Dahran

The Seventh Desert by Gerry Taylor

This is the seventh chapter (ex twenty two) of a novel about present-day slavery and gay sex.

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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Contact points:

e: gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com

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

Chapter 7 -- The experience of centuries

In early May, I had received an invitation from my old school in Midminster in the West Counties to attend their end of academic year celebrations.

The school was now inviting old boys back after ten, fifteen, twenty and twenty five years. It hardly seemed possible that I had left its red-bricked quadrangle twenty five years previously upon taking up a career in banking. Having been posted around the world as a banker, I had not been back to my alma mater in the intervening years. It so happened that the celebrations would be towards the end of June, and I resolved to go down after the regular monthly Board meeting of the bank to spend the weekend there.

I took the train down and, with a single piece of luggage, travelled light. Though I had brought a novel to read on the journey, the memories of more than a quarter of a century ago flashed through my mind as station after half-forgotten station whizzed by. I smiled at the speed of the express train which had replaced the old puffing steam one I used to take all those years ago. The novel lay unread on the seat beside me.

The confirming note from the school signed by the Bursar whose name I did not recognise stated that I would be lodged at the school itself. An accompanying list showed some 14 others, only two from my year, who intended to be present for the weekend or at least part of it.

It was a splendid day for travelling and I arrived at Midminster in the early afternoon. The railway station had been given a coat of paint at some stage years previously, but otherwise it did not appear to have changed that much. The town is not big being an amalgamation of two villages, Mid and Minster, some time in the fourteenth century and apart from a local paint factory, its only other `industry' was St. Timothy's public school. Being English, the name public school was quaintly deceiving. It was fee-paying and quite exclusive among the country's minor public schools with a physical limitation for six hundred boys, one hundred per year being released into society and the world at large after suitable grooming. There was a twenty year waiting list based on who in your family had been a pupil previously.

All these thoughts flooded back as a slow taxi took me from the station on the well known `mile-run' as we had called it up to the school itself.

The school had not changed at all, apart from a asphalted entrance to the gravelled one I had remembered. Its red bricks were warm in the summer sun. The ivy on the walls had not changed, even the two wisterias, or their descendants, in the outer quadrangle had survived to welcome the visitor with their lavender colour.

I was no sooner out of the taxi with my piece of luggage at my feet than two figures emerged from the front door, one a teacher in billowing gown, the other a pupil in cricket whites.

`It's Martin, isn't it?' the teacher said and I recognised my geography teacher, Mr. Hodson, of a quarter of a century previously.

`Mr. Hodson?'

`Thought it was you. Same face, you know. Haven't changed a bit, you haven't. Call me Graham,' and he extended a hand.

It is strange but even after that time, one can stand in awe of teachers who held your life in their hands and moulded you in the likeness of the unnamed English gentleman and man of the world. I stood tongue-tied as I once had, unable to name the rivers of France. Mr. Hodson made up for my lack of elocution.

`Burrows, don't stand there. Take Sir Jonathan's luggage upstairs to number 5. We have five old boys staying here with us this weekend and another ten in the local hotel. I put you in number 5 as it is the quietest and the largest guest room.'

The boy, who was standing there beside us, took my luggage, smiled at me and lugged it up the steps.

I found my voice.

`Mr. Ho...Graham, you have not changed that much at all. A little thinner on top maybe; a little greyer perhaps, but just as I remember you.'

`Sir Jonathan...'

Jonathan or Martin, if you will, but none of the sir', please!'

Graham Hodson smiled and said `Jonathan, welcome back'

I felt at home as only a public school educated person can and my old teacher walked me into the school and up to my room `to rest after the journey' as if I had come by carriage on a trip which had lasted days instead of four hours on a modern express train.

I found my room was on the first floor overlooking the quadrangle. Mr. Hodson had left me at the door and inside, I found that my suitcase was on the bed and Burrows who had brought it up, was opening a window to let in some air.

`Gosh, sir, we have been looking forward to seeing you arrive. I hope everything is all right for you. I shall be fagging for you while you are here.'

The pupil was talking with some enthusiasm and in obvious admiration. And as for `fagging', now that was a term I had not heard in a quarter of a century. He would be attending to my needs and doing my messages.

`What's your name?'

`Burrows, sir'.

`First name?'

`Jeremy, sir. If you need me at any time, just lift the phone and dial 552. If I am not there, there is an automatic answering machine on it and I'll come immediately when I get the message, sir.'

`You have a phone in your room?' I asked surprised. Some things had indeed changed.

`Yes, sir. All sixth-formers have. It's a privilege. To leave your phone unplugged or not on the answering machine, sir, is a real no-no.'

`And why are you in cricket whites?'

There's a match against the visitors in an hour's time,' he said glancing at his watch and rather shyly said, I'm Captain of the school team this year, sir. I thought I might not have time to change in case you arrived late.'

It was not a statement of boasting or self-praise, but rather one that the position had been earned and was only temporary in the scheme of things. It was also a statement of being organised.

As we were speaking, there was a shout and a stifled cry. The door of the room was still open and I stepped out into the passage in time to see another pupil come out of the next room rubbing his chest inside a half-opened shirt whose top buttons were undone. He took one look at me and sped down the passage way toward the stairs. I stepped back into my room.

`You will be playing, sir?'

`What?'

`In the match, sir?'

`I haven't played cricket in years.'

`Sir, please, sir. You're a visitor.'

There was an element of pleading in the voice but also a hint of wanting to show just how good the school team was against any opposition.

`I haven't any whites.'

Jeremy Burrows grinned and went over to a wardrobe where there were three white pants and a white cricket jersey. He looked at my legs and chose the middle of the three. He held them up against my hip.

`You have now, sir, and you're already wearing a white shirt. I can have it washed immediately afterwards for you if you are short. The jersey fits all sizes.'

I laughed.

`Get out, Burrows. What time did you say?'

`Four o'clock, sir, at the pavilion.'

I was there at the pavilion with ten minutes to spare. Nine old boys, including myself, were milling about, only one of whom was from my year. Several teachers were present and two would make up the team of eleven. One of the old boys organised the team quickly and I found myself down as a fielder.

The school eleven walked out with purpose led by Jeremy Burrows and I noticed that the boy behind him was the one who had run down the corridor earlier on having come out of the room next to mine.

`They look rather determined for a bunch of six formers,' I commented to a teacher.

Watch out for Smithers,' the teacher said, he's their secret weapon. Quite a spin bowler, slow, but dynamite on the pitch.'

Cricket is not everyone's game, too slow for the Americas, too English for some countries, too misunderstood by most of the world but enthusiastically played in various Commonwealth countries. Suffice it to say that the visitors lost or rather were trounced on that Thursday June afternoon, as Burrows scored as if there were no tomorrow and Smithers bowled out five visitors. I got the impression that Burrows, his Captain, cut short his decimation of the visitors rather than let him bowl us all out. I noted that when the game was won that it was Smithers who was lifted shoulder high into the pavilion with his Captain and my fag, Jeremy Burrows, lending the first shoulder.

It is awesome when five hundred and fifty boys sit down to evening meal. I was sitting at top table among the visitors and teachers. The Headmaster was a man in his late thirties. He introduced himself and came across as eminently capable.

Graham Hodson had seated himself beside me with the Headmaster on the other side, and I noted that the visitors were every second person at table.

While the Headmaster commented on my career in banking and congratulated me on my Knighthood, the only one of my year -- such things obviously noted in the great scheme of alma mater things - he stuck to school and educational matters, clearly happier on subjects where he had mastery.

I commented that the school had not really changed at all as I remembered it. This comment allowed the Headmaster to open up on how the school was performing in national ratings, what the school was doing at present and wanted to do, particularly to build a science building.

`You have fundraised?'

`Indeed, over the past three years. A million raised already with our target set at five million. Four for the building and one for the lab equipment.'

I could see where this was going and was a bit surprised that I had not been contacted or `touched' for a contribution.

I mentioned this and the Headmaster replied that their fundraising committee was small and only getting to grips with things. I glanced at my old geography teacher who was smiling and I knew why I had been seated where I was. I smiled back.

`I would be delighted to make a modest contribution, Headmaster, to the science building fund. Would a quarter of a million help matters?'

I helped the Headmaster to some water as he spluttered his and the school's thanks. It was my turn to grin at Graham Hodson.

When I arrived back at my room after dinner, Jeremy Burrows was there in casual clothes, closing a window and he had turned down the quilt of the bed.

`I didn't really have time to say congratulations on the game this evening. You really trounced us, and I think if you had not stopped Smithers he would have bowled us all out.'

You saw that sir?' he said with a smile. It was a team effort really, sir, and Jason was great as usual, sir. You can always rely on him,' Jeremy said with an impish grin.

`But it takes a Captain to inspire, does it not? And your Jason Smithers did merit being shouldered off the pitch. He's okay, is he?'

`Sir?'

`He seemed upset earlier on when I heard that noise and saw him in the corridor.'

Jeremy Burrows blushed.

`He's okay, sir.'

He saw my questioning eye.

`He's okay, sir. The visitor next door pinched his nipple rather hard and he wasn't expecting it. He's okay. Are you coming to the concert, sir?'

`You're changing the subject and yes, I am.'

The concert was an end of year one in every sense of the word. Parents were there. It was noisy. It was school-boyish. It was relaxing fun and when it was over by ten, I was beginning to feel jetlag which was making my body believe that it was two in the morning in Dahra.

When I got back to my room, I found Jeremy Burrows sitting there.

`I've just finished checking your room, sir. And Headmaster said I was to leave a bottle of sherry on the dresser for you.'

An expensive bottle of sherry, I thought to myself.

`Are you eighteen?'

`Yes, sir. In May.'

`Then pour two glasses of sherry. I don't want it to be said that I drink alone or that I am corrupting minors.'

`Yes, sir. No, sir.'

Jeremy, when you are here, drop the sir' bit. School is now over. The name is Jonathan.'

`Sir, I can't call you by your first name.'

`Have I to ask for a change of fag?'

`No, si.. No, Jonathan. But it just sounds disrespectful to an important old boy and an international banker.'

I pointed to the sherry and he poured out two glasses very carefully.

`Is that what you think I am?

`Yes, sir. I know it to be a fact. I even found your name on the Internet when I was told for whom I was going to be fagging.'

Heaven help us. Now tell me who is Jeremy Burrows?' I said looking at the fair haired teenager before me. Sit down before your spill that sherry.'

`A nobody, si..Jonathan. In two weeks, I will have finished at St. Timothy's. I have applied for several positions to study accountancy and am hoping to get a job before September.'

`I thought the Captain of a school team would have thought of university or some such further education?'

`Oh, I did, si..Jonathan, up to earlier this year. My father died in March and things are not too well at home financially. My mom can keep my younger brother here--he's going into second form in September--but we would not be able to afford Bristol--I was thinking of doing Business and Finance there.'

`I thought university fees were now fully paid for bright students like you, Jeremy.'

Fees are paid yes, but you still have to pay for accommodation at a residence and food and..' he breathed deeply all the other things which seem to need money. But I have applied to the Big 5 in chartered accountancy and I trust I will get in somewhere.'

With that a mobile phone rang and he looked embarrassed as he fished it out of a pocket, and glanced at its lighted screen.

Sorry, si..Jonathan, it's Jason,' he said as he looked at the name on the screen and said into the phone, I'm with Sir Jonathan at the moment. I'll see you in half an hour.'

The conversation was to the point.

`And Jason, what's he going to do?'

`He's going to do architecture at Bristol. He's great at maths and drawing. We were going to go there together. But we'll stay in touch, I'm sure.'

I don't know why but the face of my first slave Yuriy Obov flashed across my mind--a man who could take the hand of cards life dealt him in his stride adjusting to every vicissitude with calm and courage.

`You're not drinking your sherry.'

`It's a bit strange for my taste, Jonathan, to be honest.'

`Why did you not get a scholarship to Bristol?'

`From where?'

`From any of a number of foundations. From the university itself.'

`I don't think they have scholarships for students like me from a public school. Had I been at a grammar school, yes. Well, maybe. I am bright, Jonathan, but not genius level. You must be tired, sir, after the day. What time do you want to be called in the morning?'

`You have a habit of changing subjects you don't want to discuss, Jeremy, my lad. I don't think I need to be called as I usually wake up at half five every morning. But maybe you should call me at, let's say, half-six. I used to go for an early morning run round the school perimeter wall when I was here. I think I shall do it again.'

`That's my run, sir. Jason and I run that every morning before we swim. I'll call you at half-six and wait for you at the hall door and if you don't mind, I'll jog with you.'

When Jeremy left, I undressed and got into bed. I closed my eyes and I slept like a log and then the phone rang.

`Jonathan, this is your six-thirty alarm call.'

It took me no time at all to shave and put on singlet and shorts which my fag had thoughtfully also left out for me.

When I arrived at the school's hall door, I could see two figures kitted out for running. They were Jeremy and his friend Jason.

`Sir Jonathan, this is Jason.'

`I've seen you in action. Now let's jog.'

The full run around inside the wall of the school property is just less than four miles. We did it in just under thirty minutes, though I got the impression that my companions were holding back.

`Sir, do you want to go for a swim? We normally do after a run?' It was Jason who was asking.

`I've no togs with me.'

No problem, Jonathan,' Jeremy replied with a grin. I have some rather large Bermuda shorts in my locker.'

As we took a quick shower before the swim, I could not but help noticing Jason's nipples. Both were bruised and I thought his left nipple was actually torn. As he was half-turning away, I did not wish to look too closely.

We swam for just over half an hour and as I enjoyed quite a hot shower afterwards, I did look more closely at my two companions. Both were of a similar build, though Jason's hair was chestnut brown and his pubic hair was a thick bush surrounding a nice four inches of a cut penis, which seemed half-tumescent. He had a few inches of a treasure trail heading for his navel.

Jeremy's hair was that much lighter and his pubic hair when wet simply stuck plastered to his groin area. His penis was slightly smaller and thinner than his friend's and was totally flaccid.

As we dressed and as Jason pulled on a sweatshirt, I did get a clear view of his left nipple and not only was it bruised, it had a cut on it.

The school had organised a coach trip to two of the local sights for the morning of the Friday- a sort of trip down memory lane - which was to culminate in a lunch at a well known public house which had been given some form of national rosette. My old geography teacher, Graham Hodson, came with us as did two other teachers who knew the old boys of the other year groups.

It is strange that we think of people as old. Graham, it turned out was only fifty three and was going to retire early in two years after thirty years service.

`You've never married, Graham?'

`Not the marrying type, Jonathan. Teaching has been my companion in life and I have kept happy and young by teaching almost three thousand boys. You, yourself, have not married?'

`No, there are a thousand reasons why I have not that I could name, and only one really sound reason, of which one does not speak too publicly.'

`Ah!' was his understanding reply.

But tell me,' I commented, Headmaster seems keen on his science building.'

`Yes, but it will be after my time. The trustees will only allow it when the money is there. It will take some years for the fund-raising to be complete.'

`I would like to help.'

`Yes, I overheard last night. Poor Headmaster, he almost drowned in his own glass.'

`No, that is for public consumption. I would really like to help. Would you be willing to channel a donation to the trustees?'

Graham looked at me.

`Of course. If I can help.'

`What is your mother's maiden name?'

`Was. She's dead a number of years. It was Harris.'

`There will be only one condition attaching to the contribution. The science building will be called the Harris Science Building.'

`You're joking, Jonathan.'

`Never more serious. Do you know any of the trustees?'

`I know them all to speak to.'

`Get in touch with their Chairman today and say that you have come into some money and want to donate four million for the construction of the Harris Science Building. You will know who the building is named after, so will I and no one else.'

`You're not joking, Martin, are you? You never were a joker.'

`No, Graham, I am not. I see a bank across the way. I'll take a taxi back to the school. It will take me about an hour to arrange a transfer and get you a bank draft. I shall see you let's say just before dinner this evening. Shall we say quarter to six.'

Graham Hodson was waiting for me in the hallway outside the school dining room.

`The trustees will agree to the name on the building,' he said.

I put my hand in my inside pocket and handed him an envelope with a bank draft for four million sterling.

`Not a word as to the source. I now must find Headmaster to give him the cheque I promised him. Ah, speak of the devil.'

The Headmaster was making his way with some teachers towards the dining room.

`Headmaster, my contribution towards the new science building' and I handed him over my cheque.

`Sir Jonathan, this is most generous and will be quite a boost to the fundraising.'

`Don't mention it, Headmaster. We all do what we can according to our means. Now if you will excuse.'

As I left the group, I heard Graham Hodson say, `Headmaster, a further bit of good news...'

It gave me no end of pleasure to hear the announcement made during dinner that the school's own geography master, Graham Hodson, had secured an anonymous donation for four million pounds sterling to pay for the new Harris Science Building. While my own name was also mentioned in passing for a most generous contribution, the cheers of the evening and the table thumping were for Mr. Hodson! Mr. Hodson!'

I thought it was a most fitting tribute to a man who was never married except to his chosen profession and who had spent his life at the service of others. No one at the time thought to ask who Harris was.

When dinner was over, I caught Jason Smithers' eye.

`Can I have a private word with you, Jason? In my room.'

He looked at me and simply said, `Yes, sir, of course.'

When we arrived at the room, I indicated a chair.

`I noticed that your nipples were very bruised this morning when we were swimming.'

Jason Smithers blushed deep red and I saw him swallow and I waited until he had got his composure.

`I'm looking after the visitor next door and when I went into the room--I should have knocked, but forgot--he was changing.'

`Changing?'

`Well, more than changing, sir, he had taken off his clothes to dress for dinner. He saw me looking at him. I was surprised. He came over to me and before I knew it he had undone the buttons on my shirt and squeezed my nipples really, really hard, sir.'

`That was when you gave a shout and ran out of his room.'

`Yes, sir. I think you saw me run.'

`But when you were looking at him, it wasn't just looking, was it, Jason. He saw that you were excited by it. Didn't he? That may be part of the reason he thought he could touch you. But you have no experience of what he was doing.'

`No, sir. Definitely not, sir.'

`And you've never told Jeremy that you're gay? Have you? I saw how you became excited in the showers today. You were the only one showering with cold water and yet still had half a boner.'

`Sir, you're not going to tell Jeremy, sir. He's my best friend. We had thought of going to go to Bristol together until his dad died.'

`No, Jason, I'm not going to tell Jeremy. You are. And he's still going to go to Bristol. He's just won a full scholarship today from the Buddy Foundation. What's his extension? 552, I think?' I said as I lifted the phone.

The phone only rang twice.

`Yes?'

`Jeremy, can you come to see me now, please?'

`Yes, Jonathan. I'm on my way, sir.'

`Headmaster has kindly sent me a bottle of sherry, Jason. Would you like a glass before Jeremy arrives?'

Jason could only nod his head up and down.

He downed the small sherry in one large gulp and had only swallowed it when there was a knock on the door and Jeremy walked in.

If Jeremy was surprised at seeing Jason with me and an empty sherry glass in his hand, he did not show it and merely looked over at me for the reason for calling him.

`Jeremy, Jason has something to tell you. Jason say it now in a single short sentence.'

Jason looked at his friend, closed his eyes, opened them and said `Jeremy, I'm gay'.

Jeremy looked at his friend and then at me and then back at his friend smiling as he did so.

`I know that already, Jason.'

I now smiled to myself as Jason stuttered, `How? I have never told you or anybody.'

`Jason, how many times have you dated a girl in the past six years? And how many times have you taken cold showers when I take hot ones? I knew you would tell me one day.'

`You don't mind?'

Why should I mind if you get a boner every time you see me in the shower? You're my friend and it's kind of nice seeing that your boner says I like Jeremy' when that big mouth of yours never did. It doesn't bother me in the least. You've never made a move on me. Though at times, I have wanted to hug you a bit more tightly for being such a great cricketer.'

The two friends were just a pace away from each other, and for safety's sake, I took the sherry glass out of Jason's hand before they locked in an embrace that seemed to go on for ages.

`And you never told me your secret news either!'

`What news?' Jeremy said.

`That you're still going to Bristol?'

Jeremy furrowed his brow and I thought it was time to intervene.

`Jason, Jeremy hasn't actually got that bit of news yet. Jeremy, I applied to a contact in a foundation I know for you for a full residence scholarship at Bristol and it's yours for the taking. They're posting you out the notice as we speak.'

It is one of life's pleasures to see unbounded joy on the face of an individual. Such was one of life's moments with Jeremy Burrows. I thought it best to be a bit vague as to the foundation for security reasons.

I'm going to Bristol! I'm going to Bristol!' and looking at his friend Jason, he shouted We're going to Bristol' and together they did some sort of whooping war dance around my room.

The third thing of significance which occurred during my weekend at my old school, St. Timothy's was that I noted down the name of the old boy in the room next door who was visiting on the tenth of his graduation. The Sicilians say that revenge is a dish best served cold. I quite agree. I let all feeling go cold. I let my emotion cool. I would let time pass, and when the time and temperature were correct, I would act.

A small incident occurred on my last evening at my old school. After dinner, I had come up to my room and had started to change for bed; rather I was changing, when there was a quiet knock on my door.

I opened the door, still undoing my cufflinks, to espy Jason Smithers in the corridor. He did not say a thing, just looked at me for about fifteen seconds.

`Come in, Jason.'

Stepping into my room, he suddenly seemed less sure of himself as if motion had deprived him of whatever determination had brought him to my door.

I looked at him in his casual weekend clothes, stylish, without either being those of an adult or those of a teenager. He was a young man in between ages.

I saw him wet his lips and half-bite his lower lip as if steeling himself for what he wanted to say. It was not for me to interrupt his inner turmoil.

Jonathan,' he finally said in a rush, I've never been with a man. I've never slept with a man.'

`Jason, you will in time. When the time is right.'

`I think, sir, the time is right and right now.'

`Are you sure?'

`As sure as I am of anything. I have not been able to get the thought of this out of my mind today.'

I walked over to the door and turned the old-fashioned key, locking it.

`Undress and get into the bed.'

He did so quickly and clumsily, pulling at his clothes and using alternative feet to push his shoes off by the heels. His clothes formed an untidy heap on a chair.

I continued to undress, looking at his young body, partly browned by a sun tan and a clear band of white around his midriff.

I took a small bottle of the Aloe lotion from my case and put it on the bedside table. He looked at it and then at me. He was a fast learner as he took the bottle, sniffed its perfumed scent and putting a dab of the lotion on his fingers, put his hand under the bedclothes seeking his backside.

I brushed my teeth and finished undressing and slipped under the duvet, and in beside Jason Smithers.

The heat of his body was like a human furnace, and briefly looking into his eyes, clear and limpid, I started the seduction of the young man to which every gay person submits in seeking an expression and an explanation of his sexuality.

I let my arm slide under Jason and held his body close. I kissed his forehead and his eyes, his cheeks and his nose; I kissed his jawbone and his ear and when I touched my lips to his, he was as relaxed in my arms as a trusting sexual partner can be.

His lips did not know what to do other than press against mine and I let my tongue press against them and after some seconds secure their separation. When my tongue touched his, his body threw itself against mine as if a magnetic force had pulled us nearer together. I could feel his penile hardness against my belly and I could hear and sense his little groan rising from the back of his throat. His was sensory overload and he did not know what to do with it, other than ride the wave as it rose and crested.

After some minutes, Jason Smithers got the hang of kissing another man and slowly began to take the lead.

I raised his right leg over my left hip and let my finger wander over his back and down the crack of his ass, firmly looking for his most private of orifices. Having him put his trust in me, I was not about to let him down and disappoint him in his first man-to-man sexual experience.

My middle finger found his tightness. It had been lubricated but only really on its puckered surface. I could feel a ring of resisting muscle in the sphincter. I reached over and took the bottle of Aloe lotion.

`For a first time, we are going to need more of this, Jason, for you to really and truly enjoy being taken.'

He just nodded as I applied a liberal dose of the lotion to two fingers. Having found his orifice again, I pushed one finger firmly in, pulled it out and then further in than before. I felt it pass all muscle and whatever Jason's body's intention of gripping my finger, with the lotion it could not. I started a gentle circular motion with my middle finger and then pulled it out, only to quickly insert it and the index finger of my hand into his male tightness.

Jason's face registered discomfort, so I kissed him deeply so that his senses would be distracted and they were. After some minutes, I felt the muscles of his anus relax and I knew he was quickly getting to readiness for his first fucking.

`Not hurting?'

He shook his head, `just different to anything I have ever felt. I've never been broken.'

I slipped the duvet back and raised Jason's legs over his head. His cock looked thicker than I remembered it from the morning shower and its tip was totally lubricated, oozing precum.

When dealing with a novice in sexual matters, it is always best to proceed at a firm pace, quickly, but not too much so. I positioned my firm cock over the opening of his back passage.

`Take a deep breath' I ordered, and as he did, I drove in with force. In less than two seconds, I was embedded to the hilt in the virgin asshole of Jason Smithers. I let him feel my presence. His eyes were wide open, his nostrils flared.

`I'm going to set up a gentle in and out motion,' and I proceeded to have my cock get to know every square centimetre of his anal passage, taking it easy, then more urgently, pulling out partially and then more fully, until I looked down at one point and saw that his anus was not closing fully after a withdrawal.

Jason was now ready for a full and sustained fuck and I took his virginity with power and force as my pubic bones contacted with his perineum and the firm roundness of his buttocks. Finally, I felt the tip of my penis touch his prostate. Jason felt it as well as his penis began to spurt its seed and I could hold on no longer and loosed my seed into his most intimate orifice.

I took a convenient towel from the headboard of the bed and wiped up his abundant seed and having carefully withdrawn, wiped myself and Jason's perineum and crack. As I put the towel over the side of the bed, his arms came around me in a boa constrictor hug.

There are only two types of kissers. Those who kiss hard and almost jar the teeth out of your head. And there are those who kiss soft and who ignite the cells of your lips with their passion. Jason's lips met mine. Maybe they didn't and it was just the static electricity between his and mine. I could feel his nostril breath as it returned to normal.

`Jonathan, that didn't hurt at all. Wasn't it supposed to hurt?'

I shook my head and half laughed and half smiled at him.

`No, if it is done well, no matter how tight and anxious a virgin might be, the hurt is minimal. Now, just lie there and in five minutes, I am going to teach you how to suck cock.'

Jason's eyes smiled, and his lips went into a grin.

Teach him, I did, until one o'clock in the morning. When I woke at my usual five-thirty, he was gone. I dozed until six-thirty and got my alarm call from my fag.

I got up quickly to go for my early morning run. Jeremy and Jason were at the front door doing some warm ups.

`We were just about to start. We thought you had slept in,' Jeremy said.

Jason said nothing, just smiled, and the three of us set off on our jog.

Graham Hodson saw me off in my taxi.

`What are you going to do in your retirement, Graham?'

`I still have a bit of time to think about that. Sit in the sun and enjoy life. Write a text book perhaps so that the experience of a life time won't be entirely lost.'

`Keep in touch, Graham. I am in London every third Monday of the month. '

On the promise that he would and a firm handshake, we bid our adieus.

Jeremy and Jason were also there.

Jeremy hugged me, I presumed for the scholarship and promised to write care of the head office of the bank in London.

Jason hugged me, I presumed as his first lover and promised likewise. There was no hint that Jeremy knew yet of what had occurred between the two of us.

On leaving St. Timothy's I thought it a memorable weekend in more ways than one.

I came back from England quite refreshed. For three days, I had barely thought of Dahra. England had been very warm after all. Not glaringly so, but in the West Counties the heat had been at its highest for the year. The novel I did not read on the train to Midminster, I read on the New Concorde back to Kuwait and on the shuttle down to Dahra. And July had arrived.

The following Thursday saw Faisal drive me down to the slave centres, first stop being at al-Qatim, as I had promised its owner Ahmed al-Atti. The object of the visit was to see two incoming slaves that he had identified might be of interest to me. One certainly; the other, simply because the computer had thrown up a cross-reference.

Ahmed was the essence of courtesy as usual - being genuinely nice man with whom to do business, even in what might be for some an unsavoury trade. He brought me in to a private showing room, essentially a large bright room on the upper floor of the establishment with some comfortable armchairs and a raised dais for the display of the slave or slaves.

One thing had intrigued me in all of this. How had Ahmed al-Atti known of a particular slave, which would motivate me to come to see his offering? The thought struck me again, as a sixteen year old, whose first name was Luke, was led in by an assistant and put up on the dais.

I could see the family resemblance immediately. The same nose; the same eyebrows; even something in the jaw line. He too, was blond like his brother. The hair on his head was streaked by sun, his light treasure trail almost invisible and a reddish tint in the blond pubes set off a nice five inch uncircumcised cock.

Luke like so many in his circumstances looked lost. His eyes fixed for a second on Ahmed in his Arab garb and them on me in my western suit.

Ahmed had not said a word, letting the product sell itself so to speak. I took up the tan folder on the table. Luke Timas Peoples, 16 years old, from West Virginia, sold by his parents, like his elder brother. A younger brother still at home.

Somewhere at the back of my mind, I remembered that his brother Terry Peoples' file had said that he had five other brothers. What had become of the other three who were not at home?

Normally, I would prod and poke the slave to make sure that he was okay. This was not the time or place to do so. Putting down the folder, I got up and walked over to Luke Peoples. He looked apprehensively at my approach and I could see that his hands instinctively came as if to protect his bare genitals. Some instruction must have kicked in, because he put his hands at his back again.

`Luke, my name is Jonathan Martin.'

He nodded back but did not speak.

`You have been sold into slavery by your parents. I am going to buy you to work at my home.'

Whatever inner dam had held back the boy's tears failed at that moment and the teenager's body convulsed with sobs as his weeping racked his body. I nodded to the assistant who stepped up on the dais and taking Luke's elbow led him away.

`How did you know I would be interested? His brother was not through either centre,' I asked Ahmed.

`Our computer system, Sir Jonathan, has a full listing of every slave in Dahra, indexed by owner and over two hundred characteristics from type, sex, original nationality and so on. When the system printed off a match between one of your slaves and this teenager, it is our policy now to inform the Dahran owner.'

This was all new to me. Ahmed continued.

`As you own 995 slaves, Sir Jonathan, your name comes up frequently. We now normally ignore nationality in your case, but we make a note when other characteristics, which you have requested in the past, match.'

Ahmed al-Atti knew more about my slaves than I did. I had not known how many I owned.

`Other characteristics?' I said.

Ahmed took up a file and said `gardeners, cooks, several production categories, Australian footballers...'

Ahmed broke off as I started to laugh. I could not believe that my previous requests and a frivolous comment about a favourite type of slave, were now computerised, categorised, indexed and heavens knows what else. Ahmed joined in the laughter.

`At least, Sir Jonathan, your requests are quite straight-forward let me tell you. We have some requests that we will never fill and if were we ever to, we would make a fortune on every such request.'

At that, the side door opened again and a superbly athletic six-foot figure entered. He was quite bronzed and lanky and this was what first struck me, apart from a light band of skin around his midriff, which had not been too exposed to the sun. He was well endowed with a thick cock whose head was covered by a fine foreskin.

We had been speaking in Arabic and when the new slave was on the dais, Ahmed said `talking of Australians, here is the second slave whose details I put in the folder I sent you.'

I looked at Jake Carter, a twenty four year old former fireman in front of me and wondered if he had the slightest idea how his life was about to change.

I looked again and smiled to myself. In the heat of the room, Jake's cock was beginning to rise. From a flaccid state, the purple tip of the cock was now definitely peering out into the great big world around. Jake was blushing furiously.

I went over to him.

Ahmed said in Arabic from behind me, `Take care, Sir Jonathan, if you are inspecting him. He has a hair trigger on his releases and he has not been allowed come since he was tested and we sent the folder to you last week.'

I walked round the dais. I had not said a word. Jake Carter was a superb figure who would have graced any catwalk had he been a model, or any field of sport had he been a professional athlete.

When I had completed my circuit around him, I said, `I understand your name is Jake.'

He looked down at me in surprise at being addressed in English.

`Yes, sir.'

At least, a polite reply.

`Do you know where you are?'

`No, sir.'

`Do you know why you are here?'

`No, sir.'

I let that piece of truth sink in. His cock was now fully erect and hard up against his lower belly. Its head looked ugly and red and was covered in purplish red spots.

`Have you a dose of something?' I said nodding in the general direction of his cock head.

`No, sir. No way. They have kept a type of tube over my cock and it is always locked. Whenever I start throwing a boner, which is all the time in this heat, the head of my cock touches some sort of needles in the tube and I start to go soft again for about five minutes. I can't stop thinking about a good wank.'

Some form of chastity device had worked well, it appeared.

`And when did you last have a wank as you put it?'

`Definitely over a week ago. I have been here eight days and before that it is a bit of a blur. I know I was drugged.'

`Are you clean?'

`Yes, sir. I was given a shower today and...and they slipped a thing up my bum as well.'

`No, that is not what I meant. Are you clean?'

He blushed again. There is something to be said for people who can still be embarrassed and who can blush.

`Yes, sir. I don't do drugs and I haven't had a dose of the clap since I was seventeen.'

`So, you don't have any idea why you are here?'

`No, sir, I'm afraid to think why.'

`You were lifted to be sold as a slave.'

Jake Carter blanched, but he kept quiet. He was clearly not stupid, but this particular thought was also obviously new to him. I noticed that he also blinked as his eyes began to water.

Turning to Ahmed, I said in Arabic, `Has the slave shown any sign of violence during his time here?'

`No, Sir Jonathan. None whatsoever.'

`Can you leave us for five minutes? I wish to examine the slave more closely and he is still not yet trained to be comfortable with a Master's examination.'

`Certainly, Sir Jonathan, just ring that bell when you are finished,' and he pointed to a button beside the side door as he got up and left the room.

Jake Carter was looking at me.

`Are you capable of following a simple instruction?' I enquired in English.

`Yes, sir.'

`Close your eyes and don't open them until I tell you?'

`Is this a test, sir?'

`In a way, yes.'

He reminded me of another Australian in answering one question by asking another. He closed his eyes.

`Now put your hands behind the nape of your neck as you may have learned and don't move.'

`Yes, sir.'

I ran a finger up the inside of his leg and let my hand cup his balls. Jake Carter instinctively went higher on the balls of his feet. His cock was leaking precum now as it stayed hard up against his flat stomach. With my other hand, I pulled the cock forwards and took its head in my mouth.

Jake Carter groaned a groan that came from the lowest regions of this throat. Four long and deep sucks down the length of his blue-veined shaft and Jake was in launch mode. He gave a half-cry and his cock thickened in my mouth and outpouring after outpouring of semen hit the back of my throat. Five times, he exploded and each time his balls shook and tightened and trembled in the palm of my hand.

When his fifth explosion had subsided, I took a handkerchief from my pocket and deposited a mouthful of semen in it.

Jake Carter's cock was still hard and showed no signs of deflation. It was long and it was beautiful. The saliva of my mouth coupled with continuous precum he had produced created the best of lubricants. I took it in my mouth again and started to work on its hardness.

I slipped a hand in between his legs and back to his pucker which I felt would be suitably lubricated by the centre's handlers. It was. I slipped in a finger past the tightness of what was clearly a virginal sphincter muscle and quickly found his prostate gland, the object of my search, hard and rough to the touch, much like the feeling of running a finger over the shell of a walnut.

`Bugger,' was all that I heard as my finger made contact.

As I half suspected, it still was hard, indicating that his sexual release was not yet complete.

Four minutes of prostate massage and again my mouth was full of his semen, for which I again used my handkerchief as a depository. Finally, he was spent.

`Jake, you can now open your eyes.'

He did.

`Nine ejaculations in less than five minutes. Not bad. Not bad, at all. You have obviously been given a blowjob before?'

He looked at me part in astonishment, part smiling, part blushing.

`Not by a bloke, sir.'

`You did not object?'

`This is a Borg situation, sir. Resistance is futile. I think, sir, I would have had a natural explosion before the day was out in any case and you seemed to know what you were doing, sir.'

I noted that in his reply he had said `sir' three times. As I went and pushed the bell, my new slave surprised me by speaking again.

`Thank you, sir.'

`Why?'

`What you did, sir, did not hurt me. I think had you wished you could have hurt me and in any way you wanted.'

It was an astute observation and one never made before to me by a slave.

`I have just one question, Jake.'

`Yes, sir.'

`Do you like footie?'

`Yes, sir. Footie, running, swimming. I love sports.'

`I think, Jake, you and I are going to get on very well, to say nothing of another I know.'

`Sir?' he queried clearly not understanding me.

Faisal took me down to al-Mera at a leisurely pace. There was not much traffic on the road south and we were in plenty of time for the House of Mustafa celebrating its eight hundred and fifty years in business. From what I gathered, it was an all-afternoon and evening event and as I arrived I was shocked at the assembly of limousines in procession to the entrance and in the nearby car parks. There must have been over two hundred vehicles. It was as if there was a deliberate collective statement being made by Dahrans that despite an aborted invasion their lives were to go on uninterrupted, and particularly, in the continuance of Dahra's oldest trade for which the House of Mustafa was one of the country's two leading business lights.

I have never liked crowds and walking in through the foyer it was like walking into a festive pre-summer sale, the only difference being that there was no stock on sale that I could ascertain.

I fortified myself with a half-decent flute of champagne, though I saw that most of the other guests were on fruit-juices in the tradition of the country. I spotted Gus Jennings, my General Manager of the Aloe companies and made a bee-line for him.

`Your good health,' I said as I drew near him.

`Cheers, Jonathan. Have you ever seen such a crowd here for an afternoon and I understand that it has been like this since midday.'

`I think it is a social and business reaction to the invasion.'

`Could be. Maybe. I thought that I would find some house slaves here, but apparently there are no sales today.'

They say that birds of a feather flock together, the old pares cum paribus thing and as Gus and I circled the attendance, I spotted some ex-pats in confabulation and we nodded our acquaintanceship as we passed by. I spotted Jalal al-Akhri, the quietest of the al-Akhri brothers and a farming neighbour who acts as my agent with the other neighbours who buy my water.

`Sir Jonathan, what a pleasant surprise!'

`Jalal, delighted to see you. Do you know Gus Jennings?'

`Yes, indeed. Gus, I have not seen you in ages since you worked for Tariq. I only came here at this time because Tariq said he would be here.'

Gus nodded and shook hands with Jalal.

`Maybe he is caught up in the traffic jam outside,' he ventured.

`Jalal, are the neighbours satisfied with the water deliveries?'

`More than satisfied, Jonathan. As you can see for yourself, the estates on the Western Road are now becoming the new vegetable growing centre of Dahra -- more than ten thousand hectares in all. And talking of Tariq, here he is.'

Tariq al-Akhri made his entrance and worked the room like a consummate politician, though I never considered him as such, ending up beside us after about ten minutes and lots of greetings in his wake, with our host of the day Mustafa ben-Mustafa at his side.

When greetings had been completed and pleasantries exchanged, Tariq whispered in my ear, `we are very pleased at how the bank handled itself during the recent events. Abdou mentioned about your backup records to Madrid and New York. That was very thoughtful, but not necessary, Jonathan. We have every confidence in Deckhams and in your good self.'

`I understand you knew about the impending event, Tariq.'

`Yes, the inner cabinet knew but no one else. It flushed out just one minister and he is no longer with us.'

My eye must have blinked because Tariq looked at me and continued, `A very greedy man, richer than myself, if you can believe that, Jonathan, but obsessed with power as it turned out. He took his own life when he saw all was lost.'

`It does not appear to have affected markets, Tariq.'

`No, Abdou had press releases ready for fifteen satellite news companies and over a thousand newspapers around the world. He runs a very smooth operation in Geneva; even if as his brother I say so myself. There was only....'

Tariq stopped, as if thinking about the words he wanted to use.

`There was only one misstatement as you may have seen, Jonathan, in the various releases and statements made. We said there were no survivors. Not one. The media do not know how many invaded and we have returned the bodies of those who actually died in the attacks. The rebuilding of the new Dahran Hilton starts next week at the expense of the Sheikdom and will be half as big again. All of its surviving staff have been given a year's salary by the Minister of Trade and have been told to come back in twelve months. So, all will be as it was.'

`Well almost, Tariq. We have the experience and memory of the invasion and that should not be wiped out too easily or too quickly.'

'And you are right, all is not as it was, and there should be no pretences between friends. My own house has been in mourning in the wake of the invasion.'

The bustle of the crowd faded away.

'What happened, Tariq?'

'By sheer bad luck two of my wives were at a family function in the Hilton that night. They had stayed overnight there with some of the younger children who had become tired. One of my younger sons was killed when rockets hit the hotel.'

'Tariq, I am so sorry.'

'It happened and that was that. However, my wife is taking it very badly.'

'Those who were responsible will never be a danger to anyone in the Sheikdom again.'

`Thank you, Jonathan, on that last point. There were some politics involved. While there was a real and present danger in that invasion, we did have another four full regiments on standby among our allies.'

I did raise an eyebrow, but Tariq did not elaborate and for my part, I did not query it further.

End of Chapter 7

To be continued