Dahran

The Time Line by Gerry Taylor This is the seventeenth chapter [ex twenty two] of a novel about gay sex and present-day slavery. Keywords: authority, control, gay, loyalty, slavery, punishment, retraining, sex, submission If you are underage to read this kind of material or if it is unlawful for you to read such material where you live, please leave this webpage now. ============= The Prison Doctor and The Changed Life [the first novel of this series] are now available as full novels in Adobe Acrobat format on http://www.geocities.com/gerrytaylor_78/ ===========

Chapter 17--Pessimism

It was an ordinary day at the Bank for September. I had two appointments scheduled for late in the morning, which gave me a chance to read over a report on a recent bond placement. The phone rang and I could see from the extension flashing that it was reception downstairs.

`Sir Jonathan, there is a gentleman here with some papers for you.'

`Take them and have them sent up.'

`Sir, they are some form of legal documents which he has to give you personally.'

`Send him up then.'

There is a first time for everything and when the documents were handed to me by a well dressed Dahran, he merely said `Sir Jonathan, you have been served.'

I was about to say that Bank documents are always served at the offices of our Dahran lawyers who have power of attorney to accept all such commercial documents, when I saw that the name on the documents was not the Bank's but my own, I was the second named defendant, the first being none other than Ahmed al-Atti, the owner of the al-Qatim slave marketplace.

I looked up and the summons server was already going out the door of the office. I looked at the documents again which comprised a summons with a two page attachment.

Quite intrigued at what was going on, I started to read and it made little sense. I did not know the name of the person who was suing me for the return of the property described and unspecified damages. It was only when I got to the first attachment which was description of the property described as one male worker by the name of Simon Gulka.

The second attachment was even more curious as it stated that this case was to be heard at the same time as a second case by the same plaintiff against someone called Kumar Kalam.

None of this made sense so I told reception to get Karim al-Kibbe on the line for me. Although the Bank has its own commercial solicitors, I thought that a private word with one third of the criminal lawyer confraternity of Dahra might be a better idea. There is so little criminality in Dahra that it only boasts of three lawyers specialising in criminal law.

`Sir Jonathan, how are you? A pleasure to hear from you.'

`Thank you, Karim, I have just been served with some papers. Tell me what they are about,' and I spent the following ten minutes reading out the documents from start to finish. Karim did not interrupt once.

`Well, Karim, what do you make of this?'

`On the face of it, it is a simple commercial matter. Not really my area, but you are being sued for the return of a slave who has not been paid for, and the reference on the summons says that it is, or should be, in the Dahran Civil Court. However, the second attachment says that a second case is to be heard with the first, and the reference on that is the Dahran Criminal Court. Now that is where I may be able to help you. Can you repeat the reference on the second attachment and I'll look it up online?'

I read out the case number, and I could hear Karim talking away to himself as he typed the reference into his computer.

`Got it, Sir Jonathan. The plaintiff is charging his general manager with the theft and sale of a slave, one Simon Gulka, the property mentioned in your first attachment. Criminal Law takes precedence over Civil Law here in Dahra. The matter will be heard in the Criminal Court.'

`What have I to do, Karim?'

`Nothing really other than give back the stolen slave. Ahmed al-Atti is going to have to pay damages, I would say.'

`I didn't know that the slave was stolen when I purchased him. In fact, I don't even know the slave. His name means nothing to me.'

`Ah, Sir Jonathan, you have become more Dahran than the Dahrans themselves.'

`Are you capable of representing me in this matter, Karim?'

`Of course, consider it a favour, Sir Jonathan. On a separate matter, has my father been talking to you?'

Zabian al-Kibbe is my general manager at the opal mine.

`Yes, we met about ten days ago for the regular twice monthly update on production.'

`He didn't mention anything?'

`Other than business, no. Why do you ask?'

`We had lunch about a week ago and he just mentioned in passing that he was toying with the idea of taking early retirement. He will be sixty this year. Sir Jonathan, you haven't heard this from me.'

`Not a word, Karim. Thank you for taking me into your confidence. Now to put this case to bed, please contact the plaintiff and ask him how much he wants for the slave that his general manager sold on him.'

`Immediately, Sir Jonathan. Now just a matter of protocol, please put the date of the action in your diary. Even though we settle it all out of court, it is a courtesy of our system that all parties are in court for the resolution of cases.'

`Noted, Karim.'

I had not put down the phone when it rang again with an almost distraught Ahmed al-Atti on the other end.

`Sir Jonathan, how can I apologise? To see your name being sued over a piece of property. I was deceived. The owner never issued a power of attorney to his general manager. This criminal Kumar Kalam never had the authority to sell the disputed slave. I shall personally cover any expenses that you may incur in this matter.'

Ahmed, you were deceived. Do not give it a further thought,' and I smiled to myself as I pictured the distraught Ahmed envisioning the loss of my considerable business transacted through his slave centre. I have just told my lawyer to find out what the plaintiff in this case wants for the slave.'

`You are going to pay for him twice? I cannot allow that, Sir Jonathan. Let me know the cost and I shall reimburse you immediately. I cannot have this happen to one of my best customers.'

`Ahmed, you are very thoughtful.'

Flattery does have its place at times when dealing with suppliers.

When I got back to the Lemon Palace, the Rolls had barely stopped when Jake Peoples, the Palace messenger, had the back door open with an infectious grin of pleasure at seeing my return.

`You are doing Faisal out of one of his jobs,' I commented looking at my driver who had now come around the front of the Rolls and who was pursing his lips at the encroachment into his territory.

`I only want to help, Master. Sorry, Faisal,' a sheepish Jake said beginning to look dejected as he said it and Faisal's lips relaxed at the enthusiasm of the young slave.

`Where is Ben?'

Jake perked up immediately.

`I'll find him, Master. On the double,' and was off running up the steps of the veranda happy with a job to do and redeeming any possible lèse-majesté which might have occurred.

Ben was waiting for me at the door of the study as I came into the Palace.

`Get me the file on Simon Gulka, and I shall look at it as soon as I have changed.'

Jake Peoples was in hover mode. I ordered him to find the slave whose court case had occupied part of my morning and he went off at a run.

Klaas, my masseur, was waiting for me in the bedroom suite and having shed my clothes of the day, I lay down to a most relaxing and enervating half-hour.

`Master, you are in knots. Please relax your shoulders.'

I felt Klaas's fingers touch spots which were no less than Gordian and work their way down.

`Master, you are not relaxing. I am going to tell you a joke.'

I turned my head and looked up at Klaas with one eye.

`A joke, Master. It will help you relax.'

`Are you turning into a comedian, Klaas?'

`No, Master, definitely not. I am your masseur by your pleasure, but a joke will help you relax. If my fingers press any harder they will be hurting you.'

`Okay, what's the joke?'

`What, Master, is the difference between an egg and a slice of bacon?'

`An egg and a slice of bacon? I don't know. I haven't the foggiest idea? What is the difference, Klaas?'

`Master, an egg is a day's work for the hen. But a slice of bacon is a lifetime commitment for the pig.'

I did have to chuckle and with that I felt Klaas's finger probe and touch and probe.

`That is better, Master. Laugher helps you relax. Now try and laugh again.'

I closed my eyes and I did laugh to myself at how serious my Dutch masseur could be and I let myself float until brought out of my reverie by Klaas.

`Master, that's it for today. If I do more, you will be late for dinner.'

As I came down dressed for dinner, Ben was standing at the end of the stairs.

`Master, you asked for the file of Simon Gulka and you asked Jake to call him. His English is very poor. He is still taking classes and I have taken the liberty of calling Ivan Sorovich to translate for you, if necessary.'

`Thank you, Ben, where would I be without you? Where is Ivan?'

`He is in the kitchens with Bob awaiting your instructions.'

I appreciated Ben's thoughtfulness in calling Bob's Ukrainian lover to do the interpreting. I also appreciated his diplomatic protocol in not having the slave present but on hand, as I had not called for him.

`Have both of them come in.'

`Yes, Master.'

I noticed that both Ivan and my head of serving staff Bob Conrad came out of the kitchens with Ben and another slave who did now look familiar. Bob Conrad, no more than Ben, loves being on the inside track of things and clearly did not want to miss anything involving his lover.

I looked at the slave, Simon Gulka. Yes, indeed. It was the gymnast whose buttocks had been extensively caned before the gymnastics performance he had put on for me in al-Qatim. The slave looked better than before. For a second, I could not put my finger on it, and then the thought struck me that he looked well-fed. His skin glowed with good health. I had him turn round for me and I ran my hand over his buttocks. There was not a sign of a welt to sight or more importantly to touch.

The slave was blinking as he turned again to face me.

`How is your Arabic?'

It was after midday and all of us speak Arabic after noon.

The slave looked embarrassed and I said to Ivan, `start interpreting, Ivan.'

I had a printout from the Dahran Business Directory of details of the plaintiff who was bringing his case against me. He was not known to me personally but had a number of business interests including a company which by pure coincidence had an account at our Bank.

`What do you know of your former Master?' and I mentioned his name to the slave.

`I did not know my former Master's name, Master. I saw him only twice. He was dressed as a Dahran.'

`What did you do for your former Master?'

`Master, I worked in a factory which produced plastic covers for CDs?'

`For compact disks?'

`Yes, Master.'

`What do you know of Kumar Kamal?'

I like to think that I read body language well and if there was not a shiver through the frame of the slave before me, then Simon Gulka was in apprehension at the mere mention of the general manager of his former Master. Simon Gulka said something briefly to Ivan Sorovich.

`The slave asks if he can speak honestly. I think, Master, that he believes he will be punished if he says what he wants to say.'

I looked at the slave, clearly uncomfortable with some internal apprehension.

Very gently, I said to Ivan, `tell Simon that he is my slave. Tell him that I know his name and that I have never punished a slave for telling the truth.'

When Ivan spoke, this seemed to have an extraordinary effect on Simon Gulka as he stepped forward and dropping to his knees he put my sandaled foot on the back of his neck in the traditional Dahran manner of recognising a Master. I told Ivan to have the slave stand up and at rest.

`Simon, tell the truth. That is all I ask.'

Master, Kumar Kamal is not a nice person. He is devious. He lies and cheats all the time. He punishes a slave for no reason at all. Some of the slaves of my former Master have stories about him which are terrible. He...' and at this point Simon Gulka looked over at Ivan who nodded at him to continue. ....he has also had a relationship with one of the lesser wives of my former Master. That is what they say, Master, but I never saw the lady in question.'

A general manager with expensive tastes, I thought to myself. Expensive enough, perhaps, to require the sale of one of his Master's slaves to cover his expenses?

I was looking at the beautiful slave in front of me. His fair Slavic features adorned a fit and muscled body. I could see that he was on edge and I beckoned him closer and touched his chest over his heart. I could feel the hammer blows of cardiac nervousness.

`Tell Simon, Ivan, that he is not to worry. That he is a good slave and that I, his Master, know his name and am very happy with him.'

The slave shot off something very quick to Ivan which went on for about twenty seconds.

`He says, Master, that he is working hard and that in the afternoons he is doing gymnastics training with Komil and some others. He says he is very, very happy with you as his Master and that he wants to serve you. I think, Master, that he is afraid that you are going to sell him.'

Tell Simon that I don't sell my slaves,' and I let my hand run down his gymnast body until I was holding his warm balls in my hand and looking at Ivan, I said, Tell him also, Ivan, that I swear on his balls that I will not sell him or let anything bad happen to him.'

The slave again dropped to his knees and this time wrapped his arms around my legs. I have always said that I am a sucker for gratitude and this was one grateful slave.

Karim al-Kibbe rang me at the Bank the following day to say that the plaintiff would accept thirty thousand euro for his property. I sent a cheque that very afternoon round to Karim with Faisal, my driver. The price was over the odds but I thought that I was the one, in fact, getting the bargain.

Such is the speed of criminal trials in Dahra that it was two days later that I found myself getting out of the Rolls under the portico of Dahra's Criminal Court.

If Dahra's legal system had allowed cobwebs then there would have been cobwebs in that courtroom, so infrequently was it used. I sat well back from the front row of seats in the courtroom and looking up at the quietly rotating fans on the ceiling; I felt a chill which was not atmospheric.

Kumar Kamal was on his knees before the three judges of the court. His back was a criss-crossing of welts where he had been severely flogged. Whatever the Courts decided about on his innocence or guilt, the plaintiff in the case and former owner of my latest slave, Simon Gulka, had been in no doubt and had expressed his anger and revenge. Though at that moment, Kumar Kamal was a freeman, he was in no way able to express remorse as he had already admitted to the fraud he had committed and I understood there was no reference on paper or in words whatsoever to any liaison he might have had with the plaintiff's lesser wife.

It was the second judge of the three who did most of the talking. Karim mentioned to me afterwards that he was something of an expert on Dahran fraud, though to be perfectly honest I did not understand half the references to precedents he was making. My now good friend Khalila bint Omar also made some comment to property as that is her area which I did not understand either. Dahran Law is either entirely so simple that a child could understand or so infernally intricate that a Supreme Court judge of any land would have difficulty following.

The whole trial did not last more than half an hour and Kumar Kamal was sentenced to be sold as a slave and the proceeds used to recompense his former employer for the losses endured. I did not quite understand either how the plaintiff was at a loss since I had paid him over the odds for his former property Simon Gulka, now my slave.

When the trial was over, I commented to Karim, `Poor sod. He had a fling with a lesser wife, sold a slave and now is enslaved himself.'

Karim's snort of derision told me that he did not agree with my assessment and passed some comment that he was quite pessimistic as to the long-term prospects of Kumar Kamal.

`Why?' I asked in all innocence.

Slave owners do each other favours here in Dahra, I am sure you have guessed,' Karim replied. I wouldn't take out any long term life insurance policy on that slave. Actually, I would be quite pessimistic as to his long-term health.'

`Are you serious, Karim?'

`Very serious. By the by, Sir Jonathan, I have received a Bank draft from Ahmed al-Atti for the cost of your new slave and my own legal costs. He is so embarrassed by this whole affair that you just cannot imagine. I shall send you on a cheque.'

`No, Karim, hold on to the cheque and buy this Kumar Kamal for me. I am sure there will be a spot for him at the opal mine. A stupid slave may last longer with me than with an owner hell-bent on doing a revenge favour for friends. Send him there as soon as he is bought. I don't think anyone will pay more than thirty for him. If not, keep the balance. If more let me know and I shall reimburse you.'

In the event, Karim told me afterwards that Kumar went for nineteen thousand and commented `apparently no one wanted a middle aged general manager'. It was a telling comment about managerial fitness.

A happy note to all of this was that two weeks later, the gymnasts who included all the Peoples brothers, put on a programme for me, and my guests with a floor display that was quite exceptional. I made a point of walking over to Simon Gulka, putting an arm over his sweating back and shoulders and telling him to introduce me to each member of the team, which he did in Ukrainian such was his excitement. I did not understand a word, but with his nicely sized hardon straining the white slips that Rolf Hanzer and Tony Sert, the gym supervisors had suggested, I could experience the emotion and excitement the young gymnast was feeling. I resolved to have him in my bed as soon as the next list of bed companions came up for review. None of these slaves had been allocated a buddy, and I told Tony that I wanted Simon Gulka to remain a virgin, if he still was one, until I finally decided to take him.

After the display however, the one and only slave that came to mind and stayed there until I fell asleep that night was the tumbling figure of Matt Peoples trying so hard to please me.

What Karim al-Kibbe had hinted about his father came to pass. At the next meeting with my general manager from the opal mine, Zabian al-Kibbe mentioned retiring. He was sixty and felt that he had done all he could do to make the mine as profitable as possible and running smoothly.

I looked at a truly good general manager and said to him, `Choose your own time of departure, Zabian. Choose your own severance conditions.'

`Sir Jonathan, I have no specific date in mind. I have a pension plan which gives me two-thirds of my salary when I do retire. I have a small farm, a vineyard in fact, bought in Lebanon where I will live in due course.'

`Zabian, when you retire, you can cut yourself a cheque for two million euro as part of the retirement package. It will be subject to the new income tax, but will be a nice golden nest egg for you.'

`Jonathan, I don't know what to say. That is extremely generous of you.'

`Don't say anything, Zabian, it is merely money. And the opal mine itself?'

`It has at least twenty years of further production veins. There are four freemen who work there in administration who are good. I can recommend one of them to be the new general manager if you wish. He is the financial controller.'

`Good. What would you say, Zabian, if I were to send you someone to work under the new general manager. A slave. What problems would there be if certain of my overseers were to run the various functions of the mine?'

`Overseers?'

`Yes, very experienced, committed and intelligent slaves.'

`An interesting thought. Possible. The general manager however would have to be a freeman so as not to run foul of Dahran law and also those in the perimeter security team we use.'

`If they were to go to work, side by side, with you and your four freemen for, let us say, two months.'

`A most definite possibility, if they are quick on the uptake. If you have the bodies, I will hand in my resignation now--effective at the end of the year. And this slave, you have in mind. Is he really that good?'

`He is better than good, Zabian. Now, let me know what packages have to be put together for the other freemen at the opal mine who will also resign.'

That conversation was the basis on which the new structure I had in mind was put in place for the opal mine.

I had Jake Peoples, the Lemon Palace messenger, summon a number of slaves to come to see me. The evening was cool and I was sitting on the veranda, sipping lime-juice. I had a long table brought out on to the veranda as it would be a long meeting.

The first to arrive was Geoff Masters. Then Iñaki Ergoitia, the head of production at the Aloe sap factory and the Greek-Cypriot Fotis Maneates who had been assisting Jens Johanssen, my computer specialist, for the past number of months.

The last to arrive was Donnie Timmins, Iñaki's assistant. His blinking eyelids indicated his nervousness as he looked at the glass of lime-juice which Bob Conrad had, on my instructions, placed in front of each space at the table.

There was no need to call the meeting of slaves and myself to order as all eyes were on me.

`You are seated with me this evening, instead of being on your knees, because I have a new project for you away from this Palace, where you will have positions of importance.'

The only break in the silence were some crickets in the palm trees.

`You all know that I have an opal mine in the Seventh Desert.'

I saw a number of heads nod in acknowledgement.

`In two months' time, the general manager is to resign there and a new one, a freeman, will replace him. But under him, there will be the deputy general manager who will effectively run the opal mine. That deputy will be a slave. He is Geoff Masters.'

All eyes focused on Geoff whose eyes were on me. He is the type of high-achiever slave who has to be given a job without choices. He loves being ordered to do things, and for him, authoritarianism is a sexual pleasure.

`Thank you, Master, for your trust in me.'

`There are three other functions there being performed by individuals I wish to replace in production, accounts and computer services.'

I let my words hang in the air.

`I will not order any of you to go there to take over these other functions. I will send you there for a month at the end of which you have the freedom to say first if you are capable of doing the job, which I think each of you are, and secondly, if you wish to stay there. None of you has been to the opal mine. The administration building is no different to any building here, but the outside environment is just short of hell as any of the slaves who have returned from the opal mine will tell you.'

I could feel the eyes of all the Overseer slaves on me.

`Comments?' I queried looking more at Geoff than anyone else.

`No comment, Master. You order and I obey,' Geoff said.

`Iñaki, I want you to take over accounts. They are almost a carbon copy of what you get back from Gus Jennings each month.'

`Yes, Master. It will be different, but I can do it. And Master, what about Donnie?' he said, looking at his buddy at his side.

`Donnie has been your assistant now for what, the past four years?'

`Yes, Master.'

`Iñaki, is there anyone whom you can recommend better qualified to take over from you here as the production manager in the Aloe factory?'

`No, Master. Donnie is best there is.'

I looked at the well built twenty three year old former petrol pump assistant and the Palaces' official photographer in his spare time.

Donnie was swallowing as he does when he is nervous.

`Do you think you are ready to step into Iñaki's sandals, Donnie?'

`No, Master. But if you and Iñaki say I am, then I must be.'

`And buddy-wise?'

`Iñaki is my buddy, Master, until you assign me to someone else.'

`That is the proper attitude for a slave, Donnie, but I think we can do better than that. What if you get a temporary buddy during the month just to keep your sexual tension under control, and at the end of each month, Iñaki comes back to you or you go down to the opal mine to Iñaki for a day or two?'

`Master, I'd like that very much. I really don't want to change buddies permanently. That is if you don't mind, Master.'

`No, I don't, Donnie. Do you think you can handle a hundred production slaves under you?'

`With one hand tied behind my back, Master, and a camel-cane in my other hand, if necessary.'

`That's what I like to hear, Donnie,' I said with a smile at his attempt at good humour.

`Last but not least, Fotis. The computers at the opal mine?'

`Yes, Boss. Thank you for believing in me.'

This was the slave who had impregnated one of the wives of my good friend Tariq. Fotis had been helping Graham Hodson on the new al-Kadir property and more importantly in computer matters to Jens Johansen who by all accounts is an extremely hard task-Master to those who go to help him, with the one exception of his young handicapped lover, Abdul.

`You all may not know that I have an ongoing study being conducted on the opal mine by Greg Logan. He comes back from the opal mine each weekend. You'll have seen the helicopter bringing him to and from the mine. Work it out among yourselves so that during the month one of you comes back each weekend for rest and recuperation. You will each have to find a temporary buddy down there. I want your balls drained each day morning and night, so that all your focus is on the functions of the mine. Understood?'

`Yes, Master,' was chorused round the table.

`Well that's settled then. You will all go down this weekend and keep me informed of how things get on.'

I raised my glass of lime-juice and each of the Overseers and slaves raised their glasses--untouched as good slaves should have left them until the Master ordered them or raised his own.

`To better results from the opal mine,' I toasted and the slaves nodded as they raise their glasses of lime-juice.

The Head of Stables at the Lemon Palace is Komil Rostov, a very tall and formidable Uzbeki. His qualities are too many to number. His loyalty to me as Master is unquestionable. All I can summarise of the Overseer who looks after and supervises the outdoor slaves of the Lemon Palace is that he is the equivalent of a force of nature.

I have seen very sensible slaves tremble in his presence. I have seen slaves go on their knees simply when called into his presence, as if he had some all-seeing power to read into the transgressions still listed in their souls, known to no other slave or person other than their own selves.

Now he had caught up with me as I walked in the water-gardens. I am given to thinking that some slaves position themselves strategically after dinner knowing my liking for an evening stroll under the pergolas of the gardens and around the fountains of the water-gardens.

`Komil, you want to talk to me?'

`Yes, Boss. You know the promise that you made me that I could ask you something and you would grant it?'

`Yes, indeed. What do you want? Have you thought of something?'

`In a way, yes, Master, and in a way, no. I want you to cancel your promise. I don't want to hold you to your promise.'

`Komil, you have me confused. Why should you want to do something like that? It is a blank cheque.'

`I don't know what a blank cheque is, Master, but I can guess. I want you to cancel your promise.'

I looked at this extraordinary beautifully muscled slave who was in charge of all my outdoor slaves at the Lemon Palace. He was totally sincere in what he was asking.

`Do you mind telling me, Komil, what is on your mind? I could order you to tell me, but I would prefer that you tell me of your own volition.'

`Boss, I want to ask one of the slaves to be my buddy, but I want him to agree to it himself. I don't want him to be forced to be my buddy or put under obligation to be my buddy.'

`Okay, agreed. You choose the slave as your buddy; that does not require my approval. I'm sure that he will agree if he is without a buddy and, even if he has a buddy at present, he would be a fool to refuse you. Do you want to tell me who he is?'

`Jake Peoples, Master,' and the six foot six slave shifted from one foot to the other on the path beside me.

I could not fault Komil on his taste. Jake Peoples was an exquisite slave in every way. He was beautiful; he was trained; he was talented and intelligent.

`You haven't spoken to Jake, have you, Komil?'

`No, Master. Do you think he will refuse me?'

`I don't honestly know, Komil. He would be a fool not to choose you. I am sure that you and he would be excellent lovers. See how that ten-inch stick of your is tenting your shorts, just speaking about him.'

`That yes, Master, but I want someone to share things and moments with me. I don't want somebody just to fuck. As your Overseer, Master, I can take any slave any day any which way, and I have done so for the past five years.'

`You haven't had a regular partner really?'

`No, Boss.'

`Speak to Jake. Tell him how you feel about him. See what he says. If he says no, and you don't want me to assign him to you, there are always a lot of other slaves in the Palaces.'

`Not like Jake, Boss.'

`On that, Komil, I would have to agree.'

I carefully stroked the Komil's smooth chest and nipples, down his trembling side, fondling his thick cock, nudging his thighs apart with my thumb for unimpeded access to his scrotum. He blinked but did not pull away when I cupped his ample balls through the cloth of his khaki short pants.

`Komil, what you want I want for you. Don't frighten, Jake. He is barely nineteen but very sexually aware. He may not be that aware in areas of romance or to the extent of your feeling for him which I can see is very big, by the length and hardness of your cock alone, at the mere discussion and mention of his name.'

`Yes, Boss. Thank you, Boss.'

A Palace that is organised is a palace at peace. The summer heat had receded and autumn had brought high temperatures but nothing like the burning heat of the previous July and August. With good junior partners at the Bank, I am spending more and more time on my properties, and when there, the stream of reports coming from my Overseers and Supervisors keep me quite busy.

On that beautiful autumn morning I was enjoying the shade of veranda and receiving a report from Dumi Bod, the Head of Stables at the Lime Palace. The Lime and Aloe Palaces have extensive grounds and are the main vegetable producing areas of my properties. The grounds not only keep us in vegetables for almost a thousand slaves here at my three Palaces, but the surplus of almost sixty tons is transported to the markets of Dahra each morning on large juggernauts, and produces considerable monthly profits.

Dumi was seated at the table opposite me, but my eyes were on the slave kneeling at his side. The slave like all my farm workers was naked. His knees were wide apart allowing his tackle to hang loose and down. His cock was long and tapered and almost touched the ground.

The slave looked Middle Eastern most likely like many having been sold into an early slavedom by impoverished family members. He had good shoulders and his short cut hair was in contrast to the hairlessness of his body. An all-over tan spoke of work in the fields.

Dumi caught my glance at his assistant.

`He's handsome, Boss, isn't he? I am trying out a half a dozen of the field hands who have been working hard and who have been excelling in their personal training. Ali here shows some promise,' and as he said that, Dumi slipped a foot under the slave's hanging circumcised penis and let it rest on top of his instep.

The slave had his eyes fixed on his Overseer awaiting the slightest hint of a command or request for the next file which he had on a chair beside him.

`Yes, he is handsome indeed, Dumi. Keep training him. Such beauty is a distraction at times,' I smiled in reply.

At that precise moment, a Mercedes drove into the courtyard and pulled up close to the steps of the veranda. A driver jumped out and opened the back passenger door.

Imagine my surprise when I saw Farouq al-Hamdi step out into the sunshine.

It was from Farouq, a Dahran businessman who had gone into cotton, that I had purchased the opal mine in the Seventh Desert some twenty months previously.

I indicated to Dumi and his assistant to vacate the veranda area and to advise Bob Conrad, my maître d'. My newly arriving guest would most likely require some refreshment.

Farouq al-Hamdi is the quintessential Arab businessman. His flowing dishdasha was brilliantly white and the black and gold braided ogal around his head spoke of both tradition and success at one and the same time.

`Sir Jonathan, such a pleasure to see you again.'

`Farouq, the pleasure is all mine. Welcome to my home. Please be seated,' I said indicating a comfortable cushioned chair.

Bob had arrived and I offered Farouq some lemon tea which he accepted.

`I thought that you were in Pakistan and India. I have not seen or heard of you, apart from in the business papers for over a year.'

``Softly, softly catchee-monkey' is what they say, Jonathan. You know that I had an opportunity in cotton. It has worked out very well for me. I now have almost one third of the cotton production of the area, and have managed to buy out one of my partners.'

One of the great things about Arab culture is that it never gets to the point directly. If you accept this, all is well for in due course all is revealed. I knew that Farouq on coming to my home was not here on what I would call public or banking business. I hardly thought that he would drop in on me out of pure friendship, which if I were to admit it, was merely a business friendship. No, there was something more than cotton on Farouq's mind.

`I moved to Islamabad for the past year so as to be nearer the markets that I wanted to acquire. I also now have a home in Mumbai. Nothing quite as lavish as your beautiful Palaces, Jonathan, I can assure you,' he said with a broad smile.

Bob Conrad and one of the serving staff came out with a selection of teas and small almond cakes, quite suitable for the coolness of the veranda and the outside heat of the day.

`Thank you, Bob, that will be all,' I said as Bob completed pouring the tea and serving us.

Farouq glanced at me.

`You continue to surprise me, Jonathan, in thanking your slaves and even addressing them by name.'

`House style, Farouq, nothing more. Help yourself to some lemon.'

Farouq waved a manicured hand to indicate his happiness with the tea alone, and said `Jonathan, you did me a great favour in buying the opal mine from me almost two years ago. I needed the cash for the new cotton business. You gave me exactly what I was looking for and did not haggle on the price. Now that I have positioned myself in the cotton market, I would like to buy the opal mine back from you,' and he raised his cup to his lips and sipped his tea looking at me over the rim of the cup.

`Farouq, you surprise me. It was a good business deal for me and your asking price was fair. It has been very profitable for me. I have cleared off all debt and paid off the leased equipment. You may not know that Zabian al-Kibbe has retired as indeed some the free staff. The security people are still there, but I have sent down some of my best overseers to run the mine, with ever increasing profitability, I must say. May I ask why you are interested in it again?'

Farouq smiled. He is difficult to read at times and loves his intrigues to say nothing of betting on safe odds, and then covering his bets.

`A number of reasons, Jonathan. I think it is an excellent business as you rightly say. Opals are much smaller than cash for bartering. Secondly, you may have heard that three of the Australian opal mines are running dry, but thirdly and most importantly, I have discovered an almost unlimited supply of slaves at half the current cost. As you know the mine needs almost sixty fresh slaves year. If it were mine again, I could make great profits on it. I am willing to offer you three times the price you paid me for it.'

`Farouq, I have heard of the Australian dry runs. I am not so sure that that is more than a temporary thing. There are a lot of seams still to be explored in that continent. At the opal mine in the Seventh Desert, my experts tell me that the main lode and the new seams there are good for another twenty years.'

`That, Sir Jonathan, is what I have also heard. That is partly my interest, but more so, the fact that I have this new source of slaves.'

I did not comment on how Farouq would have known that particular piece of information since the report on the extended life of the opal mine was securely held in my safe. But as I have come to realise, in Dahra, there are few long-term secrets.

`Farouq, I have just recently started the reorganising of the opal mine to have it run by my most trusted slave Overseers and Supervisors. As for your new source of slaves, you are lucky. I have brought the yearly slave losses down to twenty two in the past year. Your price is enticing, but as I say, the mine is debt free and run by my overseers and slaves. I have a policy never to sell my slaves.'

`Keep all the slaves, Jonathan, and I shall still give you twice the price you paid me two years ago. Keeping the slaves will more than make up for the leases you have paid off.'

`Twice the price and I keep the slaves? You really must have a good source of supply.'

`Have we a deal then, Jonathan?'

`Two hundred million euro, all the slaves come back to me, and the deal is concluded within thirty days. I'll need to arrange accommodation for two hundred and fifty slaves.'

Farouq extended his hand, `we have a deal,' he said and we shook on it. Such is the simplicity of business in Dahra. Within thirty minutes of his arrival, he was back in his Mercedes and away.

Such is the world of business. One minute you are the buyer. Next minute you are the seller. The secret is not to love being either, but to let the market decide. The slaves whom I had selected so very recently to run and who had been destined to reorganise the opal mine for me would now be available to continue their previous work at the Palaces.

If I were to bring back around two hundred fifty slaves from the opal mine to the Palaces, there would be a question of serious overcrowding at the al-Kadir property. That could give rise to all sorts of problems. So I put the young Egyptian architect at Annan and Annan to immediate work on building me new quarters on the al-Kadir property. It is amazing what new building techniques and money can achieve in thirty days.

On the afternoon of that same day, I took the helicopter down to the opal mine to speak with Geoff Masters who was effectively running the mine for me. I broke the news of the sale and that I wanted all the slaves there to be brought back to the Palaces.

I ordered an organised closedown of the mine over the following weeks, transferring the safe's contents back to the House of Gems, bringing back some ten slaves every day to temporary quarters at the Palaces and paying off the general manager who was more than happy with a million euro settlement. If Farouq wanted to retain him or not, that was up to Farouq.

Bringing back ten slaves a day meant that they could be processed quite easily into the ways of the Palace, and given their medicals and checkups.

I still had one problem however and it referred to my ice-cream maker, Marko Sqeppa, who helped Flavio, my chef in the kitchens and I had Geoff Masters bring me the slave who was the source of the problem.

It took over half an hour to get the slave clean inside and out, shaved and presentable as a slave should be before his Master. Gjon Vlorju, the so-called butcher of the village from which his own surname derived, did not look anything like dangerous, whatever he might have been in his military past.

I had had the mine's vet castrate him of his second ball. He had lost his first ball on my orders as had been done to all the mercenaries who had invaded Dahra. Now as he stood trembling before me, his penis was shrivelled, his scrotum almost invisible. He had also lost whatever body fat he had had on arrival.

I walked around him, as Geoff looked on, and noted the dark tan of his skin. The sun at the opal mine burns like none other. Across the slave's back there was considerable sign of cane and whip marks. I looked at the shackles on his ankles. My original order still stood. He was not to have ever lost his chains and he had not.

I had him bend to examine and his anus showed considerable use and abuse, but no haemorrhoids. My fingers and full hand went into his back passage without any considerable force. The slave barely moved.

Gjon Vlorju had been such a dangerous slave when I had assigned him to the mine. Now, he was a broken one. Broken in every sense, as a man without balls, broken sexually by his fellow slaves, and his eyes were dull and lustreless.

`Get me a camel-cane,' I said to Geoff, who produced one immediately.

Extending the cane to the slave, I said, `Take it and hit Overseer Geoff.'

The slave looked at me terrified, not understanding, not wanting to understand, receiving two conflicting orders in his brain, to hit an Overseer and knowing the punishment for hitting an Overseer.

The terror in his soul took its toll and the cane dropped from his hand as his bladder failed and a stream of piss was released down this left leg. The terror increased and he dropped to the sand where he stood, half in the wet spot his piss had created. His head went down on the sand and his hands came up to protect the back of his head, as some form of gurgling came from his throat.

`What are the reports on this slave, Geoff?'

`He works hard. The shackles make him an easy target.'

I pointed to the weals on his back.

`No more than the others here,' Geoff replied.

I had filled in my two top Overseers at the mine as to what was going on and how the mine would cease to be in my ownership in thirty days.

`You know this slave's previous history. Normally, I ignore a slave's priors but this one was so dangerous that I think it best that he be left here for the new owner. How many of the forty two original mercenaries are still alive who were sent here?'

Thirty seven, I believe, Master,' Geoff replied. I will check that figure.'

`Should I leave them here as well or will putting them into new ownership create a problem for me, do you think?'

`Boss, put the former mercenaries in shackles and bring them back to the al-Kadir property. Slaves are certainly needed there. The conditions at the mine have knocked the stuffing out of all of them over the past year and you can judge for yourself if any of them are anyway dangerous once they are working for a time at al-Kadir,' Geoff suggested.

That I thought was the way forward and I told him so.

`Get those unbreakable plastic shackles put on the remaining mercenaries, and as for this wretch...' I got no further as the slave grovelling at my feet inched his way forward and with shaking hands and trembling fingers he took my right foot put it on the back of his neck.

Maybe, just maybe, there is redemption after the opal mine after all. However, what was I going to ever tell Marko should he come across this slave, his former torturer, in the grounds of the al-Kadir property? As Master, I didn't have to justify any of my actions to Marko or any other slave in any way, but when a slave wets himself in fear of what his Master can do to him, there is little danger in that slave.

The slaves at the opal mine are not kept clean nor body shaven. This slave at my feet had so little of what I required of my slaves at the Palaces, none of the training, none of the beauty of body or mind. Gjon Vlorju was a wretch and a pathetic one at that. I was about to leave him kneeling prostrate on the ground when he surprised me by taking my foot off his neck and cradling it in his hands he began to kiss my instep with tiny little kisses barely touching the skin, and then I heard a sob and he was licking my exposed skin of foot between my slip-on sandal and cuff of my fawn trousers.

It was hardly a defining moment in my life but clearly an important one in the slave's where one of the Fates was intervening in his suffering and in his tears. Melpomene exercises such an unyielding grip on our lives. I was the force in the slave's life; he, the leaf, would be merely carried where I went, or forever rest in the heart of the Seventh Desert if my disfavour of him and his past life continued.

`Up,' I ordered, and his chain clicked as he got to his feet. I could now see the streaks of tears on his cheeks. He stood ankles wide apart, almost to the limit of the chain. If the slave were in any way able to read body language, as those who live by their wits can do so uncannily, he would see that I was in two minds about him. I had promised Marko, my ice cream making slave that his Gjon Vlorju would never hurt him again, and by hurt, I had meant rape, and Marko had understood that.

I reached down and took the slave's empty scrotum in my hand. The absence of balls over the previous year had helped the pouch of the former testicles shrink in size to that of an early teenager.

`You know why you lost your balls?'

The slave was trembling that I had spoken to him and he stuttered, `Yes, Master, because I did not please you.'

`No. Your first ball you lost as one of the punishments for invading this country. Your other ball because you raped one of my other slaves many years ago when you had the arrogance and power to hurt people.'

There was a flicker of fear in the slave's eyes.

`Master, I am sorry for everything in my past. Now, I am here to serve you.'

The slave was hyperventilating and looked as if he were about to faint at the mention of his past.

`If I gave you the choice to loose your tongue or one of your eyes, which would you choose to lose?'

The slave looked horrified. It was not a rhetorical question.

`Which?' I repeated.

An eye, Master,' he barely whispered. Please, Master, do not take my eye. I have lost my sex. Please do not take my sight as well.'

`Displease me just once and you lose an eye, then you will have the other eye to lose; then your tongue.'

`Master, I will never displease you. Never. That is my promise.'

`Take him away,' I said to Geoff.

End of Chapter 17 =========== Contact: e: gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com w: http://www.geocities.com/gerrytaylor_78/ w: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/erotic_gay_stories If not on the YahooGroups mailing list, simply send a blank email to Erotic_gay_stories-subscribe@yahoogroups.com The Dahran series -- a fictional adventure story about the life and times of Sir Jonathan Martin -- comprises the following novels to date: 1. The Changed Life 2. The Reluctant Retrainer 3. The Market Offer 4. The Special Memories 5. The Dahran Way 6. The Dahran Rebuttals 7. The Seventh Desert 8. The Dahran Sands 9. The Time Line These novels are all serialised on Nifty (Gay -- Authoritarian) and on YahooGroups http://groups.yahoo.com/group/erotic_gay_stories