bring the slaves in the viewing area,
but Jack was already away through the door. This was not a pleasant area
to be in. It was grey and smelled. And it was cold in there even even in
the heat of the Dahran day.

 Jack stopped before two slaves who were attached by neck collars to a
wall. They were very dark haired and darkish skinned and looked like
southern Slavs or northern Greeks. They were, in fact, Romanian gypsies,
both in their early twenties.

 `What, Jack, do you want these two for?'

 `They have been here, Uncle, for over two months and no one wants
them.'

 `Who told you that? You certainly do not speak their language.'

 `He told me,' Jack said, indicating the assistant.

 For once I got to laugh.

 `That must be a new sales technique,' I said to the dealer, `no one
wants them. Quote. Unquote.'

 The dealer looked fit to be tied. The assistant dealer was beetroot red
under his sallow skin.

 `Have you examined them, Jack? Are you taking a pig in poke that has
been left because everyone sees something that you are not seeing? Let me
see you examine them.'

 Jack swallowed and indicated to one of the slaves to stand up and to
put a leg up on a pallet which served them both as a bed. The slaves
genitals were underdeveloped to my mind, but Jack felt each of the balls
individually, cupped them in his hand as he had seen others do at the
Aloe Palace when checking out slaves.

 `Well, Jack, let me see you check their behinds.'

 Jack blushed but had them turn, bend and spread. It was clear that
something had been up those anal passages.

 In Arabic, I said to the dealer, `You're not going to try and pass
these two off as virgins, are you?'

 Jack then surprised me by wetting his middle finger in his mouth and
slipping it into each open and gaping hole.

 With a voice that trembled ever so slightly, he said, `I think, Uncle,
they have been used.'

 `Jack, you can say that again.'

 `Uncle, I still want them.'

 `Who is going to look after them? Where will they live and what will
they do?'

 `They can look after me and do what I need to get done. They can be
for me, what Food and Drink are to you.'

 I did think for a moment that the happiness Food and Drink did indeed
give me would or could ever be equalled by these two, but mused that
perhaps companionship is no bad thing.

 `Okay, Jack, it's on your own head and you pay for these two with
your own money.'

 `Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!' he said. My god, he even said it
like Elizabeth all those years ago.

 And going over to the two, he put a finger on each of their chests and
then on his own. Those two were quick cookies on the uptake, because they
dropped got to their knees and hugged Jack's legs tightly, one each.

 Back in the office, I had a look their files. Their names were Vedel
and Beno Vesh and not only were they gypsies who had been lifted, they
appeared to be cousins, which I suppose would not be strange in a small
community.

 When it came to pay, Jack produced his Lloyds chequebook. He looked at
me when I said, `And what are you going to tell the Bank manager, if he
ever quizzes you on such a large cheque? Make the cheque out to me and
I'll pay for these to slaves on my own checking account.'

 `So what you going to charge me for slaves no one wants,' I said to
the dealer who was still shooting daggers at his assistant.

 We finally agreed on $9,000 each and I told Jack to write me a cheque
for the equivalent in sterling, which he proudly did.

 I deliberately did not speak to Jack on the way back to the Lime Palace
to show in part my displeasure. But at the same time, I wanted him to
think about his slave purchase and how it would affect his life from then
on.

 But then I could not really speak to him nor he to me as Tommy Saunders
was kneeling naked on the floor in front of us with his hands behind his
head.

 The only thing Jack said was `Sir, does the slave have to have his
hands behind his neck all the time.'

 I looked at him and then at Tommy, nodded to Tommy who took down his
hands and put them as if at rest behind his back. I caught him giving a
half-nod of thanks to Jack, but looking out the window I pretended not to
see it.

 Faisal, our driver, had to jam on the brakes as we came into the
courtyard of the Palace to avoid hitting Food who came running out and
looking quite upset.

 No sooner had I opened the door than he rushed over repeating over and
over `Master, Ali is sick. Master, Ali is sick' and taking my hand as
if I were someone lost, literally dragged me with Jack in tow across the
courtyard to the doctor's surgery.

 I looked over my shoulder and told Jack to get Yuriy or one of the
overseers to look after Tommy, the new slave.

 It was only as we hurried across that I realized for the first time
that Drink's name was actually Ali. Indeed, Food's name was also Ali
and they were some sort of distant second cousins. I had sidestepped that
particular issue long ago with their nicknames.

 To say that Food was upset was an understatement. It is rare that I
have seen someone who is so worried about another person, and here I say
`person', and not `slave.'

 Yves Fournier was just coming out of the inner surgery in his surgical
greens when we went in, being followed out by Cal Thorson, the dentist,
also in greens.

 `An appendix, Sir Jonathan. We just got it in time. Cal, here, did the
anaesthetics for me.'

 Seeing Food hopping up and down from one foot to the other, the doctor
said to him, `Drink will be fine. It was his appendix' and he pointed
to a spot on Food's lower belly.

 `Drink is sleeping now and he will be ok after a couple of days.'

 Food literally threw himself at Yves Fournier and hugged him and then
dropped to his knees and kissed his feet as a slave would a Master.

 Then he got up and threw himself at me, saying over and over `Master,
Ali is ok. Ali is ok'

 What could I do but pat him on the head and say `Yes, he's going to
be fine.'

 I assigned two of the `gift' slaves my neighbours had made me to the
ex-cop slave. Niko and Rob, the Afrikaners were both very firmly tops.

 The successive nights I had taken both of them they had proved very
tight for me to top. But in turn, I enjoyed seeing Komil ride each of
them for over an hour when I had finished with each and they had looked
at Komil in awe afterwards as appeared not even to be out of breath.

 I told Niko and Rob that I wanted Tommy Saunders well and truly trained
and tamed, that he would have great difficulty with man-sex.

 For me, Tommy Saunders was a classic case where regular sex -- in time
with a buddy of his own choosing -- settled and calmed a very angry young
man.

 The two of them smiled and I had no doubt that Tommy Saunders for all
his toughness would be putty in their hands, as indeed he subsequently
turned out to be. Niko later told me in his heavily accented English,
that he said to his new protege, `Tommy, we can do this tying you to the
bed, or we can forget about the ropes.' Tommy opted for the latter.

 To be continued..