Dahran

x This is the third chapter ex twenty two of a novel --The Dahran Rebuttals - about present day slavery and gay sex.

The Dahran trilogies are composed to date of 6 novels:

Trilogy one:

The Changed Life The Reluctant Retrainer The Market Offer

Trilogy two:

The Special Memories The Dahran Way The Dahran Rebuttals (this novel)

Keywords:

authority, control, loyalty, slavery, punishment, retraining, 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.

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Chapter 3--The assumption of failure

In the training of slaves, just as in business or banking, I have always found that you should put your best people on the job, not only to get it done properly and efficiently, but as an example to be imitated by the less perfect and the less motivated.

A slave being caned on a flogging post says a lot more with his shouts and cries than any dry statement from the trainers on what should and should not be done.

In the initial training and breaking in of the second round of EU prisoner slaves, my best trainers went to work in and as teams of two.

Rob Kuiper, who with his buddy Niko Ziel were the overall managers of the Lemon Palace induction and training programme, was in my study giving me his weekly update on the progress of the latest batch, when he mentioned a curious situation in the fifth and last training compound which Mirzan Babak, my Iranian trainer and his colleague Vaz Atagi, the Chechen trainer, were dealing with--an English slave.

I liked the way that Mirzan and Vaz worked. Their first slave for training had been Jens Johanssen, my Danish computer whiz slave and they were as effective by day in Jens' formal training in the ways of the Palace as they had been by night with him in his sex training--that was before we had put the sex technique classes in place. Mirzan and Vaz had mentioned to Rob a curious situation with an English slave, this Tony Sert.

Rob Kuiper never misses the weekly update because, in the privacy of my study, it is the one time that he sits in my presence, at my right hand. It is as much an expression of him being my right-hand man, as being an important manager in the running of the Lemon Palace and its workings.

The first time Rob came to give me his first report, he had demurred at sitting in my presence. No slave and he was still one, though a manager, does so and the training is deeply ingrained.

`Rob, I want to hear your report and not be distracted by the size of your cock tenting in your shorts which appears to me to be hard every time we speak.'

`Boss, it's because you are the boss-man and the thought that I can do anything I like on your instructions to the slaves being trained always makes me hard. When I report to you, I think of that and I'm as hard as a rock.'

I had told him to sit down at the desk and read me his notes and that was that. Less distraction, more facts.

One of the advantages of having a clued-in secretary such as Ben Trant, was that no sooner was a name mentioned, such as that of Tony Sert, the English slave in question, but that I had the slave's file in my hand and an arrow flickering on the computer screen indicating his updated data in the database.

Tony Sert's photos showed a very well built young slave of twenty four, whose most striking characteristic was muscles. He had muscles everywhere--arms, biceps, chest, abs, even down to his smooth groin area where veins were to be seen in the skin and muscled legs. Though he was small at five foot ten, he was well proportioned all over with very good skin and nothing more than an original ring and arrow tattoo--now removed--on his left hip.

`So, Rob, what is the special interest in this slave apart from the fact he looks very muscled and fit?'

`Tomorrow, Boss, will be the last day of initial training and he has not received a single stroke of a camel-cane in twenty nine days.'

I looked at Rob, thinking he might be having a little joke at my expense. But no, he looked just as bemused as I was.

It is practically impossible and has never happened, in the first sixty or so slaves we had received up to that point from EU jails, that one could avoid a single stroke of the cane, either for not coming in the first two positions in the workouts or training races, or an encouraging stroke for slackening off. It just was not possible, or so the general consensus of opinion up to that point had been.

`Tomorrow is his last day of initial training then, Rob?'

`Yes, Boss.'

`Come to me then tomorrow, half an hour before the morning session is over and we'll go see this wonder slave and bring a large watermelon with you.'

The following morning, Rob, with a large green sandía type watermelon under his arm, arrived around half-ten to remind me and we sand-buggied down the main avenue towards the Aloe Palace and then on to the Lemon Palace.

Rob Kuiper has a fine grasp of the training programme and is never afraid to apply tough measures, or to have a prisoner slave stay back for extra sessions or days, until he is truly happy with their attitude and submissiveness.

In Rob's book and I like his position on this, no slave, who is in the slightest reticent to give full obedience, or who might be the slightest danger to others, moves on from one compound for the next. Like myself, he is very mindful that all these EU slaves have been sent here for violent crime and will never see Europe again.

I have seen Rob flog a slave so that the strokes over forty were merely the touching of a cane to the skin and such was the perceived mental pain of the slave that he would scream as if the full force of a six foot camel cane had been delivered.

Then Rob would look into the slave's eye for a spark of defiance and if finding it, deliver another couple of strokes and so on, until even the toughest of slaves realised that there was no end to the punishment in sight, at which point their last shred of defiance would evaporate like water in the Dahran midday sun and be followed either by tears or a crumpling of shoulders and body, as if something of the defiant spirit had physically disappeared as well.

While the ordinary trainers normally see to the general breaking-in of the slaves to the ways of the Palace, I rely heavily on Niko and Rob for that overview of total submissiveness to the Master's will, at which they so excel.

There is an assumption and I do believe it, that upon arrival few of the EU prisoner-slaves sent to me will want to be here in Dahra at all. At least, not in the beginning. That reluctance to be at my Palaces is out of ignorance, of not knowing any better.

Happiness in their lives comes slowly. Some are quite happy to be `dead' back in Europe. Some are happy to be out of their former little more than steel and concrete cages. Some are happy to be able to stroll around the farm area of the Lemon Palace in the evenings which when the first batches arrived were essentially date and fig growing cultivations.

Rob and I arrived just at eleven as the five slaves were finishing their morning session which had started at seven that morning. They had just completed a series of gym exercises and were all bathed in sweat. They all still had their five centimetre wide butt-plugs in, corresponding to the fifth compound and the last two of them were having difficulty in standing, dropping on the sand, exhausted with the effort expended in the previous set of exercises.

When I walked in, one of the trainers shouted `at display' and all stood erect with their hands clasped behind their necks, chests stuck out and bellies pulled in. Chests were still heaving from their exertions and sweat was pouring off all of them in the now hot, morning sun.

`Any personal bests in this lot this morning, Vaz?' I asked of the trainer, who was holding the clipboard with the results.

`Only two, Master. Tony Sert, a second off two sets and two seconds off another,' and he indicated the slave in question.

Tony Sert looked even more impressive in the flesh than on photograph--small people tend to do when well muscled.

I walked over towards him. Rivers of perspiration were running down his sides and chest. He was looking into the middle distance. Without warning, I punched him in the stomach. It was not a hard punch, more of a jab, just enough to wind him.

`I hear you have been cheating in your training sets. Is that correct?'

`No, Master.'

The accent was midlands. He continued to look into the middle distance. I raised my hand to his chin. He did not flinch, as well he might have after the stomach punch--slaves are not supposed to move when being punished by a Master, nor even to attempt to avoid a blow.

When my fingers pressed his chin to have him look directly into my eyes, his eyes were in neutral.

`We'll see about that. Vaz, what is this slave's best time for five miles?' I asked not taking my eyes off the slave's face.

`Thirty two minutes twenty seconds, Master.'

`Rob, put that watermelon on the ground and give it your best stroke with a camel-cane.'

Everyone's eyes were riveted on the watermelon as Rob placed it on the ground, stood back and was handed a four-foot camel-cane. He took careful aim and hit the watermelon dead centre. It split cleanly in two with red pulp flesh flying in the air. The four-foot cane is a nasty piece of work and every slave avoids it, unlike the three foot one which can be taken a lot more.

`Now, Tony Sert, that is the stroke that will land on your back for every second you are over your best time. One stroke for every second! And not only you, one stroke on the back of every one of your four companions here as well.'

Tony Sert's eyes caught mine for a split second and, for the first time, there was fear in them of a Master over whom he had no control.

`Vaz, take over and have him run. His speed will determine the flogging he and this lot is about to get.'

The muscled young slave was brought over to a point beside the wall of the compound around whose inside perimeter he was going to run ten times, as each of the four walls of the compound is two hundred metres long.

No part of the compound was now in the shade of the midmorning sun and those of us standing around went in under the white canvas awning in the middle of the compound, where the training overseers would normally stand or sit as they inspected the training. The four slaves, who had completed their exercises, approached Mirzan and a conversation was going on.

Mirzan came over to me and said, `Master, the slaves want to know if they can pace Tony Sert, one at a time?'

`If they have nothing better to do,' I replied curtly.

One of the slaves lined up with Tony Sert and the two of them took off. Not only was he a muscled body, he was a gifted, natural athlete as well, running with a clear and fast pace even from the first lap. The pacemaker was out in front running far too fast. Tony Sert was staying back setting his own pace, not too far behind the pacemaker.

At the end of one full lap, the pacemaker dropped out exhausted and a second slave pacemaker took over, again at far too fast a pace, almost as if the race were a sprint.

The laps sped by, the spectators watching in fascination. I beckoned Vaz over, who was holding the stopwatch which I took from him.

At five laps, Tony Sert was eight seconds slower and slowing. The sun seemed to me to be even hotter in the compound as he pounded around the perimeter track, now leaving behind the pacemaker slaves, as they did their respective second laps pacing him. On and on he pounded. It was quite a display of willpower and sheer strength of a beautiful body straining to its very limits.

Coming into the final half lap, he had lost his pacemaker way back and the slaves were crying themselves hoarse, as they urged him on and I guessed with him, they were urging on a little bit of themselves as well. So much for silence in the compounds during training! The training overseers were watching me. I was watching Tony Sert as he passed the finishing point and collapsed into the waiting arms of his fellow slaves.

Thirty two minutes thirty four seconds. Fourteen seconds over his personal best. I pressed the button and reset the stopwatch to zero, handing it back to Vaz.

The slaves were propping up Tony Sert, who was now facing me.

`Thirty two minutes eighteen seconds. Two seconds inside your best time.'

There was a cheer from the slaves, who rushed over toward Tony and even the trainers smiled a little.

See what the threat of a little punishment can do, Tony' I said. Well done!'--I rubbed the hair on his head which was totally wet with sweat, by way of approval.

`Get cleaned up and back here in ten minutes the lot of you.'

The slaves grabbing an arm or leg each carried Tony Sert into the shower area of the compound to much irregular cheering.

Having realised something, I sent Rob back up to the Palace with a message for Ben Trant, my secretary and chatted with the overseers in the shade of the awning while the message was delivered.

The training overseers only keep the weekly documentation and records on the slaves in training at the compound. Each of the five had been improving at various levels. Tony Sert was always in the first or second places.

Rob confirmed what normally happened on the evening when the very last session of the fifth compound ended. The slaves then rested for the night and in the morning were then assigned to the various overseers at the Lemon Palace.

There were now about sixty working in kofilas, or coffles, of five slaves each, under a theoretical four overseers and eight assistant overseers on the various works being done in re-fertilising and re-cultivating the lands of the Lemon Palace which had become run down and depleted under the ill health of Mohamed al-Shaad, the previous owner.

Komil Rostov, the Lemon Palace stables' manager came into the compound at that moment. Komil had been my nightly bed companion and still was once a week. His six foot seven frame towered above all, but for all his height, he was meticulous in his work and in the running of the building complex and lands which really had not yet come into their own, being at that time rather more an extended farm of dates and fig trees.

Komil had taken a leaf out of the stables' manager of the Aloe Palace Yuriy Obov's book,and was bedding each graduate of the training programme's final compound to secure the slave's total recognition of him as stables' manager and work boss.

Komil's massive cock, my own personal experience attests, was not only a piece of sexual apparatus, it was a fearsome tool for securing the submission of even the most heterosexual of the graduates, whose anuses had been deliberately stretched to accommodate his size.

After two nights maximum in bed with Komil, my giant Uzbek overseer, he always secured the submission of the slave, who by then would have been taken in a both missionary and doggie positions. Komil was confident of the slave's loyalty thereafter, quite apart from their submission, no matter what his background or nationality.

Komil admitted to me that he really liked dominating those, who had never had sex before with a man. The slave's submission to Komil, my overseer, however, was in fact in turn a submission to me also as Komil's Master. I will do little for a slave, who does not submit one hundred per cent to my authority, but once he does, that slave becomes part of my family so to speak--and we all love and protect and promote our families.

It has always been my practice to give each trained slave a gold necklace after thirty days out of training.

Because of pressure of work, I had failed to do this at the Lemon Palace, where there were now just sixty former EU prisoners, now my farm slaves, of whom some forty or so would have been out of training for more than thirty days.

Taking two slave biscuits and some water for lunch myself, I went over the computer records with Komil.

I noted that he had put three of the slaves back in for further compound training over fifteen days.

`After that, Master, there was no further problem.'

`What was the original problem?'

`They would not look me in the eye, Master.'

`What?'

`Your little trick, Master. Get the slave to look you in the eye and you see all kinds of things. When I saw deviousness, I put three of them back in the compounds.'

I had to smile at Komil. There is no deceiving him and he does possess a marvellous feel for handling slaves.

I asked Komil if had he yet to put any of the new slaves back into the formal re-training of eighty seven days which was there to totally break the slave's will-power. I had a brand-new retraining room built beside the Lemon Palace training ground. It was still unused according to Komil. I wondered for how long.

Rob, by this time, had come back with Ben Trant in tow on the sand-buggy.

`Do you know the weight of this stuff, Boss? Ben insisted in coming along just in case I was about to run off with it.'

Ben, who is always serious, was about to say something, but saw that his leg was being pulled.

I opened the first of the four boxes of heavy gold necklaces sparkled in the sunlight in the room.

`Beautiful, aren't they? I think a slave always likes to get one of these.'

`Yes, Boss, they are beautiful, but not as beautiful as the one around my neck,' Rob said fingering his own.

When the afternoon sun had lost some of its heat, Komil had the all the slaves of the Lemon Palace stand at display' and then at rest' in the courtyard. The Lemon Palace farm still needed at least two years' work, but the presence of the initial batches of slaves would come to grips with that in due course.

Though most of the slaves would have seen the gold necklaces on the overseers and the visiting slaves who had come from the other two Palaces and would have known their purpose and origin, I took my time to explain to the new slaves why each, out of training for over thirty days, was being made this gift.

`Your former countries have had no use for you. In your own countries you were regarded as criminals. Here, you are now my slaves and I have use for you and I regard you not just as my slaves but, strange as it may seem to you, as companions in a new adventure.'

`I bear you no ill will. Your former crimes mean nothing to me. You have effectively a clean sheet here, even a new name if you want one and as long as you do not attempt to harm others or attempt to escape which is impossible with the GPS bracelet on your ankle, you will enjoy my favour.'

`As long as you respect me and my managers and overseers here, you will be treated with respect.'

`As we get to know each other better, you will be given further and better responsibilities, if you want them. None of the overseers, here, are forced to do their jobs. They were invited to be overseers because they worked very well as slaves.'

`Now, there are six hours' work for each of you each day, plus two hours of classes in which you are instructed in various things. As you can see, it is not a lot and you have time for yourselves.'

`You have been given and will be given full medical attention at all times, as you have seen with the minor surgery some of you have already received as well as teeth and eye treatment. Also as you have seen, I do not allow tattoos or body ornamentation. These have been, or will be, removed.'

`You will be each given your own gym workout programme. Also you will all be trained in a series of sexual techniques so that sexually you are satisfied at least twice a day.'

`And as you have become aware, all of you will learn both English which you know is spoken in the mornings and Arabic which will be spoken, as now, in the afternoons and evenings.'

`If you have any questions on these or other procedures, just ask Komil Rostov, my stables manager and your local overseer here, who will always answer you truthfully.'

`Now we come to the real point of this gathering.'

`My gift to each slave is always a gold necklace which is given without conditions. It is yours and yours alone. You only lose it if you are ever sent back for retraining. It also means clearly that by accepting it, you accept belonging to me as a slave.'

At that point, Komil started to call forward slave after slave. They were all shapes and sizes. The regime was working on some of them and the sun had also had its effect in that tan lines had all but disappeared.

As I put the necklace around each slave's neck, each kissed the back of my hand and so on to the next one. Apparently Komil had told them to do this.

It took just over an hour to do the lot and there was a buzz around the courtyard all the time as those, who received their necklace showed it to friends and other slaves they knew.

When all were finished, I had Komil call forward the five, who had graduated out of the compounds that morning.

Tony Sert and his four companions were soon standing in front of me, a questioning look in his eyes, nervousness in the eyes of the others.

This morning after their two hour training session in the fifth compound which you will all remember for its toughness'--and there were a few groans around the courtyard--I ordered a slave to beat his best time in a five mile run around the compound or else be flogged, along with everyone else in the compound.'

`That slave not only ran, he beat his best time and saved his companions a flogging. That is the type of slave I want and need here and for that he and his companions will not have to wait thirty days for their gold necklace, they each get it here and now.'

I gave the necklace to the companion slaves first and lastly to Tony Sert. He was blinking a lot and I saw his Adam's apple bob once or twice while I was fixing the necklace around his neck.

I thought that when he kissed the back of my hand, he took his time in releasing my fingers, but I could have been mistaken, until he said `Master, thank you.'

He opened his mouth to say something else, but closed it. I looked at him, his splendid physique reflecting the rays of the afternoon sun.

`I think you and I need to talk, Tony.'

`Yes, Master.'

Addressing the assembled slaves, I said `A number of assistant overseers, around five, have to be appointed to help the overseers. Ask yourselves, who are the ten hardest and most reliable workers among you and tell Komil here. From those ten, I shall choose four. Komil, dismiss the slaves.'

Tony Sert was standing there looking at me, not knowing whether to come or go.

`I have to get back to the Lime Palace. Walk with me. Tell me about yourself. Things that are not in your file.'

I motioned to Ben Trant to follow on the sand-buggy.

`I don't know what's in my file, Master.'

`Forget the file, Tony. Tell me about the real Tony Sert--the guy under the muscles.'

That drew a smile from him and as we strolled back to the Palace, he opened up little by little. In summary, a wasted childhood and teenage years with no surviving relatives of note.

Petty robberies, burglaries--I was much smaller then'--and a Bank robbery a snatch and grab, really,' which went wrong, he actually ran slap-bang into a police officer in the street.

In jail, during an attempted gang rape, he cut one prisoner's jugular with a broken bottle and another was so badly slashed in a frenzy of resistance and anger that both died--more than fifty cuts on each body according to the file, I seemed to remember.

The attempted rape got lost in the murder charges and Tony Sert was history as a possible parolee. To protect himself, he started body-building while his infamy as a mad murderer protected him. The fact that a conviction for murder requires unequivocal, deliberate intent to kill did not seem to have affected his judges, or the ensuing prison gossip.

My mind was thinking laterally at this stage as to how easy it is for legal systems to ignore the patently obvious and seek out the obscure or the simplistic in decisions.

Tony Sert, at worst, was guilty of justifiable homicide because it was done out of self-defence or involuntary manslaughter at the least. But that was not to be the case that was alleged against him.

And then a midnight transfer--to where he did not know until he felt the desert heat one morning.

We were now back at the Lime Palace and I walked over between two of the slave quarters--to one of the benches beside a fountain in one of the gardens. I sat down and pointed to the ground beside me, where Tony knelt down as a slave would do, with his knees spread wide and his hands at his back, his fine single ball and cock swinging loose.

Seeing various slaves coming in and out of the quarters and coming to walk and sit in the gardens, I could see that he was a bit puzzled.

`Any questions, Tony?'

`Lots, Master.'

`First one first.'

`Why?'

`Why what?'

`Why did you tell a lie, Master? I know I did not do a personal best this morning. On the last lap, I thought I would collapse.'

Personal bests, Tony, are very relative things. You did a personal best here'--and I tapped his chest over his heart--maybe not on the stopwatch which just for your own information was a good fourteen seconds over your personal running best.'

He smiled at the knowledge that he had been right.

But why?' I said. First, I was very surprised that the trainers had not given you a single stroke of a camel-cane in thirty days. That is a record by the way. You are adverse to camel-canes, I take it.'

`Yes, Master, definitely' he said with a grin.

`Secondly, when I saw you run even after a two-hour morning session, you had not objected to the order and I got the impression that you were running to make a new personal best even in the worst of circumstances as much as trying to avoid punishment for yourself and your other companion slaves. Talking of which, have you taken a buddy yet?'

He blushed.

`No, Master, I just sleep with the one who was assigned to me during the training.'

`And?'

`And we wank each other off in the showers as told to do and at night the same on the bed. And then we go to sleep.'

`Not much technique there, Tony, is there?'

`No, Master.'

`In the crazy world we live in, you are now in an environment, where your only sex is going to be with men. Have you ever wanted to touch another guy sexually, Tony?'

He swallowed and shook his head, `No, Master, definitely not.'

`So, I presume, that you have never wanted to fuck a guy or be fucked by a guy?'

`No way, Master.'

`Tony, let me fill you in on a public secret. Here at my Palaces, in time, you are going to fuck a lot of guys and the odd time that I want to, I am going to fuck you. Have you any complaints with that?'

Again, he shook his head.

`Do you know why you are shaking your head, Tony? For the very simple reason, you cannot do anything about it. Now any further questions?'

`Why take one of a guy's balls, Master.'

`One, as a once and clear policy warning to all the criminal prisoners who come here as slaves that, as Master, I can do anything I like to any or all of the slaves in the Lemon Palace. Secondly, it's a simple way to bring down the level of testosterone in each slave, you included. You know what testosterone is--the hormone which makes men aggressively macho. One remaining ball can do the work fine, but will not oversupply the body, as two balls will.'

`And do you know why you are going to love fucking some of these guys, Tony?'

`No, Master.'

`Because you are going to love being one of my overseers. You have great leadership qualities.'

He sort of shook his head in disbelief at that.

`Yes, you have. Did you notice the way the slaves banded round you to help you run? They would not do that for a guy they despised, but rather for someone they respected. They will respect your strength a lot more, when you have fucked them all a couple of times, simply because as my overseer, you are going to be able to do it.'

`Overseer, Master? I've never been in charge of anybody, ever!'

`Well, assistant overseer to start with. You have to walk before you can run. Any objections?'

Tony was quiet and he shook his head again in disbelief.

`I've never been asked to do anything important in my life, Master,' he said very quietly.

`A first time for everything, Tony.'

I waited a full minute for the next question.

`Who lives in these buildings, Master?'

`In this one, the ground floor has a number of rooms for various purposes and in the floors above slaves are two to a room. In this one behind us, the ground floor is for the medical facilities and above the rooms for staff and overseers. Any more questions?'

`Not if you don't want to answer them, Master.'

`Keep asking, Tony and you'll ask the question that you really want to ask.'

He looked at me and lowered his eyes. I put out my hand and raised his chin until he was again looking in my eyes.

`My assistant overseers and overseers always look me in the eye, Tony and are never afraid to ask a question. Does that help?'

`They say...they say, Master, that you fuck all the slaves. Why?'

He was blinking quite a lot.

`Only the really good looking ones, Tony....'

He blinked even more.

`Are you good looking. Tony?'

`Yes, Master, they say I am. I mean my girlfriends used to say that once upon a time.'

`I didn't quite finish the sentence, Tony, I fuck the really good looking slaves, who don't object to going to bed with me.'

He looked at me.

`You mean, Master, that if a slave didn't want to go to bed with you, he would not have to.'

`Tony, a couple of times, I truly may not have given the slave much of a choice and in one case, I waited a long number of months until the slave was ready, but the short answer is that I have rarely ever raped a slave. Is that a particular worry of yours?'

`Master, I have never had sex with a guy, as I said, apart from the wanking in the showers at the compound and being wanked off in bed. I don't think I would know what to do. Honest, I just would not know what to do, Master, even with all the sex training we all had.'

`To please me? You are presuming that I am going to invite you to bed?'

`Yes, Master, I think you are going to or at least, thinking about it.'

`And what do you think your answer will be, Tony' I said very quietly.

Master, the answer will be yes,' because I won't be able to stop you, but you will have to tell me what to do.'

`No time like the present, Tony. After dinner tonight, Komil will take you up to my bedroom and you can put all your fears on that score behind you.'

Under the fine even tan on his skin, Tony Sert blanched a little at that news.

Tony Sert turned out to be a delight in bed. No one had ever found his erogenous spots in his previous straight love-making to any great degree. His armpits were a mass of sensitive nerve endings; the nubs of his nipples had only to be touched with my teeth, not even bitten, for him to be fully erect.

With his legs over his head, his back arched like a bow when he was rimmed. He almost lost control of himself when his inguinal areas were licked. He lost control of his breathing when my nails frottaged his perineum.

Then the sucking of each of his nipples caused him to spasm. The valley in his neck under his Adam's apple when licked and sucked caused him to grasp my body over him so fiercely that I had to tell him to release me so that I could breathe.

I waited until he calmed down and then raised his legs over my hips and stroked him down under along his perineum, down to his anus which was soft and pliant after thirty days of butt-plugs. My eyes never left his; his never left mine.

I slid my three quarter tumescent cock into his back passage.

`Is this what you were so frightened of, Tony?' as I let him feel me inside him.

He nodded.

`Are you any different to the Tony of five minutes ago?'

`Master, I lost my virginity back there this week in the compound when we are all fucked, but I had no choice in that. It was one way of being fucked. I think I could have stopped you just now, but I didn't want to. So, in a way, it is you, who has broken and deflowered me.'

His reply caught me off guard. The idea of such a muscular guy being girlishly deflowered made me start to laugh and I lost my erection. I pulled out and lay down beside him. He looked worried.

`What's the matter?' I asked.

`I'm doing nothing for you, Master and now...' he looked down at my disappearing erection.

`Well, the first lesson in loving a person, Tony, is holding them and if it is not against your beliefs, what about holding me?'

He did and whether it was the warmth of both our bodies or the residual heat of the day, or the exhaustion following his effort in running, half an hour later he was solidly asleep and did not wake up until early next morning.

Both of us had a morning hard-on. I took him doggie style. He spread his knees almost a yard apart and the tightness of his brown hole was a beckoning siren of waiting pleasure. I played with his hole. I licked his hole. With my fingers on the soft skin over the muscles of the sphincter, I pulled open his hole and let my spittle drop into it and with the gentleness of a lover, I entered him in one continuing pressing push.

When I had spent myself quickly, I looked at his early morning boner and I directed him into the bathroom with me. That morning I also gave him his first head from me and when he had gasped his way out of climax, looking down at my erection, he said, `Master, can I give it a try? And if I can't do it, can I stop?'

`Be my guest. Just suck it as you would like someone to suck you.'

As he did, I ran my finger through his close hair, touching the erogenous zones on his head and scalp. I let him take his time. When I finally shot in his mouth, my second cum in half an hour, he swallowed just looking up at me from his kneeling position.

When he finally got up, he looked a bit sheepish.

`Too much for a night and day, Tony?'

`Too much, no, Master. A lot, yes.'

`Tony, you have a lot to learn about many things. If you want to learn more about sex, I will have you taught many, many things and more pleasure than you ever dreamed possible for that beautiful body of yours. By the way, I haven't really decided what you should work at. Have you any ideas?'

`I don't really know yet what has to be done around here. Just say, Master and I'll give it my best shot.'

`I'm thinking ahead to when we have the gym and swimming pool at the Lemon Palace we are going to need a gym instructor there, so I think you'll like training as an assistant overseer here at the Lime Palace gym so as to get the hang of things.'

Though he is smaller than I, Tony's bear hug is best avoided unless you want your ribs cracked.

`Put me down, Tony,' I had to say.

`Yes, Master. Whatever you say.'

Tony, over time, became a superb gym teacher and a reasonably good lover. It took him a long, long time, even with all the sex techniques taught to him, to let go fully in his own mind of the stereotypes which had been imprinted into his life and relax when with another man.

But being a gym instructor in a busy Palace, he would be able to pick and choose the right type of guy for himself. As for me, I chose him a lot until he made his one and only choice. When he was mine at night Tony Sert never once failed to please.

For me, Tony Sert was living proof that we must never assume that people will fail you. Some like him will excel in the face of the greatest of obstacles and surprise you. Tony's failure to be punished during training, or rather his success in avoiding punishment has never been equalled in the history of the Lemon Palace.

It would also be wrong to assume that Tony, being a straight guy, failed in being a lover in time to his freely chosen buddy, as those of us, I who have sought the presence of his body in my bed can prove without the slightest shadow of a doubt.

The failure to totally break and train the first time round a number of the EU prisoner slaves was quite another matter.

End of Chapter 3

To be continued . . .