The Time Line by Gerry Taylor
This is the preface and first chapter [ex twenty two] of a novel about gay sex and present-day slavery.
Keywords: authority, control, gay, loyalty, slavery, punishment, retraining, sex, submission
If you are underage to read this kind of material or if it is unlawful for you to read such material where you live, please leave this webpage now.
=============
The Prison Doctor and The Changed Life [the first novel of this series] are now available as full novels in Adobe Acrobat format on http://www.geocities.com/gerrytaylor_78/
=============
Preface
I have always preferred to live life as it comes -- evolving, unfolding, unravelling, unrolling, spreading its soaring and protective wings around me. There are those who mistakenly try to control life, as if they could master it or influence the stars or the tides. For me, some things, the greater pattern of life included, are best left to themselves and to their own chartered courses in the greater universe around us.
Sometimes, I think that we are but passengers on the ship of life. Passengers, yes, special to ourselves and unique to others. We hear the beat of the drum of life. We see its comedy and its tragedy. We feel its rhythms and unyielding grip and we may even tap our foot to a synchronised beat of an inspiring Muse.
In so doing, we come to realise that we are in the hands of the Fates, partly capable of plotting the course of our own destiny, but knowing that our destiny is but the breaking of a single thread away. The filament is spun and we form part of the great interlinking fabric, willingly or unwilling. And then in one fell second's swoop or in a thousand pin daily pricks, it is over for us.
When that happens trustfully, we will have left our mark in the sands of time and this human time line of ours will be complete.
I live in the Middle East, in the Sheikdom of Dahra to be precise, and have done so for just over five years, where I work in banking.
All of that having been said, it might give the impression that my life is dry like this arid and sandy country, or otherwise boring, staid and sober like the nine to five unadventurous work of modern electronic banking. Let me assure you, my life it is nothing of the sort! For one simple but expansively underlying reason, Dahra's own dark secret!
My apologies - I have been prattling on and have not introduced myself. Martin, Sir Jonathan Martin at your service.
Dahra,
May 20xx
Chapter 1 -- Filialism
I don't quite know how it happened. It just did. The Lemon Palace acquired an `official' flogger. Some say that one of my overseers was too tired on the sultry day to give a recalcitrant slave twenty strokes of a camel-cane. Some say that the Overseer was too angry and fearful in his anger of permanently hurting my property -- slaves in Dahra are property I will have you note. Neither argument I quite accept. But now when a flogging had to take place at the Lemon Palace or at the adjacent al-Kadir property being restored and replanted as a farm, there now was a slave who was called on to do the flogging.
That slave was the former squat and hairy Russian sergeant, Alexei Gritsov. He was still squat but no longer hairy as the depilatory cream had done its job and apart from the close crew-cut and trimmed pubes, he was both naked and hairless as he stood in front of me, camel-cane at the ready; the slave to be punished at his side.
Normally, I do not witness punishments. I just happened to be at the al-Kadir property one evening when the kofilas had returned from the fields and were about to disperse.
What did surprise me was that the slave to be punished was Alexei's own nephew, Oleg. I looked at my Overseer, Georgi Gridov who read the question on my lips and upturned eyebrow.
`The slave who performs least well each day from all the kofilas receives five strokes of the cane, Master.'
`Who determines the lack of performance?'
`The other slaves in the area, Master, not just in the kofila.'
`Proceed,' I said and nodded simultaneously to Alexei.
Oleg had also heard my command and bending over, his backside to the assembled slaves, grasped the back of his knees.
The camel-cane swished down viciously cutting the air with biting slice and was followed by a scream and Oleg shouting out `One, Master.'
Four other shouts, not quite screams, followed and four counts.
Alexei took his nephew by the shoulder and turned him round for those of us looking on to see and then showed his backside again to the assembled slaves. Five red weal marks were there as if put across his nephew's buttock with a marker and a ruler.
I read body language, and I could see that Alexei was not pleased in having had to punish his nephew in public, and worse still, in my presence.
I looked at Georgi and said, `This improves productivity?'
`Yes, Master. Without the shadow of a doubt.'
I beckoned Alexei over and said, `Walk back with me to the Palace.'
Yes, Master,' his Russian accent still noticeable as he is still learning English. Sorry, about Oleg. He is a lazy boy, just like his father who never worked a day in his life.'
`You asked me to buy a slave who has never worked in his life? Is that it?'
`Master, if you remember correctly, I did not say a word. You bought him merely because I glanced at him with my eyes. I did not even have to ask you.'
`I think you still look after him, Alexei. Do you not?'
`He is my sister's boy. What can I do? I will give him another five when I get him alone tonight.'
`No. Do not do that. Tell him that the Master wants to hear in one month's time how hard he is working. I think you were embarrassed that he was being punished and that I was there to see it.'
`Yes, Master, doubly so that you were there. I am every day in your debt.'
`In my debt? Why?'
`Because, Master, because you did not laugh.'
`Laugh?'
`At the size of my small balls. When you were looking at my balls in the slave centre. Everyone who knows the size of my balls laughs. The doctors in the army always did. That is why I had to be tougher than anyone else. When you weighed my balls in your hand. You did not even smile. You did not laugh. I am in your debt.'
`I saw the size of your wide shoulders, Alexei, and the size of your arms were so big and strong. I was so amazed that when I got to your balls, I forgot to laugh.'
`Master, I think you are making fun of me now.'
`No, Alexei, I am not, but I am smiling. You are like Overseer Georgi. He is not well built, but he has a great heart.'
`Yes, Master, I agree. Georgi is like a small scarecrow but he gets everyone to work without even raising his voice. As for Oleg, I will talk to him tonight in a quiet voice like Overseer Georgi and tell him he will be sent the fifth compound to be fucked blind if he does not work better. He hates getting fucked.'
I put my arm over Alexei's shoulder and walked the rest of the way back to the Lemon Palace. The word would get out of my sign of approval as to how he flogged his own nephew.
When our dearly beloved Chairman, Charlie Deckam, and I use that adjective sincerely and with no shade of sarcasm, had requested me to accept his son, young Georgie, as my new junior partner at the branch in Dahra, I fully accepted his request at a number of levels. First and foremost, because he is Chairman of Deckams Bank and my senior in partnership. Secondly, because he requested it as is our custom and had not imposed the young tearaway on me. Thirdly, because Georgie had to go somewhere - young partners can only stay at head office in London for only so long. Fourthly, because I heard hurt pride in Charlie's voice, both pained and unspoken at one and the same time.
Charlie Deckam is very proud of the Bank which goes back to the Peninsular War and beyond, of the Deschamps name, now suitably modernised to Deckham, and of a Bank where a Deckam has always sat at the helm as captain of the financial ship and head of the table as Chairman. That in Charlie's eyes, alas, might be coming to an end, as his son Georgie was gay and, if I make no bones about it, was one who had quite a number of older lovers - for such was his age preference, not least among whom was to be counted the Bank's own personnel partner.
But fifthly and most of all, I heard in Charlie's voice a plea to take Georgie and protect him, to protect him from himself and from actions which went far beyond the sowing of wild oats, more like the hosing and spraying of seed in the beds and bathrooms of countless lovers, all this before the tender age of twenty five.
Charlie's shareholding in our private Bank ensured him two seats on the board, and like his grandfather and father before him, he had given the second seat to the son who would one day succeed him. In his case, his only son.
That being said, I do not wish to imply that Georgie Deckam was in any way rude or impolite or uncaring. He was simply Georgie with the Deckam sex-drive, albeit heading in an orientation that had not manifested itself in the family for a number of generations.
Anyway, if all of my cerebral reasons failed, the single reason of friendship soared above all else. And friendship towards an old friend would have quite sufficed on its own and without any other reason, to have had me say `yes'.
And `yes', it was. Nominated at the January board meeting, in the most traditional of forms of filialism, Georgie arrived Dahra in February and I had him settled in a villa which the Bank keeps in the capital city of Dahra and which normally caters for visitors, the external auditors and those who visit sporadically or by international banking law.
The Bank's branch in Dahra now had, by pure coincidence and I tell not a word of a lie, a senior partner who is myself, and two junior partners, all of whom were gay, and again by a coincidence which had not happened in other branches for decades, all of us were English.
The other junior partner was Colin Bowman who transferred from Brazil after the murder of his lover. Since then, I have worried at times for Colin who has lead a quiet private life as far as I can tell in his own home with only a small number of male slaves to care for his needs. I think that because he has never recovered from his lover Carlos's death he immersed himself in our principal function at the Bank which was the placement of international bonds, a task at which he was a past master.
Colin was the quiet type, whose depth of love for his dead partner in life I never quite managed to grasp. His was a love whose profundity I have not been able understand given that I had never experienced it myself to that degree. Outside of banking hours, Colin kept to himself. He attended, of course, his rota of functions on the diplomatic and business circuit. And then, he would disappear back home to his own quiet household.
Georgie requested to see me one day in March around lunch time. I recognised the manner and the timing. We do it at Deckams all the time. You ask to see someone a couple of minutes before lunch which means that you want a private chat and a sort of `Wouldn't it be nice if you were free also for lunch' into the bargain.
`Of course, Georgie. How about a spot of lunch?'
`On me, Jonathan, I am taking up your time.'
One of the advantages of being a partner at the branch is that lunch is served at your table for you if you so wish, while the others on the staff would queue their turn at the carvery and salad bars.
There is also a small partner's dining room but I never use that unless the guest is a customer or a stranger to the Bank. So, in order not to make Georgie feel that this was a formal lunch, both of us queued with cashiers and officials. I noted that he mimicked my choices from the menu which I put down to nervousness and a lack of confidence in what he had to ask, or to say to me.
We took a table over by the windows on the east side of the dining-room which gave us a glorious view of the port and the sea beyond. The soup was courgette and carrot and as we broke bread over it, I said to Georgie, `now what was it you wanted to talk about,' whereupon he dropped a piece of his bread into the soup in his now clear nervousness.
`You know, Jonathan, that I have been living for the past month in the villa. Part of the family trust fund has kicked in now that I am twenty five, and I was thinking that I might get a place to live in here in Dahra.'
I carefully studied a piece of carrot in the soup as it did a circular version of the crawl, and then I looked up at him.
`It's not, Jonathan...it's not that the villa is not fine. It is. But I thought it might be better to own a property.'
`You mean a sort of investment.'
Georgie looked relieved that I had taken that particular tack.
`Yes, indeed.'
`And a place where you could have your own freedom and your own friends, without the need of a housekeeper and cook looking over your shoulder.'
Georgie's `yes' this time was not as unequivocal and sure as his first one, now that I had veered the conversation hard into the wind.
`And have you found any friends since you arrived that you thought might be nice to invite back to the villa?'
This time I did not study any carrot nor stir any soup but looked him in the eyes.
There was the slightest of blushes and the slightest of hesitations.
`Only once, Jonathan, when the help were on their day off.'
`Which is only once a week I would say? And Georgie, once a week is not enough for you to have a friend, a boy-friend, eh?'
At that Georgie blanched.
`You know?'
`I know.'
`Does Dad know?'
`He most certainly does. About far more of your escapades that he has ever cared to mention. Your dad, Georgie, is a banker and he knows how to keep his mouth shut. Even when it hurts him to think that there might be not be a further direct descendant in the line of Deckams at the Bank.'
`Oh, God! I thought I was more discreet than that.'
`All young men of all orientations underestimate the power of their drives and overestimate their powers of discretion.'
`Oh, God! What has Dad said?'
`Nothing, Georgie. He is the soul of discretion. What I know of you is of my own knowing. You are here to learn banking which, I can assure you, you most certainly will! Or will feel my wrath. But Georgie, if you wish to trust me, there is a lot more than banking that you can learn here in Dahra.'
I had Georgie's full attention and he was nodding agreement. There was a chance perhaps after all that the maxim `I am not young enough to know everything' might be true. He had aged and was listening.
`To learn what has to be learned about Dahra; about sex and sexual orientation here,' and at that I tapped the table to indicate the here and now of the time and country location. The spoon which was on the way to his mouth stopped and he looked at me half-open mouthed.
`You have to be discreet. Are you a naturally discreet person, Georgie, or are you simply the young tearaway whose reputation you have so assiduously being trying to live up to?'
`Tearaway? Discreet?'
`Is there an echo in this dining-room, Georgie, or what?'
`Sorry, Jonathan, no one has ever spoken to me so frankly about sex and sexual orientation over a bowl of soup.'
I smiled at his facetious attempt at levity, and recognised the ploy of trying to buy time to get his thoughts in order.
`I am a discreet person, Jonathan, if that is what you mean and if that is what is needed. I have never broken a confidence either as a banker or as a friend. I am sorry if what you have heard of me reduces me to some sort of hooligan.'
Maybe I was a bit hard on the young man. But in Dahra you have to grow up fast, particularly if you are a foreigner with little knowledge of its culture or of its past. There is a criminal court and two slave centres which can ensnare the unwary before you can say misdemeanour', let alone the word crime'.
`Thank you. Now as to your first suggestion, a property of your own. I think that is an excellent idea. What cash total would you spend for property and furnishings? How good is your family trust fund in that regard?'
`Just over four million euro.'
`Good. Then think of a property for anything up to about two million, and half a million to furnish, about five to ten miles outside the capital city. The other million you will need in time for other purchases. I will give you the name of a good estate agent here. Use him alone, not his partners or bosses. I will speak to him first to ensure your needs are fully met.'
`My needs?'
`Hello, echo. Yes, your needs. Here in Dahra you cannot have any real boyfriends as you might have had in London. It just does not happen that way here to any great extent, and if it does it is dangerous.'
`So, how then, Jonathan?'
`All things in due course, but as I say it will depend on your discretion, as so your life.'
He looked at me clearly not understanding the full import of what I was saying or at least trying to say to him.
One of the waiters saw that we had finished our soup and collected the bowls off the table.
`More water, sir?'
`Yes, please.'
We waited until the water was poured and the soup bowls gone before resuming the conversation.
`You're not shocked, Jonathan, by my...needs?'
`Not in the least. They are easily catered form if your discretion were to be guaranteed.'
We each worked our way through a rillette de saumon and some early spring haricots. I knew we were harvesting spring beans from the Palace farms and I found myself wondering whether these beans were my own, purchased in Dahra's daily vegetable markets.
`There is one other thing you are going to have to do for me, or rather for your Dad and indeed for yourself. Think of it as a personal favour to me and of a debt to be repaid to your Dad.'
`What is that, Jonathan? Anything you say.'
`You are going to get married to a nice English girl before the year is out.'
I had his own glass of water in my hand ready for him and which he downed almost in one gulp, once his coughing had subsided.
`You think I am mad, Georgie?'
He was looking at me as if I had stepped off a space ship from planet Zog. More surprised, he could not have been.
`Your marriage, Georgie, will be one of convenience for you, for your Dad, for the Deckam family, and may I add, for the young woman in question. She will be looked after for life once she has a young son, preferably two, by you. Deckams will have a future chairman in fifty years from now. Your Dad will be as proud as punch and you, Georgie, will have what you really want, that is if your tearaway lifestyle drops even to half of what it has been.'
`Jonathan, have you gone insane? I have nothing against women. I am just not interested in them.'
`No, Georgie, I have never been more serious. And I really could not care less about your interest or lack thereof in women. I am interested in the future and your place in it as a Deckam.'
`But to marry someone, just like that?'
`To have all those one night stands, just like that? To break your father's heart, just like that? Not to have a care in the world, just like that? Not to notice that your Dad did nothing to stop you from getting your trust fund monies, just like that? Throughout history, of which you are obviously not a student, couples have married and have been married to each other by their families for political or social or even financial convenience, frequently with the objective of producing progeny. Wars have been waged over less.'
Sorry, Jonathan, you took me by surprise,' he said as he dried his lips with a napkin. I never actually thought of it along those lines.'
`I think, Georgie, you never thought of it at all, either in macro- let alone in micro-view. Let's take all of this one step at a time. First, let me recommend Masid al-Karif. This is the estate man, who will find you a home that you can afford here in Dahra. Once you get the property, we shall then address your other more personal needs. Provided that you can last a week.'
Again, Georgie was caught off guard and ended up coughing and reaching again for his glass of water.
Georgie Deckam was, in more senses than one, the son of a banking father. He was the last scion of a proud and decent family of bankers. He had been entrusted to me. I knew that. It had not been necessary to spell it out for me. The love of a father for his son was there. The father knew the son needed a tutor in life, if not also in love, and he did what any father would do, he reached out to help as best he knew how.
I just hoped that Charlie's faith in me was not misplaced.
After my talk with Georgie, the afternoon at the Bank flew by with the hundred and one details which make up the life of the modern banker. Although it may not seem so to the outsider, slaving over the detail of multiple transactions, each one profitable, is what creates the foundation of long-term financial success.
I found myself restless on the drive back to the Lemon Palace, and no sooner had I changed after the day, I took myself for a walk through the grounds of the first property I had purchased in Dahra, the Aloe Palace. A small compact structure which had once served as a residence for a member of the ruling family, it was now serviced by about two hundred of my slaves in twenty five or so kofilas, who were principally engaged in the growing of Aloe plants for my factory, itself on the grounds between the Aloe and Lemon Palaces. The land was also used for producing a variety of vegetables.
I wandered across to the Aloe sap factory which employs about fifty of the slaves. As I walked in, there was a shout, `The Master' and those who were standing sank to the floor and those, who were sitting at two long conveyor belts packing plastic bottles of some of the world's best natural sunscreen, bowed their heads and stopped working as the conveyor belts slowed to a halt.
The assistant in charge of the area I had entered, Donnie, came over to me.
`Master, it is a pleasure to see you visit us.'
`Don't let me interfere,' I said indicating the cessation of work.
Donnie clapped his hands twice and motion and action resumed. The former petrol pump attendant was a pleasant and hard working slave who after five years in my ownership, had by his own admission all but forgotten Luton. Now he had a position of trust and confidence which he would never have attained back in England in a hundred years.
Donnie exuded good health. His once skinny arms had strengthened. His chest had filled out. He had put on muscle and weight. All of this for my better service and his own healthier long-term servitude with me.
`Master, let me get Iñaki for you.'
`No, you can walk me round.'
`Yes, Master,' the young slave said and positively beamed.
I noted the computer monitors with various programmes displayed and changing figures.
`We are coming to the end of to-day's production, Master,' and he pointed to the stacked cases of Aloe sap with their distinctive Aloe leaf brand logo, now to be seen on beaches around the world.
Each of the slaves seemed to know perfectly what to do. As I observed, one of the slaves got up and got another batch of empty boxes from the side of the factory wall, and brought them back to the conveyor belt.
`I don't see any Supervisors here.'
The last slave on either side of each conveyor belt, Master' and Donnie pointed them out. We have them working like every other slave, but when they have to supervise something or call a slave to order they do that and then get back to normal work. As you just saw, each slave knows what to do and does it.'
As we were speaking six slaves came in, and seeing me, made an obéisance touching their foreheads to the floor.
`Master, these have either been training at the gym or putting in an hour's exercise at the pool,' and again he clapped his hands and the six went to relieve others at the conveyor belts.
Those who had been relieved came back towards us, and because I was there, I presumed, stood there waiting an instruction from Donnie. They were glancing at him anyway as if they were, standing `at rest'.
`Master, these slaves have now to go for their gym and training hours at the Lime Palace. Is that alright?'
I walked over to the slaves.
`At display,' Donnie said and the slaves put their hands to the back of their necks, put their feet a good two feet apart and stuck out their chests as slaves are trained to do.
`They look very well, Donnie.'
`Yes, Master, Iñaki sees to it that they never miss either their midday or evening training.'
I smiled to myself at his attempt to give Iñaki the credit.
`And you don't?'
`Yes, Master, I do as well. There are now so many at the gym that we stagger it from early morning, so that all do not converge together. No one misses the gym or the pool training, or the sex technique classes.'
I ran my hand over the chest and abdominal muscles of the slave nearest me. He looked Brazilian. His nipples were dark brown and well-formed, with small pointed centres. Small wisps of hair were in his armpits, and only a small bush of pubic hair completed the picture. Like all my slaves, he was clean shaven and his head of hair was closely cropped.
I went down the line of slaves and admired their beauty, because each in his own way was just that. They had been cleaned up, had tattoos removed, their teeth had been done; they had been exercised to lose weight or to put on weight; but above all they had been trained to be obedient. None of them was particularly endowed as regards their manhood, at least not in their now flaccid states, and by their colouring, they were clearly from differing nations like so many of my stock of slaves.
What I did admire however was the fact that they, most of whom were older than Donnie Timmins, were so docile in the hands of a twenty-three year old Assistant Supervisor. Donnie had clearly mastered the art of man management.
`On your way then,' I said and I saw one of them hesitate a second and knew that he wanted to say something but could not until he was ordered to.
`Yes?'
The slave was quick on the uptake.
`Master, thank you for spending time with us.'
His Arabic was surprisingly clear. As it was after midday, we speak Arabic in the Palaces, but English in the mornings. I let my hand run over his chest and belly. His skin was smooth and soft and without blemish. I tickled his scrotum and he started to become erect. A healthy slave!
I pointed to the door and he went after the last of his companions.
`A French slave, Master. He is has only been here six months, but he is keen,' Donnie said.
`Licking up to the Master, what?'
`No, Master, he is quite nice and a good worker. He worked in a factory in France, that is why Iñaki and I chose him for the work here. He gives no trouble at all.'
That I thought is half the battle of a well-run factory -- ensuring that the production staff whether free or slave give no trouble at all under good management. I wondered to myself if the presence of slaves in the Dahran economy was that cause or the effect of the absence of trade unions in the Sheikdom.
Iñaki Ergoitia came running up to where we were and casting a glace at Donnie said `Sorry, Master, I did not know you were here.'
`Neither did anyone else, Iñaki. I am just out for a walk. Come walk with me both of you, I am stretching my legs. Tell me how the production plant is going here.'
The former Basque journalist smiled and started to fill me in on a multitude of details in an overall framework of production schedules and timetables, delivery planning and time and motion studies both he and Donnie had carried out. There were no financials as these are done totally by Gus Jennings at the office in the capital city.
As I walked I put an arm over both Iñaki's and Donnie's shoulders, as I think it always important for slaves to see that their Supervisors enjoy the confidence of the Master, I caught Donnie looking over from time to time in sheer admiration at Iñaki and his mastery of his brief.
Most of what Iñaki was telling me I already knew as I had seen Gus's overall reports each month, but he was putting flesh and sinew on the bones of dry reports and bringing alive a very profitable venture. Fifty slaves or slightly over were bringing in two million euro profit each quarter.
As we were walking through the gardens, I pulled up short.
There was a slave tied to a tree, or rather his two wrists were, about three feet apart and tied to a branch of one of the lime trees in that section of the gardens
`What's going on here?' I asked somewhat rhetorically, not expecting, that is, any answer from anyone.
I drew close to the slave who seeing me approach with Iñaki and Donnie seemed to become very uncomfortable with our being there.
I stood in front of the slave. I did not recognise him. Obviously a farm worker at the Aloe Palace and one of Yuriy Obov's stable hands.
`Why are you tied to the tree?'
`Sorry, Master.'
Not very logical, but then replies from slaves are not always that.
`I know you are sorry. Why are you tied to the tree?'
`I annoyed the head of my kofila and he has gone to find Overseer Yuriy. Sorry, Master.'
`Why... no, how did you annoy your head of kofila?'
`I....I kept tossing pebbles at another slave in the kofila.'
The slave was trying to moisten his lips which were cracked. An hour in the Dahran sun without water can do that.
I gave my handkerchief to Donnie and told him to go back some twenty yards and wet it in one of the fountains. He was back in no time with a soggy, dripping handkerchief.
I wiped the slave's lips, and told him not to try and drink the water the handkerchief produced, and then I wiped his face.
`What is your name?'
`Misha, Master.'
Ah! Something was ticking in my brain. One of a batch of Russians from the al-Mera centre, a while back.
`Are you going to behave if you are released?'
`Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.'
I turned to the two beside me and said, `Undo his hands'.
As I was saying that Yuriy came up the path towards us with Konrad, a Polish slave whom I knew, in tow.
Yuriy was all business with a camel-cane in his hand and looking somewhat annoyed.
`Boss, you're here.'
Yuriy has the capacity for stating the obvious.
`And you are here on business, I see, Yuriy.'
`Yes, Boss. This is not the first, not the second, but the third time this Misha has caused trouble,' and he was flicking the cane against his leg much as a jungle cat flicks its tail before attacking and mauling its prey.
How many strokes of the cane should you get, Misha,' I said, for all the trouble you have caused? I am thinking of a number. If yours is less than that, the number of strokes will be doubled. So how many strokes?'
Strokes...Master?' and he ventured a hesitant and questioning six, Master?'
I was shaking my head all the time back and forth and he rapidly auctioneered it up to eight?' with the same questioning hesitancy and closing his eyes, he said ten?' and opened them when he saw me nodding and then grimaced at the thought of his punishment.
Misha was a simple slave and he stood there with his head down and a dejected forlorn look about him.
Yuriy took the initiative at the pause in bargaining and said `Bend over. You know how well enough,' and Misha, bending at the waist, grasped the back of his knees.
A fine pair of lean tanned buttocks were put on display and looking again at Misha, I could see that his eyes were closed as he awaited his punishment. As I was standing directly behind him, I raised my hand to Yuriy and put up three fingers, he shook his head at me as only he can, and put up four fingers on either hand, the cane sticking up in the air. I kept up my three and he shook his head in despair and said to the slave, `Count off,' and dispatched three strokes in rapid fire succession which Misha barely had time to count, and then when the strokes stopped, he twisted his head around to see what was the matter.
Stand up,' Yuriy said, the Master has more urgent things to do than see an annoying slave being punished' and he handed the cane to Konrad who was half-smiling at me.
I dismissed Iñaki and Donnie. I had enough facts and figures of Aloe sap production for one day.
`Come, Misha, walk with me and show me where you work and what you do.'
Yes, Master,' he said with a big grin which he flashed in the direction of Yuriy and Konrad as if to say, Now look at me' and took up a position at my side.
I had a long heart-to-heart with Misha as we walked the farmed fields. He was a simple slave who had worked on road construction in his native Russia and who missed the snows of the winter in the rodina -- his motherland.
`There are various things of which you can be certain, Misha, and I will not lie to you about them; you will not see snow here in Dahra and you will not see it again in your former motherland. The first is not possible here because of the weather and the second is not possible, because this is Dahra.'
`Yes, Master, I understand. And Master?'
`Yes?'
`I am sorry I annoyed head of kofila Konrad. He is very patient with me and with everyone.'
`Sorry is fine, Misha. But have you learned anything today from all of this?'
`You mean, not to annoy Konrad any more?'
`Precisely.'
`That will be hard, Master. It is so easy to annoy some people.'
`Do you want to be the head of a kofila?'
`Me, Master? I have never before been the head of anything.'
`Let's say, Misha, no more annoying for six months and you'll have your kofila?'
`And what about today, Master?'
`I have already forgotten about today, and I'll tell Konrad to forget about it as well. No more annoying.'
Okay, Master,' and he took my hand and kissed it. And Master, why does Overseer Yuriy call you Boss' and everyone else Master'? Are you a...' and he said a word which sound like `khozzayeen'. Do you own all the slaves here?'
Yes, I do. And it's not only Yuriy but some of the other Overseers call me Boss'. It's a long story.'
Misha looked at me and said very slowly, Master, when I am head of kofila, I will call you Boss' to remember this day. And you can tell me the long story. I like long stories.'
I thought to myself that Misha ticked all the right category boxes for happiness for one of my slaves. He was fed and exercised. He had work. And now he had something to look forward to.
`You can show me how well you have been trained. On your knees,' I said as I undid the zip on my trousers.
Misha took out my manhood and put it in his mouth. His was more of the enthusiastic and energetic type of sucking rather than the skilled. But it was sufficient, as after the sight of his nice pair of buttocks and his lean cheeks working their suction on my penis, I could feel the sap rising from the depths of my balls and then pumping into his mouth.
He did not loose a drop. When I started to deflate, he gently licked my penis to get the last drops off it. His hands which had instinctively grasped my backside to deepen my penetrations into his mouth dropped embarrassedly to his sides and his large soulful eyes looked up at me from his kneeling position on the path.
`Up you get, Misha. Now go and find Konrad, the head of your kofila, and say sorry to him.'
`Yes, Master. Thank you, Master,' a recently punished but now happy slave, with three clear welts across his backside, trotted down the path we had come up in search of his head of kofila.
If only we could so easily solve all such matters and the ownership and happiness of a slave could be so easily determined in the mind of the slave!
The evening had now quickly darkened and I made my way back to the Lemon Palace and dinner.
End of Chapter 1
===========
Contact:
e: gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com
w: http://www.geocities.com/gerrytaylor_78/
w: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/erotic_gay_stories
If you are not on the YahooGroups mailing list, simply send a blank email to
Erotic_gay_stories_subscribe@yahoogroups.com to receive the chapters automatically.
The Dahran series -- a fictional adventure story about the life and times of Sir Jonathan Martin -- comprises the following novels to date:
-
The Changed Life
-
The Reluctant Retrainer
-
The Market Offer
-
The Special Memories
-
The Dahran Way
-
The Dahran Rebuttals
-
The Seventh Desert
-
The Dahran Sands
-
The Time Line
These novels are all serialised on Nifty (Gay -- Authoritarian) and on YahooGroups http://groups.yahoo.com/group/erotic_gay_stories