Dahran

The Dahran Sands 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

This novel, The Dahran Sands, is the eighth novel in the Dahran series

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.

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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/

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Chapter 18 -- The Sheik's visit

The hand you cannot break, you kiss.

(Arabian proverb)

The al-Kadir property had all the advantages of a rundown farm. What had been there by way of slave barracks, for they were nothing more than that, had been easily demolished, and I did that by simply burning them to the ground.

What had been laid out for original crops could easily be farmed over. Stan Mercer and his property slaves were putting together what for all the world looked like a chessboard of irrigation ducts; a criss-crossing of what would be underground pipes every twenty meters for the complete irrigation of the al-Kadir farm.

The farm of over sixteen hundred acres need extensive tillage. I did not intend to disturb the palm trees and their date production, but I was intending to try two of the varieties of kiwifruit which my old school master, Graham Hodson, had suggested as being most suitable for the climate. I felt I could experiment with six hundred acres, three hundred to each type of kiwifruit.

On my present usage of slaves, I was going to need another three hundred or so, as one slave can effectively look after five acres, or rather a kofila of eight can look after about forty acres at any one time of agricultural production.

As this project was going to be purely agriculture and production, I ordered two three-storey outbuildings to be copied from those at the Lemon Palace. David Tuttle at Annan and Annan agreed to take care of that order for me.

Georgi Gridov, my little Georgian slave, would be the Head of Stables with Dieter from the cactus gardens as one of the supervisors of this farming project, but I had not told him yet. I summoned the seven slaves who had returned from the opal mine where they had survived its cruel heat for five years. They would be the first Supervisors on the al-Kadir farm.

When creating a Supervisor, I have always given them a white fly-swish with an opal set in the hilt as a sign of authority. This gesture had even preceded my purchase of the opal mine.

Two of the slaves cried when they got their swishes. I thought that my two simple but very loyal Russians, Basili and Igor, would die of pride their chests were so inflated as they were now promoted and put in charge of the cactus gardens. They kept looking over at Georgi and Dieter their former fellow cactus garden slaves as if to say in the simplicity of their glances `just look at us.' But, before the entire assembly of slaves, it is an effective recognition of service in its different forms, service which can be long-time unrewarded, or for simple acts, but almost always for untrammelled and unqualified loyalty to me as Master.

Budd Chavez was also a departing guest that day. When he came out on the veranda to join me for lunch, his usual slave companion Terry Peoples had been in the background and from his red eyes, I knew at once that he had been crying.

`That sad, Terry?'

Terry swallowed hard and nodded his head. He was unable to speak. As Budd sat down, Terry came forward and unfolded a napkin and put it over Budd's lap. Even Bob Conrad, my maitre d' did not object to the abusing of his powers by the upset Terry who continued to serve Budd silently throughout the meal.

At one point, when Terry had gone back into the kitchens, Budd said, `Despite what you may think, Jonathan, I have had a most relaxing few days. Terry and I get on famously. It is not just sex, though there is a lot of that. We just seem to bond.'

`Budd, I only think the best of you and of Terry. He is young and cannot control his emotions.'

`That is one of the things, Jonathan, I love about him. He has absolutely no guile; none whatsoever. I feel I am imposing when I say that in my own mind I have been already thinking of a return visit.'

`Budd, there is always a bed waiting for you, and Terry will always be waiting for you, as well, of course.'

Terry had come out at this stage from the kitchens.

`Did you hear all of that, Terry? Budd is planning a return visit already.'

The voiceless Terry nodded his understanding as a fresh couple of tears started to roll down his tanned cheeks.

My visit to the al-Mera slave centre in late December was different than on previous occasions. I brought along in the Rolls my three Heads of Stables, Yuriy Obov at the Aloe Palace, Dumi Bod from the Lime Palace, Komil Rostov from the Lemon Palace. The auctions at the slave centres go on all year. The dealers are usually obliging to clients who purchase slaves in multiples and who wish to arrange a private viewing of the stock once the slaves have passed through processing and basic training.

So as not to upset Dahran sensibilities, each of my Overseers was dressed in slacks, an open necked shirt and sandals. With their GPS settings set to the borders of the Sheikdom our purchasing spree was in no danger of being intercepted by the sudden appearance of the Dahran police force on the road in `escaped slave' mode.

Al-Mera was holding one of the last sales of the year. I had taken the comments and suggestions of my Overseers on board and I explained to the centre that for the moment I needed some forty to forty five slaves and that each could choose the most suitable fifteen for farm work they could find. The Overseers already knew that this would be the heavy work of digging the irrigation trenches.

There are those who would say, `why not buy a JCB with a bucket and have the trenches dug in double-quick time?' Quite apart from keeping mechanical equipment on the farms to a minimum, with their spare parts costs which always and inevitably spiral, together with fuel and maintenance which never drop, slaves once processed through my systems at the Palaces are there to give me up to thirty or so years each of good trouble-free service. And if the truth be known, I am a person who prefers humans, not one who prefers machines, although I have no aversion at all to using the latter in business.

I prefer to look at a team of slaves sweating in the sun, the perspiration streaming off their well-toned bodies, than at a piece of smoke-and-fume belching machinery, however double-quick it may be at doing its job. Such exercise is also good for the slaves. Not only does it create good overall musculature, it leaves a natural colour on the slaves not like the almost artificial tone-ups of gyms and fitness centres.

In summary, I told each of my Overseers to choose fifteen, and I for my part would also choose a couple as well. We could see how many of mine matched theirs. I did not expect, nor did we finally get, all forty five out of al-Mera, it being the end of the western calendar year among other things.

When I looked at the dossiers of those chosen, yes, I could feel happy that my Overseers knew my mind and the needs of the new property. There were only two choices from the viewing hall which were individual to me.

One was a Russian whose shoulders must have been all of thirty inches wide and who had a mat - no an absolute rug - of black hair from his Adam's apple to his groin. His legs and forearms were also very heavily haired. He was not tall, not as tall as I, and his massive shoulders gave him a squat look.

When I looked at his folder, I saw that he had been a sergeant in the army. In fact, four of my other choices had also been army, one of the units that had been sold off by two enterprising generals. The MIA's - `missing in combat' - of some of the permanent skirmishes along Russian borders had long been a source of great profit to military entrepreneurs.

But what set him apart from all the others was his penis, or rather his lack of penis. His cock was tiny almost less than an inch with a small covered uncut head.

I had placed my hand as I am wont to do with a slave; first on his shoulders when examining him both so that I can feel if the slave is afraid or comfortable with my examination and touch. This slave was quiet and in control of himself. I ran my hand down each side of his back and noticed the profusion of back hair. The Palace would have quite a time removing this body hair.

When I came around to his front and put my hand on his chest, I could feel the warmth of his rug of hair. It was quite extraordinary. His nipples were tiny and very red. His hands were velcroed behind his head and he did not move a muscle.

Looking at his folder, I saw his name was Alexei Gritsov. I looked him in the eye and I noticed that unlike a fully trained slave he was looking at me intently and then he was looking across the room. I caught this glance twice and I thought that he was looking at another slave.

`Alexei?' I said, getting back to the job in hand, half in statement, half in introductory question.

He bobbed his head and said `Da' in a low voice.

I let my hand run down his body. It was hard muscle and that of well-trained military personnel. As he was standing on a small dais for viewing purposes and I on the lower ground, I started to examine his front carefully. So when it was time to examine his genitals, I merely did as I would a skittish animal and let my hand run up the inside of his thigh.

His balls were also small, so small in fact, that I thought there might be nothing in his scrotum, but they were there alright. He had not moved an inch at my touch. I looked at his penis and it was small. Outside the pictures of putti cherubs and angels in art, I had never actually seen a penis so small.

Looking at his face, his expression was one of neutrality; neither of acceptance, nor of denial, nor of expectation, nor of shame. Neutral. I wondered if I could have maintained the same equanimity, were the roles to have been reversed.

I left the slave alone and walked round the viewing room and tried to angle in on the slave at whom Alexei had been looking. There were four in the one area and it could have been any one of them. I looked across at him and I could see that he was following me intently with his eyes. I stopped at the first slave and looked back at Alexei Gritsov. There was no reaction; the same at number two. When I got to number three, whom I had not really looked at, at all, and then looked back at the former army sergeant, he gave a very slight nod. Had I not been looking for it, I would not have seen the gesture.

I turned to look a very nervous skinny slave with a runny nose, and as I did his head went back, he closed his eyes and sneezed. I had just time to step out of the way of the spray. With his hands velcroed behind his head, there was little else he could do than jerk with the autonomic reaction.

Mustafa ben-Mustafa Jr. the nephew of the centre's owner came over almost at a run, a camel cane in his hand already half-raised to administer punishment.

`Mustafa, it was a sneeze; nothing more. He has a cold.'

`Sir Jonathan, a slave should know how to control himself.'

`Get me a copy of his folder.'

`Yes, Sir Jonathan.'

While I was waiting, I looked at the skinny slave with his mouse brown hair and pale skin, his Slavic features very evident. He had a white stripe around his middle where the sun had not tanned his skin. His thin legs were as poor looking as his arms.

Mustafa was back in a trice with the file and a little bow as he left me to peruse it.

Ah! A conscript in one of the Russian army's rifle divisions. I flicked back to Alexei Gritsov's file. The same division. Aha! They knew each other at least. To my mind, it was another Igor and Basili situation, now my two new cactus garden supervisors, of slaves looking out for each other.

As I looked at him, his penis began to twitch. He was contracting and relaxing his penile muscles. I reached out and put my palm under this member, with its uncut head, and peeled back the foreskin. The slave continued his muscle contractions. The moist pink glans was moving every so slightly against the skin of my palm.

I sensed a presence at my side and it was Dumi Bod, with his list in his hand.

`A bit thin for a farm worker, Boss,' he commented looking at the conscript.

`He's Russian, Dumi. Ask him, if he knows this Alexei Gritsov across the room.'

As Dumi was originally from neighbouring Moldova, I was sure that he must have some Russian, being the dominant language of the region. Dumi shot off something guttural.

The reply was immediate and all I understood was the `da' in the reply.

`He's Gritsov's nephew. They were in the same Gun Division, Boss.'

`Yes, Rifle Division.'

`Yes, Boss, that's the word.'

`A water-guy, Dumi? What do you think?'

`You're the boss, Boss!'

The slave said something and Dumi growled back. I raised an eyebrow.

`He asked, Boss, if you were buying him. He's not very well-trained for a slave, even for a new slave.'

I put a tick beside his name on the list and held it up for him to see. He nodded and gave a mere flicker of a smile. I would buy this Oleg Butski, the conscript with the cold.

When I compared notes with my three Overseers, the two Russians were my only choices, individual to me. A number of the slaves had been chosen by more than one Overseer, and one by all three.

`Boss, you did check that Alexei guy's non-existent tackle?' Komil said.

`His balls are just small, but they are there alright. He should be okay. He was an army sergeant. Maybe his balls are closer to his heart.'

Komil shook his head in disbelief, clearly not impressed by either my logic or by my choice.

Eliminating the duplications, we had thirty slaves in all. I bought them as a batch for six hundred thousand euro. They would simply not appear in the next auction. One thing I noted about my Overseers' purchases was that all the slaves they had selected for me would have passed the toughest of medical examinations as far as health was concerned.

Mustafa ben-Mustafa Jr. looked pleased with my cheque and murmured about the pleasure of doing business with me.

I asked, half in jest, about any left over slaves from the November sales.

`Sorry, Sir Jonathan, all gone. A new chicken battery opened and they took the last at a knockdown price.'

I nodded.

`Where is your uncle?'

`He is on holidays in Spain with the family, Sir Jonathan. I am handling the upcoming auction and the following one,' and he stuck out his chest.

In time, I presumed that I would get to know some of the slaves whom we had purchased that day and whose lives were now irrevocably changed by coming into my ownership.

The last of my new slaves, having been taken out of the viewing room were being put into a holding pen having been relieved of their neck restraints as I came out with Mustafa. Another sneeze was heard and I looked over at Oleg who was wiping his nose with the back of his hand and speaking to his uncle, Alexei. Alexei's eyes caught my glance and he brought up his right arm, his fist clenched and placed it over his right breast. A bit gladiatorial, I thought, but a good acknowledgement in the forced circumstances. I nodded back to him at his gesture. Time was pressing, and my three Overseers exited with me.

As we drove back, I asked Komil his opinion on the overall purchases.

`Master, I am happy, if you are happy. In all, I am happy at a good day's purchasing for the tasks we have talked about. The slaves are strong. They are healthy and have been given basic training.'

Not a bad assessment, I thought. But it was strange on the way back to the Lemon Palace, as the Overseers discussed the new slaves; the only two who stuck in my mind were the slave with the sniffles and his uncle, the Russian army sergeant.

I ordered Jess to raise the dark window between the front seat and the back of the car. When we were isolated, I pointed to the small in-built fridge and Yuriy smiled as he took out three cans of chilled beer and a half bottle of Chablis.

This is a once-off situation. I don't want it said at the end of the day that I am buying beer for Overseers who are still slaves. We still have to buy another twenty or so in al-Qatim in six days time,' I commented as I sipped the Chablis. Let's see how you get today's lot settled in.'

Trust us, Boss, we will get them settled into the Palace routines very quickly,' Dumi said. It is important for the slave to have a simple and unvarying routine. That is what they will get from each of your Overseers, from each of us. Beer or no beer,' he concluded and raised his can to drain it.

I received a thank you' note from Khalila bint Omar about her stay, and at the bottom she put a suggestion to me that the Dahran Opal' be presented to the Council of State which is the body of twenty senior Dahrans, fifteen men and five women including herself who advise the Sheik on matters of state, and that some of the smaller opals be used in some form of individual design to be used when the Council of State was meeting. I thought it was an excellent idea, and having put it to Tariq al-Akhri, who himself had not yet come up with an idea of his own on how to present the opal to the Sheik, I gave instructions to the House of Gems on what I wanted.

At the end of January when I saw the final bill from the House of Gems for just over a million euro, I might have been surprised were my breath not taken away by twenty gold-hilted daggers each encrusted with two opals, the size of small strawberries, on their hilts, which fitted into hand-stitched scabbards eight or so inches long.

But it was the Dahran Opal itself which was truly breathtaking. It had been placed on top of what was clearly a sand dune shaped in the form of an undulating letter `s', some four inches high, but made of solid gold. The size of the piece of gemmology suggested that it would be a centrepiece on a table or of a display.

I told Tariq al-Akhri on the phone that he should present the items for me to the Sheik and the Council. He started to suggest that I do it myself, but I firmly resisted that idea, and said it was my wish that the whole affair be as low-key as possible.

The Dahran in Tariq appeared to object, as like his fellow countrymen, he delights in ceremony and not just a little. However, he did respect my wishes and so it was to be. The Council of State got its Dahran Opal and each of its members, his or her dagger. It was less of an investment in Dahra than a `thank you' to the Sheik for entrusting so much of Dahra's fortunes to the Bank, and it was most certainly not at the time my intention to seek payback of any sort.

Gustav Ahlson had truly surprised me when he stated that he was putting in for one of the partnership vacancies notified in the Bank's internal bulletin. Deckams normally appoints to Level 1 from within the Bank. I did ask Gustav to think of the change that it would mean in his life, not in any effort to dissuade him, but from the perspective of total change that it would mean for his life.

`Jonathan, it will be as great a change for me as when I acquired my first slave and lover here in Dahra. It will be a change in reverse. I have loved owning my slaves over the years, but I have never ever been attached to them as my property in that sense of the word. I shall regret leaving the lifestyle, but if I do not move now, I shall never move on. I don't want to look back in fifteen years when I retire and say that I regretted never taking this particular plunge. I trust I can ask you for a reference.'

I had to laugh at that.

`Gustav, in Deckams you can write your own reference. You are legend in this bank and you know it. Which of the cities would you prefer, Chicago or Frankfurt?'

`Either would be good, but perhaps, Frankfurt, as a personal preference. I feel it will be very much of a growth centre over the next few years. Chicago is more for a futures and derivatives person.'

Our esteemed Chairman, Charlie Deckam, is not easily shocked, but I did shock him when I rang him with the news of Gustav's intentions.

`Which city does he want, Jonathan?'

I told him in Gustav's own words.

`Frankfurt, it is then' was his succinct reply.

`May I have another junior partner then, Charlie? There is far too much work here as it stands.'

There was silence for a second and then, it was the turn of our Chairman to shock me by saying `Would you very much mind if I sent you young Georgie for a couple of years? I would very much like to avoid a situation that has been developing here.'

Georgie is his son, still in his mid-twenties and on the Bank's board. Frankly, I had never heard anything negative about his work and he appeared to be working his way up through every single department of the Bank, not quite in alphabetical order.

`No problem whatsoever, Charlie. We'll look after him very well and broaden his horizons. The London situation involves John Tunnor, I suspect.'

`Yes, among others. Among a lot of others.'

The Chairman sounded sort of deflated that the Deckham line would not be continuing in an uninterrupted direct descent through his son Georgie Deckam, the thirty first generation since the Norman invasion and his famous and erstwhile ancestor Sir Guy Deschamps.

`Charlie, do not worry. Situations do resolve themselves, I can tell you.'

I told Gustav Ahlson that same afternoon at the bank that he was now the Frankfurt partner. Our January board meeting would confirm that and also the transfer of young Georgie Deckam to Dahra.

`My Swedish slaves?' he asked.

`All of them for a million, would you say?'

Olaf and Bjorn were already in my ownership. So, effectively I would have the useful ownership of nineteen.

`That, Jonathan, would be more than generous. I'll sign the Aloe Palace back over to you.'

`No such thing, Gustav, I shall buy it back from you. Let us agree on a figure of five million. You are going to have to buy someplace befitting a Deckams partner in or near Frankfurt.'

Gustav just looked at me and nodded. While the dual offer was generous, in the scheme of things, the two combined purchases of slaves and Palace amounted to no more than a month's water fees from the sale of water to my neighbours.

I found that I had now started to value purchases as multiples or fractions of my income from the two deep wells which were the foundation of my fortune on the Western Road.

Thor was on permanent loan to Fiona and Jack Tuttle's Wisteria Palace. I told Gustav to sell Thor to my nephew and his wife.

`I wonder if Jack and Fiona would be interested buying in Thor?' he mused.

`I said to you that you should sell him to them, without even thinking that they might not want him as their own. Well, as they haven't returned him to the Aloe Palace yet, I suppose they are not too dissatisfied. Just ask. If they don't want him after all, I'll buy him too.'

`With all the time he has spent there asking for payment now seems somewhat grotesque.'

`Not at all, it's a regular transfer. Or you could sound them out if they are interested, and if they say yes, give them Thor as a parting gift.'

`Yes, I could do that perhaps. Thank you. I'll have a word with Jack.'

Gustav Ahlson decided that he would leave Dahra for good when he went to London with me for the January meeting of the partners on the third Monday of the month. He was the very model of efficiency in tidying up his affairs at the Bank and the staff invited him out for dinner. Not a single member of staff was missing at that dinner, a fact which I thought remarkable, but then a remarkable man was leaving the Branch. Gustav was one of those people who bring junior staff out of the shells, helping them to drop their cockiness and brashness on the way, and making far more friends in the process that any other staff member due to his oversight position as branch director.

I did not know how he wanted to handle his slaves in the matter. While his slaves, they were more than that in being also his countrymen. How he did handle it I thought was, in fact, rather well. He invited me after dinner one evening at the Aloe Palace to come out to one of the outbuildings were he had had the Swedish slaves assembled.

We walked across to the outbuilding and into what was originally a large barn. The slaves stood up when we went in, and went to `display'.

Gustav spoke in English, I suspect for my benefit, and said `At rest.'

The slaves took their hands down and clasped them behind their backs, their feet the required distance from each other.

`I have been transferred from Dahra and I have come to say goodbye.'

Gustav was to the point as ever. There was absolute silence. He did not say where he was going or that he had initiated the move.

`I have formally transferred your ownership to him. Obey him well.'

Gustav was closest to a Swede whom I knew as Eric. He had put in the solar panels at the Wisteria Palace and had been introduced to me at one stage. He went up to Eric and shook his hand. It was a strange act for a Master and a slave, but perhaps not too strange between two Swedes. He continued down the line of slaves.

When Gustav got down to Jon Lundt, his own Head of Household, he turned to me and said `I can strongly recommend the loyalty of my Head of Household.'

When the last hand had been shaken, Gustav turned on his heel and walked out of the outbuilding. He had said goodbye to all his Swedes including his first slave and former lover, Bjorn, and Olaf, his former Head of Household. But theirs were the only two hands that he did not shake.

It was a case of the ground being too stony to dance on with its old and painful memories.

Jack and Fiona declared their interest in buying Thor Hansson. Gustav had let them know that he preferred to deliver the news to the slave in person. So one of Gustav Ahlson's last afternoons in Dahra found Jack, Fiona, Gustav and me in their garden; seated round a table in a shaded area between the Wisteria bushes. We savoured Earl Grey tea and some local filo pastries filled with nuts and honey prepared by their Lebanese cook. Their son Jason had indulged in the confections' sweetness and stickiness from a vantage point, perched as he was on Fiona's lap. Then he was off somewhere exploring the grounds, tailed by Vedel whose primary duties, as Jack put it, consisted in `making sure he doesn't eat scorpions and fall into the swimming pool'.

Gustav had brought Thor's original file and a standard transfer of ownership document, assuring my nephew and his wife that he wanted no remuneration and asked them to accept Thor as a gift.

Who shall I put down as new owner'?' Gustav asked looking back and forth between Fiona and Jack, pen poised.

`You can put us both down if you like,' suggested Jack.

Fiona nodded saying `Mustafa ben-Mustafa told us a while ago that we can own a slave jointly.'

`No doubt he was trying to sell you one,' I remarked, as Gustav filled in the document.

`In the long term, very probably! But not a specific one, he was here for dinner a couple of times. The younger Mustafa I mean. He has lots of anecdotes to tell about their auctions.'

And interesting details about the history of al-Mera,' added Jack. But' he complained, `he would never mention a word about private viewings. Customer discretion guaranteed.'

Fiona laughed.

`He kens meickle that kens when to speak, but far mair that kens when to haud his whisht,' she quipped in her Scottish brogue -- suggesting that a person knows a lot when to speak, but even more when to keep silent.

Well, you should be happy, Jack,' I told him. Would you want all of Dahra talking about how you purchased a couple of leftover slaves?'

Of course,' he retorted with a grin, since they turned out a couple of gems.' And he looked fondly at Beno in attendance by his side.

With that, I could agree. I gave a nod to Beno, who appeared to grow an inch or so with the praise.

Gustav had finished and signed the transfer deed. `I think we can call Thor now.'

Jack nodded to Beno who sped off towards the house. A few moments later Thor Hansson appeared by our table. He performed a smooth obeisance in Gustav's and my direction, and stood `at rest' to the side. Gustav rose and addressed him.

`Thor, I am about to move away from Dahra. I have transferred your ownership to Fiona and Jack Tuttle. You are my farewell gift to them, and I hope you will continue to obey and serve them well.'

He extended his hand to Thor, who with a smile took it in both of his hands and kissed it kneeling down before the older Swede.

`Thank you Master. It's very kind of you. Du ar alltid sa vanlig mot mig. Tusen tack. I'll be their obedient slave in all things.'

`That is good Thor. Stand up now. Vilken duktig gosse du ar.'

Fiona embraced Gustav and said `Thanks for thinking of us. And I wish you all the best for your new start in Frankfurt.'

Yes, we really appreciate it. We would have missed Thor,' said Jack, and it was his turn to give Gustav a hug. I hope we'll stay in touch, and not just via the Bank. And whenever you return for a visit to Dahra, this house is your house whenever you want to drop by.'

Gustav looked touched at the invitation to his former home, though I was doubtful whether he would want to return for visits to Dahra any time soon.

`Well, Thor, aren't you going to greet your new Master and Mistress?' I prompted.

Thor, still appearing somewhat dazed at the turn of events, snapped out of his thoughts and turned his attention to Jack and Fiona whose feet he kissed with every due sign of respect. As Gustav and Jack went to sit down with me again it struck me how much more settled in his slavedom Thor appeared, a far cry from the emotionally unstable and barely trained teenager I had first set my eyes on at the Aloe Palace. I also noticed that his figure had filled out, his shoulders had broadened and his voice itself was deeper. He had grown into a fine specimen of slavehood, from the locks of blond hair on his head worn longer than my slaves do down to a pair of muscular legs.

Fiona seemed to be following a similar train of thought. She had remained standing next to their gift.

`Display. I want to take a look what kind of new slave we have.'

The Swede immediately spread his feet apart and stood at attention with his hands firmly clasped behind his neck. Fiona let her hands travel leisurely over the curls covering his chest and tweaked a nipple. Thor breathed in sharply but remained immobile as he should.

`What, you have never seen him before?' inquired Jack from the depth of his garden chair.

`Did you hear that, Gustav? He thinks your gift is boring. Of course Jack, we are all thoroughly convinced of your complete indifference.'

Jack snorted and grinned into his teacup.

Fiona held out her right hand. Thor obediently advanced half a step and placed his balls into her palm, and as she cupped them his chest rose and I heard him breathe in deeply. With index and middle finger of her left hand she touched his Adam's apple. Thor's jaw muscles tensed for a moment, then he relaxed them, exhaling. Fiona slowly drew a line from his sternum down to his belly button, pressing in, while her right hand continued to play with his balls. The twofold touch awakened his cock which rose in the space between her hands, pointing up and towards her from a tangle of dark blond pubes.

She released him.

`Show us your backside, Thor.'

The slave obediently turned and bent, his hands pulling his buttocks apart for inspection. Thor's butthole, pink and moist, surrounded by honey-coloured down, was presented for our viewing pleasure. Fiona drew her fingers across his perineum and upwards, travelling over his anus, making him shiver from the intimate frottage. She continued to his coccyx and up the spine, until her hand massaged the tensed muscles at the back of his neck.

Fiona,' Jack inquired with an expression as if the question had just occurred to him, I wonder... now that we have our first jointly owned slave, one tough question remains. Who is going to take him to bed tonight, you or I?'

You always ask the tough questions, don't you,' she replied. Let's see... how about, if he belongs to both of us, we share him.'

`Okay, you heard your Mistress, Thor,' Jack concurred with a smile.

`Yes, Master,' Thor replied from his bent-down position.

Now be a good lad and hop into the pool,' Fiona told the slave. You can look after both of us later tonight.'

She removed her hand from his neck, and Thor departed to cool his straining erection in the water.

Well,' Gustav Ahlson observed as we drove back to the Lemon and Aloe Palaces, I am glad Thor seems happy with them. But I did not really expect either of them to discuss his function as a sex slave in front of us.'

I was reluctant to admit that Fiona and Jack's handling of their personal present had surprised me as well. However, I had recognised the message to the giver and said so.

`It is, as you must know, the Dahran way of showing their appreciation of your gift. I have always done the same. Whenever I have been given a slave, I have made sure to let the previous owner know that the gift slave pleased me in bed. And Thor has grown into one handsome young man, hasn't he?'

So I could have made a mint putting him up for auction,' Gustav replied with a dry laugh. The more I think about it, Jonathan, the more I am happy about my decision to move. I am glad I have given Thor to Fiona and Jack. But if I lived here for a hundred years, I think I would never grow truly comfortable doing things the Dahran way.'

`You made the right decision, Gustav. And you know what else I think?'

`What?' he asked with a smile.

`They have every reason to thank you for Thor Hansson in his capacity as a sex slave.'

Even with the Swedes who were now in my possession, I was going to be immediately short some forty or so slaves to get this new venture going. I did not hold anything against the Swedes, but took them aside one evening and explained to them where they would be working and that within some months new outbuildings would be there to house them.

`I will speak with you in two months as to which of you are to be Supervisors of kofilas. In the new outbuildings, each Supervisor will have his own second or third floor room for himself and his buddy. It is something to work towards. I don't hold any of your previous nonsense against your former Master, Gustav, against you in any way. The past is past. Jon Lundt will stay at the Aloe Palace as its Head of Household. The rest of you will be at al-Kadir.'

I was surprised when a number of the Swedes came over to me when I had finished speaking and kissed my hand.

These I took aside and said to them `Help those who have not kissed my hand in submission to understand that I mean them no ill-will. I can beat loyalty out of them. But I would prefer if that loyalty were offered in their slavedom. They are now my slaves just like you and they must make their own future here with me.'

This was all I said to them. It was a question of minimalism. A number among them nodded their understanding.

As I was finishing my talk to the Swedes, an unmarked jeep swung into the courtyard at full pelt and came to a halt in a screech of brakes. There are only some drivers who ever drive like that - the local Police Captain and his assistant being two. It was the pair of them together. I motioned to the Swedes to take themselves off.

Even as the Captain descended from the jeep, he was on his mobile and I heard him say, `Yes, Sir Jonathan is here. I'll tell him.'

`Sir Jonathan, I was just checking that you were at home. My boss wanted to know and, if you were here, he was going to drop by.'

`Your boss, by all means, I don't think I've ever met him in all my years here. Won't you come inside? The day is still warm.'

I had never actually enquired and did not know the structure of the Police force in Dahra. All I knew was that there were a number of Police captains as my local man had mentioned at one stage.

`I'll wait here for him, Sir Jonathan, if I may. He's already on the way and not too far behind me.'

`Fine. No problem in that. I've never actually met your boss. What is his title, Commandant or Commissioner of Police or what?'

The Police Captain looked a little oddly at me.

`I thought you knew, Sir Jonathan, the five Police Captains, north, south, east, west, and capital city report directly to the Minister of Homeland Security.'

`I didn't know that the sheikdom had such a minister. I think I would have remembered seeing the title on the list of Government Ministers.'

`My Minister, Sir Jonathan, does not appear on any public list.'

As I was looking at the Police Captain, taking in the reply he had just given me, three Mercedes-Benz, the middle one being a limousine, arrived at speed into the courtyard.

`Ah, here he is now, Sir Jonathan.'

The door of the limousine opened and Jalal al-Akhri, my farming neighbour, Tariq's brother stepped out. For a moment, it did not register and as I moved forward to greet him, he was turning to assist out another person, who was none other than His Excellency, the Sheik of Dahra himself. Now I was doubly confused at the unexpected and unannounced arrival of both.

`Your Excellency, welcome to the Lemon Palace. My home is your home.'

`Ah, Sir Jonathan, delighted to see you again. You know Jalal al-Akhri, the Minister for Homeland Security.'

`Your Excellency, the delight is all mine. And I know Jalal, as my neighbour and Tariq's elder brother. I did not know he was a Government Minister.'

`Whom you have on commission, I understand' the Sheik said with quite a laugh and Jalal joined in.

Jalal al-Akhri up to that point my quiet and self-effacing farming neighbour was the go-between for my twenty or so neighbours who buy water off me under the best water deal in Dahra. For his services, I have been paying him five per cent of what he collects monthly by way of compensation for his trouble. I had no idea that I was paying a Dahran government Minister nearly three million euro per year.

Whom I have on commission,' was all I could repeat. Your Excellency, come in out of the heat of the day. Let me offer you something cool' and with my hand I pointed towards the Palace entrance.

`I cannot really stay long, Sir Jonathan, I had some business to do with Jalal and rather than leave it, we drove down together, and while here, I said I must visit you to thank you for your superb gifts to the Council of State.'

`Your Excellency, please do not mention them. The raw jewel was too fine and too big to put on the market and this was a great way of using it.'

`We have created a new tradition on the Council of State. Each Dahran dagger will be held by the office holder while in office. Then, it must be presented to the next holder of the office. What do you think?'

`Excellency, a great idea.'

His Excellency smiled and Jalal joined in saying, `It was His Excellency's own idea.'

When dealing with royalty, flattery should always be laid on with a trowel.

We had just come through the main Palace doors and Bob Conrad was coming out of the kitchens. Seeing the party arrive, he froze in mid-step.

`Bob, some refreshments for our guests. Inform the Head of Household that His Excellency is here.'

I knew that Pete Downings had some form of emergency plan for unexpected guests.

Ushering the party in past the dining room and towards the salon, the sound of piano music filled the corridor, stopped and picked up again repeating a phrase. Kent was obviously still practising on the concert grand.

`That is not a recording,' the Sheik observed.

`No, your Excellency I have a slave who plays very well and must perform a piece for my guests each weekend.'

Such was the motion of our procession towards the salon, and without any slave around to clear the salon, we entered just as Kent Kialka was finishing a cadenza. He was dressed in the white household chiton.

When he first came to play for me, I had him put on shorts so as not to mark the leather piano stool, but as the salon is quite cool during the day and I found him shivering one day at practice, I had Pete Downings dress him in the chiton which at least stopped the shivering.

On hearing the noise of entrance, Kent looked up and seeing me for the first time that day, and more so with strangers, he dropped to his knees in a full obeisance with his forehead touching the carpet.

`Rise and at rest,' I ordered the slave in English to be on the safe side and indicating the settees to His Excellency and Jalal with an extended arm, I invited him to make themselves comfortable.

Looking over at the risen slave, the Sheik said in English, `You were playing Beethoven.'

Kent looked taken aback at being addressed by the visitor.

`Yes, sir...'

I interrupted the slave's reply in case there was any diplomatic incident.

You are addressing His Excellency, the Sheik of Dahra. You will address him as Your Excellency' and nothing else.'

Kent Kialka bobbed his head at me and said, Yes, Master,' and then to the Sheik he said, My apologies, Your Excellency. Yes, it was Beethoven. His Piano Sonata number 23, known as the `Appassionata'.

`You know it?'

`Yes, Your Excellency,' the slave replied immediately.

`Play it for us.'

The slave looked at the Sheik and then at me for a second and said `Yes, Your Excellency'.

He went to the concert grand and closed the music score that was open on the stand, pushed back the stool a fraction and launched into the Allegro assai of the first movement.

At one point, the Sheik looked over at me and smiled and then looked back at the pianist-slave and closed his eyes.

I noticed Pete Downings at the door with Bob and a number of the serving staff ready to come in with some trays and dishes. I held up my hand to stop their entrance and they waited outside the salon as the music swelled and ebbed.

For all of eleven minutes, Kent Kialka played majestically through the Andante of the second movement and on to the final Presto. The silence after the finishing notes was magical; only to be broken by applause led by His Excellency.

As the applause started, I motioned the serving staff in as the Sheik turned to me and said in Arabic, `He is more than good, Sir Jonathan. He is very good,' and beckoning Kent over who had the presence of mind to kneel before the Sheik, his Excellency reached out took a marzipan from the silver tray in front of him and put it into Kent's half-open mouth as a sign of his approval and benevolence.

`Sir Jonathan, you are indeed fortunate in your Palaces and in your slaves. You are also fortunate in your friends and I hope I can be counted among them. As a sign of the Sheikdom's gratitude, I have allocated you, under what we call here in Dahra the Sheik's favour, some two thousand hectares on the back lands of your properties. You must use the lands within five years or they revert to the Sheikdom. There is another small matter which is in hand and Tariq will let you know about it in due course.'

`Your Excellency, I don't know what to say other than thank you sincerely. The land will be most useful for a new crop I am trying out.'

All the time the Sheik was speaking, with one finger of his hand, he was stroking the side of Kent's neck.

`Perhaps, Sir Jonathan, if I ever have need of a good pianist, I know where to find one and I could borrow yours for an evening.'

`Your Excellency, if it would please you to accept the slave, he is yours.'

`No, no, Sir Jonathan. I have more servants than I need. But this one plays well. Concert level I would say.'

Still on his knees beside the Sheik, Kent would not have understood my offer or His Excellency's polite refusal as we were speaking in colloquial Arabic.

`Yes, indeed, Your Excellency. Concert level. He is instructed to play a new piece from memory every weekend. He is good and, most certainly, should you need him now or any time I shall send him to you.'

`I must leave now, Sir Jonathan. I merely wished to drop by to tell you of the land. You have entertained me very well and for that I thank you.'

As quickly as he arrived, His Excellency was in departure mode. His security personnel were into their Mercedes in a flash. I was about to say goodbye to Jalal when he surprised me by saying that he would stay as he was not returning to the capital city with the Sheik and if I could have him dropped back to his Palace down the Western Road, he would appreciate it.

The Sheik was not one to delay departure and in a hiss of tyres he and his retinue and security were gone.

I looked at Jalal and said `Minister for Homeland Security? How long has this been the case? And me paying you a commission into the bargain!'

`A long story, Jonathan, what do you think of my disguise as a farmer?' he said with a grin.

`It certainly had me fooled.'

`Well, I am a simple farmer who just happens to have another job as well. That's the way I look on it, and if that protects all our lives, and particularly that of His Excellency, all the better.'

End of Chapter 18

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