Date: Sun, 20 Aug 2006 12:18:14 +0100
From: Gerry Taylor <gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Time Line - Chapter 18 - Gay - Authoritarian [Dahran series]

The Time Line by Gerry Taylor
This is the eighteenth chapter [ex twenty two] of a novel about gay sex and
present-day slavery.
Keywords: authority, control, gay, loyalty, slavery, punishment, retraining,
sex, submission
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.
=============
The Prison Doctor and The Changed Life [the first novel of this series] are
now available as full novels in Adobe Acrobat format on
http://www.geocities.com/gerrytaylor_78/
===========
  Chapter 18--Collectivism

  The opal mine deal went through without a hitch. Within twenty five days
all the mine slaves had been transferred back to the al-Kadir property. I
was particularly concerned about the former mercenaries, as I had taken them
off the hands of the Dahran Court by assuring the Court that they would be
in a very secure location. I had the settings of their ankle bracelets
re-configured to the coordinates of my Palaces.
  I looked at the files of the thirty seven surviving mercenaries. Geoff has
been right in his numbers estimate. However, the reports on them showed that
whatever fighting spirit had been there on their invasion of Dahra had now
been whipped and worked out of them. They were an obedient lot of hard
working slaves.
  I decided to face the problem of Marko and his fear of the butcher of
Vlorju head on and had Marko and my chef, Flavio, summoned from the
kitchens.
  Marko is one of those few slaves whose presence can illuminate a room with
the sheer happiness of his personality--Abdul, my mentally handicapped slave,
being another. In Marko's dark and vibrantly alive eyes, there radiates such
a pure form of contentment that I feared what I was about to do to him. But,
I felt that as he had always trusted me before, he would trust me again in
this instance.
  When Marko came into the study, I took his hands and smelled them. I
pressed his fingers to my nose and inhaled deeply. Marko laughed for he knew
what I was doing--trying to guess what type of ice-cream he had been making.
  `I can't smell anything today, Marko,' and the slave giggled at my lack of
success.
  `That, Master, is because I am making brown-bread ice cream and I have not
yet added the vanilla to the mix,' he giggled.
  I smiled at him and at Flavio who normally accompanied Marko in moral
support of his lover and kitchen sous-chef.
  `Some serious business, Marko,' I said to the twenty four year old slave.
`I need someone to be head chef at the al-Kadir kitchens. I know Flavio sent
your helpers Efim and Viktor down to help out. But I want someone to take
over and run the kitchens properly. Will you be that chef for me?'
  Flavio stepped close to his lover and put his arm over Marko's shoulder
and I could see his fingers squeeze Marko's arm. Marko's dark eyes shone
even more brightly and he whispered, `Yes, Master. But will I be able to
return each night to comfort Flavio?'
  I looked over at Flavio who was standing there with a bemused smile on his
face. My thirty year old Italian chef is the possessor of a cock that needs
daily attention and Marko after his previous rapes had found a true lover.
Flavio's cock in its length and girth had been well and truly accommodated
by Marko's previously stretched anus.
  `Yes, of course, Marko,' and looking at Flavio, I commented. `He always
seems to think of you first.'
  `I know, Master. He always does. That is why I love him so much,' was
Flavio's soft reply.
  `There is one other thing, Marko. I have got you a personal slave. No
other slave in my Palaces has a personal slave. You are the first.'
  I could see that I had confused him and Flavio as well.
  `What is a personal slave, Master?' he asked.
  `A slave who will look after you during his every waking moment. If you
are not happy with him at any time, you can punish him any way you want. You
can order him to do anything you want done. No other Head of Household or
Stables will have the power to order your personal slave to do anything.
Only you. If you drop a spoon, he will pick it up for you. If you want a
drink of water, he will get it for you. He must learn to guess what you want
before you even think of it. He will wash you in the morning. He will
massage your shoulders if they are tired. He will do anything you want.'
  `But why, Master? Why me? I have Flavio. I have no need of a personal
slave.'
  `In fact, Marko, yes, you do have need of a personal slave, because I do
not want you to be ever afraid again. Come with me.'
  I walked out of the study with the two slaves following me, out on to the
veranda and down the steps into the courtyard where a slave had been
standing `at rest' in the hot sun and who quickly went `at display' as soon
as I had appeared. The chain on his ankles prevented him from having his
feet wider apart.
  From the corner of my eye, I saw Marko freeze on the last step as he saw
the slave in front of me.
  `Don't be afraid,' I said to Marko, `he cannot hurt you or anybody here.
Look at him. He has been castrated.'
  Marko had regained his composure and glancing at me, I saw the most
determined look in his eyes, a look which I had never seen there before, a
look which comes on seeing a living nightmare before you.
  The slave `at display' caught sight of Marko coming up behind me, and his
eyes widened at the approach of his former nightly victim.
  Marko looked at me and said, `You meant what you said, Master?'
  `Yes, indeed. Every word.'
  Hardly had I uttered the last syllable than Marko drew back and, with the
flat of his right hand, struck the former butcher of Vlorju full force
across his face. Such was the force of the open handed blow that the slave
sank to one knee and had to struggle to retain his balance as he tried to
stand up again.
  I was shocked by the suddenness and the force of the blow. I was more
shocked that the blow had come from Marko whom I regard as one of the
gentlest of slaves. Flavio was standing there with his mouth open, frozen in
surprise.
  The slave was now on his feet again with his hands behind his head at the
proper display position. There was the imprint of Marko's hand clearly on
his face.
  Marko stepped up to the slave and put his face not three inches from the
face of his former sadistic tormentor. I saw Gjon Vlorju's eyes open as he
recognised his former war prize toy boy and his lips started to form the
name Marko.
  `On your knees, Vlorju, and never walk again on your feet until I order
you to.'
  The former butcher of Marko's town knelt down on the paving of the
courtyard and Marko turned to me and said `Master, thank you for helping me
face my fear. I am no longer afraid. And thank you for this personal slave.
I will find something for him to do. May I also borrow some things from the
retraining room?'
  `Yes, Marko. Whatever you need.'
  I was genuinely surprised at how Marko had matured in my service over the
previous five years and thought that it was a case of not seeing change in
those who are in daily contact with us.
  That evening, some four hours later, as I was being driven down to the
al-Kadir property in one of the sand-buggies, I saw a slave on his hands and
knees heading in the direction of the al-Kadir lands. It was Gjon Vlorju I
noted as we passed by.

  It was a fortnight or so later that I happened by chance to be at the
al-Kadir properties and met my ice cream maker slave, Marko, again. He
seemed to have grown in stature as if something within him had unfolded and
given him further strength of character. I had heard from Georgi Gridov, my
Overseer, there that the kitchens were working perfectly.
  `How is your personal slave behaving, Marko?'
  `He is learning, Master, to please me,' and taking what looked like a
bronze clothes peg from his belt made it clack. It was a sharp clear
metallic sound and immediately Gjon Vlorju came out of the kitchens at a
very awkward run with his left knee on the ground and only using his right
foot to propel himself forward. The slave stopped some paces from Marko.
  I looked at the slave and noticed the bruising of his nipples where either
teeth or clips had been used. As I observed the slave, he shifted on his
left knee ever so slightly, and walking around the slave, I could see the
end of what I estimated was one of the six inch butt plugs protruding from
his hole and well visible between the cheeks of his ass.
  `You are letting him walk on one foot and one knee I see. The last time I
saw him he was walking on both hands and knees.'
  `Yes, Master, I had to stop that and I had to butt plug him as he was too
enticing a sight for some of the other slaves who wanted to fuck him as he
crawled around. I had no objection to them doing that to this slave, but it
would have upset their work schedules.'
  `Make sure, Marko, that he pleases you. Because if he does not, that will
displease me, and he knows full well what is going to happen if he
displeases me a single time.'
  I was pleased with Marko as he had truly come out of himself, that he had
lost his fear of the past and was taking control of one my facilities.

  The following week found me again at the al-Kadir property to inspect the
slave buildings which had gone up in record time. There were separate rooms
for Supervisors, common areas, showers and toilet areas which were merely
holes in the floor for the once a day defecating which each slave had
learned by now to control. Each kofila had two facing rooms, each with two
double mattresses of hard leather where two slaves or buddies could sleep at
a time.
  I thought the layout by Qusay al-Rafi, the young Egyptian architect, was a
real improvement on the layout of the other slave quarters, in my other
Palace buildings and I told him to re-model them as well. Heaven knows with
what Farouq al-Hamdi had paid me for the opal mine, I could well afford the
improvements.
  It was in the afternoon when I did arrive at the al-Kadir property and
Georgi, my Overseer, together with his assistant, Dieter, were waiting for
me to show me the last of the three buildings which had just been handed
over to them. There were stairs to the upper floors at either end.
  I was very impressed with the quality of the finish and Georgi assured me
that that was very much the architect's attention for detail. As we came
down to the second floor, I could hear noises towards the centre of the
building from several of the rooms. As we approached, a slave came backwards
out of one of the rooms, gesticulating and saying, or rather trying to say
something in very poor Arabic. From the accent and the inflection of the
words, I guessed that he was American and from the chain with its heavy
plastic casing, I could see that he was one of the former mercenaries. I was
effectively in the mercenaries' area of the building.
  `Are the former mercenaries housed here, Georgi?' I asked and as I spoke
the slave ahead of us heard me, turned and shouted `al-Sayyid' --the Master--
to those inside the rooms and rushed back into the room from which he had
exited.
  `Yes, Master, there are five kofilas of seven former mercenaries each, and
each kofila head is one of the Swedes.'
  We reached the doorway where the slave had entered and four slaves were
`at display' beside the beds. They seemed to stand even more at attention as
I entered. The room was similar to the unoccupied ones I had inspected on
the floor above. The was a number of pegs on which items could be hung in
future such as the gold necklace I give to each slave after thirty days of
proper and good service. There was a shelf with nothing on it save for two
folded blankets in the event of a cold night. These slaves being freshly
arrived from the opal mine would like all new slaves have no possessions,
not even a minimal pair of sandals.
  I noticed that the four had all their body hair removed except for a close
crew cut and that their pubes were trimmed. I pointed to this and Georgi
commented that the Russian barbers had moved their shop down to the al-Kadir
property one day a week for the past number of weeks.
  `Open your mouth,' I said to the nearest slave. Only when he did not
comply and I noticed that his eyes shifted from my shoulder area over to
Georgi, did I realise that the slave's Arabic did not extend that far yet,
and Arabic is the language we speak at the Palaces after midday.
  `Open your mouth,' I repeated in English. Cal Thorson's handiwork gleamed
out at me.
  `Both Dr. Cal and Dr. Hal are giving priority to the new arrivals,' Dieter
said at my side.
  I pointed to a tattoo on a forearm.
  `Make sure that is removed,' and as I looked at the other three slaves, I
noticed a further tattoo on an upper arm. It was `Semper Fidelis'--the US
marine `always faithful' motto.
  `Is that a copy of the Marine motto, or were you in the service?' I said
in English.
  `Sir, in the corps, Sir. I mean, Master,' the slave blurted out. His
military training was still there. I find it easier at times to give orders
to former military slaves as they know how to obey properly once they
recognise me as Master. Yuriy, my Head of Stables at the Aloe Palace always
springs to mind.
  `I do not allow tattoos.'
  `Master, yes, Master.'
  I saw Dieter making a note of it on his pad.
  The former mercenary slave had a dark all over tan, his eyes very clear. I
put my hand to his lips and pulled them apart. He too had been to the
dentist. One of his eyes was a little bloodshot.
  `What happened to your eye?'
  `Master, the eye doctor gave me treatment with a laser in one eye. I can
see perfectly now. Thank you, Master. Before it was fuzzy without glasses
which were taken from me when I was captured, Master.'
  `A very stupid thing to have invaded this country.'
  `Master, yes, Master. A real fuck-up, Master.'
  I was looking at the slave. He was well-muscled, certainly without body
fat, with two well pointed nipples and a good jaw line. He even had a single
ridge of abdominal muscles, a navel with a slight upper ridge of skin on it,
and a well-proportioned circumcised cock.
  I took his cock in my hand and held it. He blinked once at the feel of my
hand.
  `American?'
  `Master, yes, Master.'
  `From?'
  `Topeka, Kansas, Master.'
  I stroked gently the rim of his glans and could feel the cock begin to
grow in my hand. I let go of it.
  `Very sensitive, I see.'
  `Master, yes, Master.'
  I walked behind the slave and he had a perfect back. The hard work of the
opal mine had obviously done him no harm apart from some camel-cane marks on
his buttocks.
  `Bend over and spread'em'
  The slave bent over to reveal a perfectly hairless set of buttocks
separated by a clean trench at whose centre was a tight hole, moistly dark
red. I moved my hand down his crack and let a finger rest on the sphincter
muscle. It was hard. The slave had never been entered, or at least, not
recently. A fine single ball hung loose in its sack under his body.
  `Up and face me.'
  The slave straightened his body immediately and did an about face. He was
blinking and slightly flushed.
  `You have never been fucked or entered?'
  `Master, fucked never. In the corps, the doctors examined me on several
occasions with instruments and gloved fingers, Master.'
  `I have a compound here where slaves are taught to like being fucked. Each
of my slaves has to have a buddy and your buddy may from time to time want
to fuck you, or you him. You have to know how to give him pleasure and to
receive pleasure as well.'
  The slave was now clearly with a heightened blush in his cheeks from my
touching his anus and my comments as he answered, `Master, yes, Master.'
  `You have a lot to learn here about the ways of my Palaces.'
  `Master, yes, Master. And Master, thank you. We have heard that you sold
the mine. Thank you for bringing us here and not leaving us there, Master,'
he said as he glanced back at his companions.
  The slave was enthusiastic in his thanks at least. I didn't make any
comment. I merely ordered Georgi to fit all the former mercenary slaves with
six inch butt plugs for two days. That would sort out the genuine thanks
from mere flattery.
  As we walked down from that encounter, I asked Georgi the nationalities of
those who had been former mercenaries.
  `I am not sure of them all, Master. I will have to ask Ben that. But most
are American. There is one Mexican, two Filipinos and two from Indonesia. I
will check for you, Master.'
  `Remind me to come back here in two days time to check on those butt
plugs.'
  `Yes, Master.'

  When I returned two afternoons later. I returned with the Palaces'
`official' flogger, Alexei. He came armed with a selection of three foot
camel-canes.
  There were four lines of slaves lined up outside the al-Kadir buildings. I
still did not regard the al-Kadir setup as a Palace, as it was essentially a
farming project and would remain such.
  Georgi, the al-Kadir Overseer, was at my side.
  `Were they all fitted with a butt plug as I ordered?'
  `Yes, Master. It has only been taken out when they have gone to shit each
morning and each of them has learned how to put it back in.'
  I nodded my approval and spoke to the slaves.
  `Do you all understand English? If so raise your left hand.'
  Hands came from behind necks and went up in the air. When all slaves had
done so, I continued.
  `At display. I am speaking to you in English, because I am told your
Arabic is not yet good enough to understand what I have to say. We speak
Arabic after midday and English before midday.'
  I let my words sink in as the slaves put their left hands behind their
necks again.
  `Since going to the opal mine, how many of you have thought of escaping
from Dahra? If you have, put up your left hand again.'
  There was a deadly silence. No hand went up immediately. I looked up and
down the line.
  `How many of you have thought of escaping from Dahra?'
  Three, four, eight, fifteen and finally twenty hands went up.
  `Stand to one side,' I said to those with raised hands.
  `Alexei, three strokes across the buttocks to this lot,' I said to the
remaining slaves.
  With methodical efficiency, Alexei delivered the punishment I had ordered
to the fourteen slaves who had not put up their left hand. There were gasps,
groans, and cries as the blows of the unmerciful camel-cane were delivered
by an adroit Alexei.
  When he had done, I spoke to the smarting slaves again standing `at
display'.
  `How many of you have thought of escaping from Dahra?'
  Seven further hands went up, then four more.
  `Stand over with the others,' I said to them and instructing Alexei, I
said `another three strokes to each of these'.
  One of the three remaining slaves was trembling. I could see his eyes
darting from side to side in his turmoil. One of the slaves raised his hand,
and I motioned him out of the way, and I told Alexei to continue.
  The trembling slave cried out as he was beaten, the other never gasped or
groaned or cried out at all, though after nine strokes of a camel-cane he
must have been hurting cruelly.
  `I can repeat my question, if necessary.'
  The slave who had been trembling was now shaking quite badly. Something
was amiss here and I went up to him.
  `Since you were enslaved you have never even thought once of trying to
escape from Dahra?'
  The slave gasped for air, and blurted out, `No, Master, not since I saw
the video.' The accent was American of the deep south. `I know it is
impossible with the bracelet on my ankle. Please, Master, I have never
thought of escaping. I just want to live. Please, Master. Please believe
me.'
  It was, of course, possible that the slave was telling the truth, but I
felt that any slave would have thought of escaping, at least once. I went
over to the last slave, and in his eyes, I could see defiance. The defiance
was not in his face or demeanour. It was in his eyes. He was the most
dangerous of the lot.
  Turning to Georgi who was beside me, I said, `Get this slave over to the
first compound for training. He is not to get out of the last compound until
the trainers there are totally happy with him.'
  I was confident that at the end of five or six weeks there would be no
defiance in the eyes of that slave.
  I looked at the lines of slaves `at display' to my side.
  `You will never be punished here for telling the truth. But I tell you
your life is now here in Dahra. There is no escape and you will work hard
for me or else you will feel the punishments of my Overseers.'
  I went over to the slave who had said that he had never thought of
escaping.
  `I believe what you have said. You have been punished wrongly. Because of
that you will have your leg chains taken off and I will grant you one
favour,' and I indicated to Dieter who was nearby to get a key to unlock the
leg chains.
  `Favour, Master?'
  `Ask for something and I will grant it if possible.'
  The slave still looked afraid. I surmised that he was not much of a former
mercenary.
  `Master,' he said hesitatingly, `if his chains can be taken off as well,'
and he pointed to another ex-mercenary slave. It was the slave from Topeka.
Maybe they were unofficial buddies, I thought.
  `Bend and spread'em.'
  The slave did and revealed a distended hole with the three inch wide butt
plug well inserted in it.
  `Take it out, Alexei,' I said to the flogger beside me, who with one fluid
movement hooked his finger in the ring of the butt plug and pulled it out
with quite an audible `plop' and a shout of pain from the slave. The anus
did not quite seal over such was the loss of muscle power even after two
days usage of the plug. I gave the slave a slap on the backside and told him
to stand straight.
  I beckoned the Topeka slave over and told him to bend over, and nodded to
Alexei, who was no less efficient in extracting the second butt plug in less
than two minutes.
  Dieter was back with a key and undid the two sets of leg chains. The
smaller of the two slaves, the one from the deep south, looked at his
companion and I knew from the look that he was the bottom in this particular
partnership.
  Addressing the slave from Topeka, I said `You told me you had never been
fucked.'
  `Master, yes, Master. That is true.'
  `Your friend here has done you a favour. For the next week, he is going to
fuck you before the entire group here every morning and every night. But you
are not to fuck him until I give you permission. I think you have been
fucking him. Am I right?'
  `Master, yes, Master. Thank you, Master.'
  `Georgi, you will see to it. Come, Alexei, let's get back to the Lemon
Palace.'

  Normally, with the number of slaves working in the Palaces, and the
farmlands, to say nothing now of the al-Kadir property, I rarely bump into
slaves more than one or twice a month, with the exception of course of those
who serve me daily at the Lemon Palace. However, Graham Hodson is so
enthusiastic about the success of the kiwifruit planting that I have found
myself now going down with regularity to the al-Kadir farmlands. So, it was
that after breakfast one morning, we set off in two sand buggies, his being
driven by Pavel, one of his favourite slaves, and mine by Bob Conrad, who
did not want to see Kent Kialka's piano hours interrupted--Kent having driven
me before a couple of times in the afternoons.
  Graham was full of the joys of life showing me the amount of planting
which had taken place in the previous ten days and was complimenting the
irrigation work which Stan Mercer had laid down. At one point, Dieter came
to ask him something about the next area to be planted and asking my
permission for some moments, he walked off with the assistant Overseer. I
was left standing observing a kofila plant the new kiwifruit. I first
noticed the leg chains which made them ex-mercenary and ex-opal mine slaves.
  Although the slaves would have seen me arrive in the distance, when at
work such as this they merely carry on as it is their Swedish kofila
supervisor who would call them to attention once he saw me approach. The
supervisor was some distance away. One of the slaves on his hands and knees
looked familiar and I realised that it was the slave from Topeka. I went
closer to see what he was doing, and he realising that I was almost on top
of him, looked sideways and up at me, and sprang to his feet and went `at
display', as did the slave immediately beside him.
  I have always felt that meeting strange slaves repeatedly is an act of
fate.
  `What are you doing this morning?' I said.
  `Master, planting the kiwifruit plants as ordered, Master.'
  `Show me what you do.'
  `Master, yes, Master,' and the two slaves dropped to their hands and
knees. `We dig a hole, Master, five to six inches deep, like this,' and with
the side of an adze, the slave made a hole in the ground by merely scraping
the soft sandy soil which had been previously prepared. `We take off the
covering of the plant, put the plant in the hole, bring the soil around it,
press the soil in, and measure off two feet for the next plant, Master. It
is simple, Master.'
  As the slave did this, I lowered myself to see what he was doing, placed
my hand on his back and he hesitated fractionally in what he was doing and
continued on. I ran my hand down his back and could feel the vertebrae of
his spine. His back side was welt-free.
  `You have not been caned recently.'
  `Master, no, Master. Not since the opal mine. None of us have really,
Master. A stroke or two, but nothing serious, Master.'
  I let my hand drop down further into the crack between the slave's
buttocks and felt his anus. It no longer had the firmness of ten days
previously.
  `You have now been broken, haven't you?'
  The slave had not stopped working as we had spoken and said `Master, yes,
Master. Sam here took my cherry as ordered and fucked me for the week as you
said, Master.'
  `Sam is your buddy?'
  `Master, yes, Master. He is now, Master. Once he gets in, he is hard to
get out, Master.'
  It was the nearest that I had heard to a slave joke in a while.
  `And what's your name, slave?'
  `Ethan Logan, Master, if that name pleases you.'
  `It does, Ethan, I do not change a slave's name as some Masters do.'
  `Master, thank you. And... thank you for stopping to speak with me, Master.'
  The slave was hesitant as if saying `thank you' was too much forwardness
in a slave.
  Turning to the other slave still working away as if I were not there,
`Does Ethan let you fuck him willingly? What's your name?'
  `Master, my name is Sam Madison. Yes, Master, after the first time Ethan
was fucked, which was really difficult for him. He doesn't struggle any more
as he has found that it can be nice.'
  `And you two are now buddies?'
  `Master, yes, Master. I fuck him in the morning and he fucks me at night.'
  `There is more to sex than mere fucking as you will both learn in time. I
insist on classes for sex techniques. It keeps a slave very happy when they
can improve their sex lives.'
  `Master?' Ethan said and I knew he had a question to ask.
  `Slaves do not ask questions of their Master, and I hear a question
coming. Help me up, I'm getting a cramp in my leg from crouching down like
this.'
  I noticed that both slaves used their forearms to help me to my feet as
their hands were covered in soil and dirt.
  `Walk with me, both of you. You're from Kansas,' I said to Ethan. `Where
are you from,' I asked the other slave.
  `Savannah, Master. Thank you for asking.'
  `You two knew each other before coming to Dahra.'
  `Master, we were on two other missions together before the one to Dahra.'
  `What is the question you wanted to ask?' I said to Ethan.
  `Master, is there ever any chance that we will be free or we or our
families could buy our way out of your service?'
  `No, even if I were to sell you, and I never sell my slaves, you would
never be able to leave Dahra. You have paid a very high price for invading
this sheikdom. Why, did you think you could buy your freedom?'
  There was a moment's silence and Sam said, `I have over forty thousand
dollars, Master, in an account and if I could I would buy my freedom with
that. I have to sign personally in the bank in Switzerland to get that money
out.'
  `Nice try, Sam, but I know that banks in Switzerland require at least a
quarter of a million dollars from a foreigner to open an account. Do you
want to up the amount you are willing to pay for your freedom? And what of
Ethan here? Will you leave him in Dahra to his destiny as a slave?'
  `Master, sorry, Master. You are right. I have just over a quarter of a
million in the account and I would buy Ethan's freedom, if he hasn't enough.
I don't think he has.'
  `Well, Ethan, how much have you stashed away?'
  Ethan looked shocked at the turn of events.
  `Master, about thirty thousand dollars, Master, in a bank in Kansas City.'
  `So you would buy your freedom and leave Sam here in Dahra?'
  `Master, no, Master. It is not like that. I don't know what I would do.'
  `No, indeed, I don't think either of you have thought it out. Are both of
you capable of keeping a secret?'
  Both slaves nodded like children.
  `I trust both of you. Now let me tell you. I sold the opal mine for two
hundred million euro that is about two hundred and forty million dollars. Do
you think that your money would make a difference to my wealth? Now, I have
a question for both of you?'
  Again the two nodded.
  `Do both of you trust me as your owner and Master?'
  The two looked at each other and again nodded, and Ethan said, `Master,
yes, Master.'
  `When both of you actually do trust me fully, come to me and I will have
you each sign a power of attorney to hand over your money to me. That will
be your initial act of trust.'
  There was a shocked silence.
  `And Master,' Sam said, `and if we don't.'
  `Nothing, you will continue to plant kiwifruit.'
  `And Master,' Ethan said, `if we do?'
  `Nothing, you will continue to plant kiwifruit. That's what trust is all
about. Now get back to work. You know where to find me when you are ready to
trust me.'
  I left two perplexed slaves behind me as I walked back to the sand buggy.

  It was two days later that Georgi Gridov, my Overseer at the al-Kadir sent
me a message with Jakes Peoples, my messenger that two slaves Ethan Logan
and Sam Madison wished to talk to me and that I knew the reason.
  I had Josh Green in the Caymans draw up the powers of financial attorney.
  Sam was the one who was wary. His eyes darted around my study and he said,
`Master, this is all about trust, isn't it? You're going to take our money
and we'll never see it again, and you want us to trust you.'
  `Yes, this is merely trust in a money matter. But do you know any of the
ways a slave shows that he trusts his Master here in Dahra?'
  Both shook their heads.
  `The Master, for example, can hold out his hand like this, palm upwards,
and the slave comes and lets his balls rest in the palm of his Master's
hands.'
  I held out my hand and kept looking at my palm for all of twenty seconds.
  I saw Ethan move first and approach, and gently rest his genitals in the
palm of my hand. I close my fingers around his genitals in the Dahran style
to accept the act of homage to a Master. His single ball was soft and warm
in the palm of my hand.
  Sam followed suit and I noticed that he was getting a boner when I had
relaxed my fingers.
  `The signing of the powers of attorney gives neither of you special rights
here at my Palaces. They give an attorney the right to access your money on
your behalf. Now get back to work. You know the way back to al-Kadir. And
Sam, Ethan, do me a favour, tell the other slaves who were mercenaries what
you have done.'
  What neither of the former mercenaries had realised was that I already
knew of their bank accounts. The dossier on each slave revealed that he had
come through an agency in Sofia, Bulgaria, and it took Josh Green very
little time and comparatively little money to have the offices of the agency
burgled and two hard disks copied in their entirety onto a single Firelite
Smartdisk.
  Each mercenary had nominated a bank for the transfer of payments and a
next of kin in the event of death. It would be a matter of seeing if
`disappearance' equated to death for the agency and if any balances remained
in those accounts.
  The morning following my conversation with Ethan and Sam, I had a visit
from Georgi, the Overseer of the al-Kadir properties.
  `Master, we had quite a fight last night in the sleeping quarters.'
  `Anyone injured?'
  `Three of the slaves. The two with whom you spoke were quite beaten up by
four or five of the others, and one of the attackers has quite a black eye.
Neither the slaves named Ethan or Sam are saying anything, and I thought I
would talk with you before punishing them for fighting.'
  `Find out which slaves were fighting. Have Alexei give each five strokes.
You have a key for the leg chains?'
  `Yes, Master.'
  `Take the leg chains off the other mercenaries as they ask to see me over
the coming days; send them to me the following morning in each case.'
  `Yes, Master,' a bemused Georgi replied.
  Over the following ten days, a further twenty of the former mercenaries
asked to see me, came to the Lemon Palace, and stood of the veranda while I
laid powers of attorney before them. I allowed them to ask their questions.
I gave them no guarantees and merely said I wanted their trust.
  One said, `Master, the leg chains were taken off Ethan and Sam. Was there
a price for that?'
  I smiled at the simplicity of the question.
  `No, I merely had them taken off so that if they are going to be attacked
by five or more slaves, they may be able to defend themselves better.'
  The slaves looked at each other sheepishly. They knew of the attack on
both the slaves and even maybe had participated in it. Each of the slaves
was more than a little self-conscious in coming forward and putting their
balls in the palm of my hand. More than a couple sported boners afterwards.
End of Chapter 18
===========
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The Dahran series -- a fictional adventure story about the life and times of
Sir Jonathan Martin -- comprises the following novels to date:
1. The Changed Life
2. The Reluctant Retrainer
3. The Market Offer
4. The Special Memories
5. The Dahran Way
6. The Dahran Rebuttals
7. The Seventh Desert
8. The Dahran Sands
9. The Time Line
These novels are all serialised on Nifty (Gay -- Authoritarian) and on
YahooGroups http://groups.yahoo.com/group/erotic_gay_stories