Dahran

The Time Line by Gerry Taylor This is the final chapter [ex twenty two] of a novel about gay sex and present-day slavery, and with it concludes the ninth novel of the Dahran series [plus The Kazakh's Story which was an interlude in the first trilogy]. ============= I would like to thank very sincerely a loyal readership who have stuck with me over the past three years. In particular, I would like to thank the Nifty and YahooGroups websites for having allowed me serialise these ten volumes. A word of special thanks to the editors and proofreaders of the texts who have been marvellous in the spotting the typos and charitable in their suggestions for bettering the texts. Maybe there is still a plot or two to develop in Dahra, but at present, I am thinking of another genre of novel. Overall, my sincerest thanks to a great readership. ============= 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 22--Relativism

Under Dahran law my ownership of slaves is totally legal. Karim al-Kibbe explained it once to me that the law in Dahra is based on tribal law. I had said to him, `You mean some form of common law?' and I was corrected. Tribal law derives from the tribes, their customs and mores which includes the ownership of slaves much as it would include the ownership of animals and household chattels. There is nothing strange about it at all in the Dahran mind.

The law is further simplified in that so little of it is written and is loosely based on the principle that the four tribes choose a Sheik to rule them. The Sheik then embodies that a power that as ruler he can do no wrong. He is in a position of trust, for them and the entire Sheikdom.

This reflection came to mind when Mustafa ben-Mustafa contacted me. I had said to both owners of the slave centres during my recent dinner with them that I wanted an immediate one hundred and twenty five slaves for the al-Kadir property.

`I am putting together for you a batch of some sixty or so as mentioned of the types you normally order, and Ahmed a similar number. As you know your slaves come from all over. However, I have just purchased a job lot of 45 Brazilian sailors, and I have never previously sold you such a large number of one nationality at a go.'

`Sailors? Brazilians?'

`Their ship went down in the Timor Sea. All hands were lost.'

`Apparently not all, Mustafa.'

`I'm just looking at last week's Lloyd's news bulletin on the sinking which says that the ship was on its way from Mozambique to the United States with a cargo of bauxite ore and sank in a category three cyclone. There were no survivors from among the 49 crew.'

`And you have 45 of them. What happened to the other four?'

`I understand from my sources that they were the officers and were killed when the ship was boarded by pirates in the middle of the night. The crew--those awake surrendered--and those who were asleep were overpowered. The ship was also transporting a sizeable quantity of diamonds which have disappeared. The diamonds appeared to be the true purpose of the attack. I would say an inside job as they say on television. The crew was merely a bonus for the raiders. As I say, Sir Jonathan, all are Brazilian.'

`Not a big demand for sailors in the deserts of Dahra, is there, Mustafa?'

I was not about to let myself be overcharged for slaves, if I were to buy them.

`For sailors, no. For good workers, yes.'

`Mustafa, I'll motor down, let us say on Tuesday afternoon, and I'll take a look at them. But you are still working on getting the number I need.'

`Indeed, Sir Jonathan. I look forward therefore to seeing you at your convenience for a private viewing on Tuesday afternoon whenever you arrive.'

I always find it interesting when going to buy slaves. There is a question of history in the making. Fate is intervening in the life or lives of former persons now enslaved being purchased. Their lifespan is effectively determined by their new owner. A careful owner will get many years' service from the slave. A demanding owner may get less than five years' service depending on the heaviness or dangers of the industry in which the slave is to be employed. For an inexperienced person, looking after camels can be as dangerous as looking after wild horses.

I asked Miraldo Coelho and Georgi Gridov to come down with me to al-Mera, saying to Miraldo that it would be an experience for him. Yves's assistant in the surgery said he had never seen the inside of a slave centre and was intrigued by the request. Whatever about his state of intrigue, I merely wanted him there for his Brazilian Portuguese.

`I'll just take a back seat, Jonathan, until you need me. That is if you need me at all,' was Miraldo's comment.

I also brought along, as I said, Georgi Gridov to be able to gauge the health of those slaves I might buy. Georgi sat in the front seat of the Rolls with Jess as we drove down to al-Mera and Jess had to fix his safety belt for him, and was not pleased I could see, when I heard Georgi ask him `How do I get out of this if you crash?'

Jess's withering look and a comment of `I don't crash the Boss's car' was sufficient to silence my very nervous Overseer.

Georgi was barefoot, but wearing the khaki shorts and shirt which are now the agreed mode of dress for Overseers when outside the Palaces.

My visit to al-Mera was not on one of the regular auction days, but was a private viewing of the stock at the centre. As we arrived, there was a slave on duty clearly waiting for our arrival, because he indicated to Jess to go to a side door in the centre and as we were pulling up, he was talking into a walkie-talkie.

As we pulled up and alighted from the car, Mustafa the owner was to be seen coming out the side entrance to greet us.

`My apologies, Sir Jonathan, I am having the main entrance reconfigured and painted.'

I introduced Dr. Coelho.

`He has never seen your centre, Mustafa, and I invited him along also for his language skills should I need them. And my Overseer, Georgi Gridov you know. He is now the chief supervisor of my new al-Kadir property and is the one who will decide which slave is bought and which is not.'

I saw Mustafa take the measure of my al-Kadir Overseer in light of this new information, and Georgi's chest expanded as he sucked in air with his importance to me being recognised. Mustafa looked at Jess Tollman and then down at his right ankle, but Jess's neat grey uniform hid the titanium GPS bracelet. I noticed that Jess bridled at the look.

`I remember you,' Mustafa said as he put a finger under Jess's chin and moved his head from side to side.

Jess did not respond. As a slave, he had not been asked a question and so kept his silence.

`Yes, indeed, I remember you,' the slave centre owner commented again.

The side entrance brought us through the holding pens and again, Mustafa was apologetic at bringing us in what was effectively the tradesmen's entrance.

As we walked through there was that very unique scent of sex in the air. To the left of us were the holding pens for female slaves in a standard type of beige smock and to the right, some twenty or so large pens of male slaves, all naked, and some quite erect. Between the two sets of pens down the middle of the holding area was a divide some five or so feet high, and it was clear that the mere sight of the head and shoulders of the female slaves from the far right was sufficient to cause those erections, to say nothing of the sweet smell of sexual fluids.

As we walked through the double doors leading into what I knew was the normal viewing area for clients, I was half-turning to say something to Miraldo Coelho, when I noticed that not only Jess's pants were tenting, but Georgi's as well. I passed no comment but thought to myself how potent sight and smell are in a sexual context.

Stay here,' I said to Jess. I'll call you if I need you.'

`Yes, Boss,' and I left him and his hardon in the holding area.

Miraldo took a back seat literally and figuratively by sitting some rows back from the viewing area. There was a stack of files on a table beside Mustafa's nephew to whom I nodded, signalling that the first slave of the batch of forty five be brought in for my viewing, but more particularly for Georgi's inspection. I had noticed that a ramp had been put in up to the inspection area which is about a foot higher than the normal floor. When the first slave was brought in, I saw the reason. Apart from being cuffed to a neck restraint with his wrists behind his head, the slave had a two foot bar between his ankles attached to ankle bracelets. The slave could only waddle forward and then inch up the ramp.

`We have not had time to induct all of this new batch of slaves, Sir Jonathan, and we are taking this extra precaution with the leg restraints.

As I looked at the first slave, a thought occurred to me and I turned and spoke to Mustafa sitting to my side.

He smiled at my request and said `Allow me a moment' and went off to comply with what I had asked for.

Five minutes later, he was back just as Georgi was sniffing the arms pits of the slave. I had seen him bend the slave over and smell the slave's back passage.

He gave the slave his now customary slap on the backside and nodded across to Mustafa Jr. who had the slave's file in his hand. Mustafa Jr. smiled at the sale of the first slave which had just been agreed upon.

This went on for about forty or so minutes as Georgi examined each slave some for a little more and some for a little less time, until suddenly without really examining the twentieth or so slave to come out, a very good looking young slave in his early twenties, clean shaven and if not clean shaven then beardless because of his age, with longish almost shoulder length hair. He turned to Mustafa Jr., shook his head and the young slave shuffled out.

I looked back at Miraldo who was some seats behind Mustafa Sr. and myself. I had filled him in on Georgi's strange methods of choice. Miraldo got up and made his way to the double doors where the slave was now exiting. I asked Mustafa Sr. to see that slave's file.

The slave was as I had surmised twenty two years old and had been an assistant to the cook on the ship. I am not familiar with the Brazilian school system, but I understood enough that if someone left school at fifteen, as this young slave had, then he had not completed secondary education or high school.

His six nude pictures showed a frightened individual, and two weals across his ass indicated encouragement to pull apart the cheeks of his backside to show a very small and tight dark brown virginal anus. A healthy treasure trail down his lower belly to a smallish cock and balls. Light brown hair in his axillae. Two well defined nipples on an underdeveloped chest. A good looking lightly coloured young slave.

The boxes regarding his health had some ticks in them. Others were blank, such as HIV and AIDs. He had had measles, chicken pox and flu and colds. He had never had an operation. There was nothing there to indicate sickness. Just a normal slave, yet one who had been rejected by Georgi.

By the time, I had finished reading the file and re-reading half of it, Georgi had made his next choice, and so it was until the full forty five slaves had been seen by him. Forty four chosen. One rejected by him for no apparent reason. The last slave went back inside the double doors and Georgi came over to me.

`Master, I have finished,' he said.

I took Georgi aside for a moment.

`Nothing else to say, Georgi?'

`They are strong, Master, and will work well at al-Kadir. Are they all troublemakers? They have that bar on their ankles?'

`No, Georgi, I think that Mustafa did not have time to give them all a full basic training and he is taking no risks. Well done!' I said and we walked back to the owner of the slave centre.

`Mustafa, do you have any others you want us to look at today?' I asked.

No, Sir Jonathan. I do have five or six inside, now an extra with the one rejected by Overseer Georgi, but I need these for other clients. That's all I have for you today,' and looking at Mustafa Jr. carefully stacking the pile of slave files, he called his nephew over and said Show Overseer Georgi to the room off the holding area as I have instructed you, while Sir Jonathan and I discuss business'.

`Yes, uncle,' the nephew said indicating Georgi to follow him.

`Let's us go upstairs, Sir Jonathan,' and with a wave of his hand indicated the small flight of stairs to his office and the suite which overlooked the viewing area.

Mustafa had redecorated his offices in pastel shades of pink and grey. The viewing suite had a full wall in glass with wing chairs in white leather. The whole decor looked good and I commented on it. He beamed in pleasure. People love praise and salesmen love adulation. One of his staff was pouring iced-tea into two tall glasses and laying out some marzipan sweets on the small table between the wing chairs.

I was in no particular hurry, nor was Mustafa and we wandered through half a dozen topics, before I brought the talk back to the batch of slaves.

`A good catalogue you might say, Sir Jonathan.'

`Yes, indeed, Georgi seems pleased.'

`He rejected one.'

`I noticed.'

`He has not indicated a reason?'

`No. He did not even mention him.'

`How many, may I presume to ask, Sir Jonathan, are you interested in of this batch?'

`Mustafa, there are at least eight or nine of clear African descent. If I did not know from you that they were Brazilian, I would have said that they could have been Angolan or from some other black African nation. I have no prejudice at all against blacks, it's just that I have never bought them. I do have some five others from Morocco, Egypt, Somalia and South Africa. And I did, of course, have an Algerian beheaded.'

Mustafa was nodding that he was following what I was saying.

`I know your preferences, Sir Jonathan, and I merely wish to supply you slaves according to your preferences.'

`What do you want for the lot?' I enquired.

`I was hoping you would say that, Sir Jonathan. You are an excellent client, so may I suggest a price of one point one million euro.'

Mustafa had done his sums in advance. I raised an eyebrow and waited.

`Well, let me see, Sir Jonathan, perhaps one point oh five million.'

I bent my head forward and looked at him from under my eyebrows.

`Sir Jonathan, for you, and only for you, an even million.'

`Done. On one condition that you tell me what you actually paid for these slaves.'

Mustafa burst out laughing.

`Agreed. Since it is you and I know you will not repeat it outside these walls. I paid six hundred and fifty thousand dollars for the forty five.'

`So! In a week--is it?--that you have them, you have doubled your money. Are you really telling me that you are buying slaves for what? --fourteen or fifteen thousand dollars.'

He nodded his head.

Life is cheap. Slaves are plentiful from the Asian markets and although these are Brazilian, they were captured in Asia and the price is Asian. These slaves were a good bargain as the pirates who took the ship had no immediate use for the crew and it just so happened that an agent of mine in Indonesia was in the right place at the right time. Had the crew been another nationality, the price might have been even cheaper. Had the crew been Australian football players,' and he laughed knowing my weakness for that particular category, the price would have been definitely higher.'

I took out my cheque book and wrote Mustafa his cheque. As I was handing it over, Miraldo came in.

`Well?' I asked.

`The young slave is sick alright, Jonathan, but not in the way you might suspect. He is a haemophiliac. He bleeds profusely if he is cut. It took a long time for him to open up to me. He is scared to death.'

Mustafa was looking at the doctor and then looked at me.

Miraldo looked at me and enquired how many I had bought and when I told him, he looked at Mustafa and said, `I want to buy this slave. How much is his price?'

I looked at Miraldo who caught my glance and he immediately said, `I need someone to look after my apartment at the Palace.'

We both knew this was not so, but I, for one, did not comment.

Mustafa smiled at the doctor and said, `What do you have in your wallet?'

Miraldo took a money clip from his breast pocket and counted three bills of one hundred.

`Three hundred.'

`That's the price of the slave. I have done good business with Sir Jonathan today. Consider it a special price for your first slave.'

`How do you know he is my first slave?'

`Dr. Coelho, you are not a registered owner of any slave in Dahra. I know the slave register like you know your surgery. Therefore, I say that this slave is your first slave. Am I not correct?'

Correct, Mustafa,' Miraldo said with a smile handing over his three hundred. What do I do now?'

Nothing, doctor,' Mustafa said as two slaves topped up our cool drinks and offer some of the sweet sugar-coated hill dates. Your slave will be delivered to you tomorrow and you will receive his papers with the delivery. My congratulations on your purchase,' he said and turning to me, `and no less congratulations to you, Sir Jonathan, on yours. I shall be back in touch with you in about a fortnight's time as I am expecting some more slaves in. Such a pity that you don't accept Asian or African slaves. The House of Mustafa is able to get so many of these, and the cost, Sir Jonathan, is even less than what you have paid today.'

`Thank you, Mustafa, but I shall stick to what I am accustomed to, if that is alright with you. Now, where is Georgi and let us get moving, Miraldo, or we will miss dinner this evening at the Palace.'

For a person who had been living among slaves now for some years, Miraldo had quite a number of comments to make and questions to ask about his new slave. It was as if a new chapter had been opened up in his life, which I presumed had indeed happened. It was therefore some twenty minutes before conversation slowed down and Mustafa finally said, `Always a pleasure doing business with you, Sir Jonathan, and with you, Dr. Coelho for the first, but I can promise you not the last time. Owning slaves is a way of life in Dahra and having bought one, you will want to buy more.'

As we started to come down the flight of stairs into the viewing area, Jess and Georgi came through the double doors of the holding area as if on cue.

Slaves do not look the Master in the eye in strict protocol, though with my slaves I am somewhat relaxed in that matter. As I say on coming through the double door, the type where both open at the centre, Georgi caught my eye and walked to the right of the doors, indicating with his head that he wished to talk with me.

`Georgi?' I said on reaching him.

`Master, I wish to request.....I wish to humbly request that you buy another slave today.'

`Georgi, I am not going to buy the slave you were with.'

`No, Master, I am not referring to her. Thank you. I am referring to another slave that the Mustafa's nephew told me was here. I have inspected the slave and spoken with him. He is healthy.'

`What is so special about this slave, Georgi?'

Georgi never asks for things for himself and even when praise is his due, he invariably tried to deflect it towards another. That is what I love about him. He was looking in the general area of my chest and I could see the tension in his face.

`Master, he is Georgian. He is from Sokhumi. He spoke to me in my language. Master, if you have spent all your money today, it is not important.'

Georgi was hyperventilating and running all his sentences together.

`It is important, Georgi, if you think I should buy him. In that way, you will have a fellow Georgian to work with you when Dieter is busy and when you are in private you can speak to him in your language. It is very important to me that the Overseer of my al-Kadir property has all the help he needs.'

Georgi was beginning to tremble, his eyes were welling up and I feared that he might start to cry, so I stood in front of him to shield him from the vision of the others who were waiting for us. I put my hands on his bony shoulders, waited until he composed himself and then turned to Mustafa ben-Mustafa.

`Mustafa, it appears that I have to buy another slave. You may have to get a substitute for your other client.'

Mustafa Jr. was at the side of his uncle in a flash with the tan folder which exists on every slave.

`What is his price?' I asked.

Mustafa looked at me and then at Georgi and then back at me.

`The same as the others, Sir Jonathan. Twenty five.'

I pulled out my cheque book and wrote a second cheque.

We walked back out to the Rolls and Jess sprang into action in opening the door for me and the doctor. Georgi slipped into the front passenger seat and I notice that he put on his own seatbelt this time. Georgi is fast on the uptake and rarely has to have a thing explained to him twice.

`Jess, some light classical and keep it down.'

`Yes, Boss,' he said quietly looking over at Georgi all the time, clearly wondering what had gone on between us. But it was again Miraldo who wanted to speak.

`You don't object to me buying the slave, Jonathan? Do you? He is not contagious or infectious, simply haemophiliac. A bleeder as they used say in olden times.'

`Not in the least, Miraldo. Though why you need your apartment cleaned further when the Palace slaves do it for you every day is quite beyond me.'

The two of us burst out laughing.

`Jonathan, it was the only thing I could think of saying on the spur of the moment.'

When we got back to the Lemon Palace, Miraldo headed off in the direction of the surgery and the hospital ward. Jess and Georgi were standing by the Rolls as he departed.

`A good day's work, Georgi.'

`Yes, Master. And thank you.'

I smiled at this small gangly slave who had such great abilities with the slaves of the al-Kadir property.

It was my first time with a female, Master. Thank you,' he continued. It is different to being with a man. The female was softer and smelled differently.'

`That's one way of putting it, Georgi. What happened today simply happened today. You are not to mention it to anyone here in the Palaces, and particularly not to Dieter. He is still your special buddy. Now, I am sure you have duties to do.'

`Yes, Master, and again thank you.'

As Georgi left, Jess edged closer. His cheeks were red.

`And how are you, Jess? Tired after the driving?'

`No, Boss. No way. But totally drained. Thank you for this afternoon.'

`It only occurred to me when we went into the holding area and I saw that you and Georgi were almost bursting out of your khaki shorts. Strange how the male body reacts, isn't it, even after so many years. Perhaps, not strange, just natural. How many times did you come, Jess?'

`Four times, Boss. I thought I had died and gone to heaven when I was led into that room and there was a naked woman there.'

`I hope you were not too rough with her, Jess. I don't want a bill coming in for damaged goods.'

`No way, Boss. I treated her like ....like...I treated her, Boss, like a woman should be treated when she is the most beautiful creature in your life at that moment in time.'

`Good, Jess. I am glad you enjoyed yourself and I hope the woman did as well. You are very important to me, Jess. I have treated you harshly in the past, not out of malice, but because you have such potential, to say nothing of one of the best bodies in all the Palace. Now get on with your duties.'

`Boss?'

Jess, no more than Bob Conrad, my maitre d', always has something additional to say.

`Yes, Jess?'

`Boss, if you ever want someone to walk on water for you, just ask me. Just ask,' and the red in his cheeks got redder.

`Jess, as I said to Georgi, not a word about today in the Palaces or there would be a riot. Are you taking Nesim every night now?'

`Yes, Boss.'

`Well, make sure you do. That young Turk too has potential and needs to be ridden nightly if he is to be kept in line.'

Towards the end of November, Vaz and Mirzan, the supervisors of the fifth compound came to me with a suitably chastened slave. He crawled across the last section of the courtyard to my feet apologising all the way for his misbehaviour. When he had kissed my feet a number of times, I told the supervisors to bring him across to the veranda and as I partook of a lime-juice, I had Ben bring out his file.

`You have two acts of trust to complete'.

The slave, having been in the compounds, would not have known what had gone on with the other ex-mercenary slaves. I held out both my palms. The slave was well endowed and he trembled as he placed his warm and ample genitals in my hands.

`The second act of trust is to sign this document which gives me power over your bank account in the Bahamas.'

Had I hit the slave with a baseball bat, he could not have been more stunned.

`You know about my account, Master? I am finished. I am finished,' he cried, his hand flopping by his sides. There had obviously been some residual hope that one day he would be out of Dahra to use this account. I did not bother to even tell him that as a slave he could own no property unless his Master gave it to him, and certainly not a bank account.

On his knees with a trembling hand, he signed away his account to me. He was number twenty three.

`Are those leg chains needed now?' I asked him.

He shook his head and cried softy saying `No, Master. I now have nowhere to go, even if I got out of Dahra.'

That I always felt was a great starting point in a slave and Master relationship. I stroked his cock until he had an erection, and he cried aloud as he ejaculated and I continued to jerk off the sensitive head of his penis. The loss of this money was clearly more important than being handled by his Master for a first time. The slave was still crying when he left me, and I was sure that it was not because I had made him ejaculate.

The running of the opal mine by my team from the Palaces had lasted little over two months and concluded with the arrival of Farouq's own production team and the first of his own slaves. According to Geoff Masters, he had very different ideas as to how the mine was to be run and commented to me that my slaves were better out of there as their long-term survival would have dropped considerably.

There was an air of expectancy or perhaps it was unease among the former mercenary slaves. A Master can sense these things. It was not anything tangible. It is like a scent on the evening breeze, nothing substantial yet there. There had been unease since the fight in which Sam and Ethan had blows rained down on them. It was as if some of the former mercenary slaves held a grievance against them for having signed over their bank accounts to me, their Master.

In some matters, it is better to face the problem directly. There were only thirty seven former mercenary slaves left alive. Five had died over the previous eighteen months at the opal mine. These were the survivors who had now been brought back in leg chains to the al-Kadir property after Farouq al-Hamdi had bought back his former mine. For some reason, I do not fear my slaves. I am comfortable with them in my presence no matter what their previous background may have been. I did realise that many of the former mercenaries were expert in martial arts and hand to hand combat, even in deadly unarmed one-to-one manoeuvres, and yet, I was afraid of not a single one of these slaves.

I had Sabir Temirov assemble the former mercenaries and march them up to the Lemon Palace courtyard, marching them as much as leg chains would allow. When Sabir informed me that they were standing in formation `at rest' in the courtyard, I left them for an hour in the afternoon sun, while I perused their files again, with particular reference to the fourteen who had not yet signed over their bank accounts, and had Sabir separate the fourteen so that they faced the others who had. This, I felt would be a Rubicon for each of them. Once over it, they would not be able to look back at it as a possible coney burrow of future escape.

As I walked down the steps of the veranda onto the courtyard, Sabir snapped out `at display' and the slaves put their hands behind their necks and pushed out their chests for the inspection of their Master.

Admittedly they looked beautiful, each in his own way. For ex-mercenaries they cleaned up extremely well. There was a positive glow of health about them, several with semi-tumescent cocks--always a good sign of health, even though all of them had only one ball--the other having been forfeited upon being acquired by me as a precaution against violence. A half a dozen of them had received optic laser treatment for short-sightedness; while one had received a hernia operation, another eight had cysts, moles or ingrown toenails removed, and a variety of smaller surgical interventions. All had passed through Dr. Cal's dental surgery.

As I inspected them my senses told me that they were not now uneasy, so much as worried, as to why they had been singled out--clearly as the former mercenary group. But why? If any of them were slow on the uptake, the separation of the group into two groups would have given even the slowest a chance to grasp the statement of fact.

I stood in front of the group of fourteen slaves and taking a sheet from my pocket, I read out each one's first name and the amount in their specific bank accounts around the world. It is quite amazing what money in bribes can purchase. There was just over a million euro in the fourteen accounts all told. When I had finished there was deadly silence in the courtyard. Some crickets were chirping the gardens.

`Two weeks ago I bought forty five slaves with the same amount of money as in your accounts. Money is useless unless you can use it, and as slaves you cannot and will not be able to use it. Ever! As slaves, what you once owned I now own. I do not need your money, but it insults me that unlike your companions here, you insist on keeping what is now not yours.'

I could see a stirring in the two ranks of slaves before me.

`In my ownership, you have not been harmed. Quite the contrary, you have been fed and cared for. Does anyone of you have a question to ask me?'

I could see movement and hear that there was murmuring and comment between the slaves, but not loud enough to allow for understanding. The fourteen slaves looked fit and in shape as one would expect of former military. The murmuring disappeared and finally one well built slave in his late twenties put up his hand. I nodded to him to speak.

`What's in it for us? For any of us?'--The accent was from one of the southern States.

I see that you still don't get it. You are slaves. Your question should have started with the word Master'. You are thinking like a freeman which you no longer are. There is nothing in life for a slave but to serve his Master. What's in it for you, you ask? The answer is nothing, except by signing over your bank accounts you show that you are my slaves. By seeking things for yourselves, you are thinking like freemen. You should be thinking on how to please your Master. Am I going to promise you something for signing over your money? No, I am not. It will simply please me that you have. Nothing more. Nothing less. The slave is here to please his Master at all times. The slave is here to place his trust in his Master at all times.'

I had said enough. I let my words hang in the afternoon air. I was looking at the slave who had asked the question and I could see a further question forming on his lips. It did not take long in being asked.

`Master, if any of us don't sign over the bank account, will we be sold to someone else?'

`I am not a vindictive Master. If I did sell you on to someone else and that Master found out that you had money stashed away, your life would be short and it would be a tortured one; that I could almost guarantee. No, you will continue to work as slaves on the al-Kadir property. But you will never rise to be a supervisor or to be in a position of trust, nor would you ever be allowed to approach me to make a request as every slave here can do each evening from no matter which Palace. I would simply ignore you. Very simply put, I cannot trust you as slaves, if you do not trust me as Master. It is for each of you to decide. If your dreams of life have been shattered, it is not I who has shattered them. If you are disillusioned, I have not disillusioned you. If your hopes and dreams are gone, I have not taken them. The fates have put you in my hands. You must decide your own destiny in the context of being my slaves. You have until inspection tomorrow morning.'

I had said more than enough to these slaves, and beckoning to the other slaves behind me who had already signed papers, I indicated to them to follow me into the water-gardens of the Lemon Palace.

As we made our way deeper into the gardens, Sam Madison was at my side, and he said `Master, what are you going to do to those you left in the courtyard?'

`As you have seen, Sam, nothing. I gave them no command to disperse to go anywhere, to do anything. I'll expect to see them at inspection tomorrow which I will take instead of the Head of Stables, at least for their kofilas.'

`Master, you're not going to torture them to sign those papers?'

`Torture them? Whatever for? For a million euro? Each of you, Sam, is a valuable slave who will give me many years of service. That service can be happy and enjoyable, or it can be sad and depressing. Why? Because there is nothing sadder or more depressing in this life than to be taken for granted, to be ignored, not to be talked to, not to be appreciated. That is what will happen to those who defy me. Do you understand?'

`I think so, Master.'

I looked at the slave, a fine military type, who would have filled out any uniform to perfection. He had a fine upper body which was quite muscled, well defined pecs and nicely pointed nipples. I took his right nipples between my thumb and forefinger. The other slaves were now looking at us.

`Sensitive?'

`Yes, Master, very.'

`But am I hurting you? I don't think so, and yet you are not pulling away. You see, Sam, this is a small act of trust with your Master,' I said as I continued to stroke the nipple, and I heard a small groan escaping the back of the slave's throat.

`No, Master, but I am half-afraid that you will.'

`As Master, I can, if I wish and you can do nothing about it. I choose not to at this moment. This is where your trust kicks in. Now, tell me, among the slaves here, who would be a good supervisor for a kofila?'

`Master, you want me to suggest a name?'

`Yes, a good leader who works harder than anyone else in the kofila whom the other slaves would respect. Who would be your first thought?'

I saw the slave swallow and then, he nodded towards one the slaves listening to us.

`Sandy is a good worker, Master, and he used to be a sergeant.'

I went over to the slave Sam had indicated. He looked apprehensive and curious at the same time. A firm jaw which I took in my hand, and moved his head from one side to another. I pressed his cheeks which made his mouth open. His teeth were perfect. I inserted a finger into his mouth, more to see his reaction than anything else. He blinked as my finger pressed down his tongue.

A sergeant, eh?' I said withdrawing the finger, not in the invasion itself?

`No, si..Master. In the Army.'

`Why did you leave? Not a career for you?'

`No, Master. I had an affair with a captain's wife and he found out about it. It was a question of resign or face a court-martial. I resigned.'

`And that led on to mercenary work?'

`Yes, Master?'

`How much did you sign over to me?'

`Sixty two thousand dollars, Master.'

`No career, no woman, no work, and now, no money. A lot of negatives, eh, Sandy? How about turning all of that around?' I said running my hand down his belly, into his pubes and grasping a fine semi-tumescent circumcised cock.

The ex-mercenary rose slightly on his toes at the feel of my hand on his privates, but kept an unbroken look into my eyes, and asked `As a slave, Master?'

`As a slave who is now a trusted supervisor for his Master. A slave who neither knows nor loves his Master or what his Master wants is a poor slave. A slave must be willing to learn a new way of life.'

`Thank you, Master.'

I let the slave's now erect cock go, and turning to Sam and Ethan said, `Divide the group into three kofilas of seven slaves to each of you. Let Overseer Georgi know my decision; he will have to find other kofilas for three of the Swedish Supervisors. Have Sandy's chains taken off.'

Turning to the assembled slaves, I said `your group from the opal mine will stay together. You now have three new supervisors, Sam, Ethan and Sandy here. Make sure that you find a sex buddy over the next days. In obeying your supervisor, you are obeying me.'

I thought I saw a number of envious glances at the three supervisors. The three supervisors drew a little closer to me, and I heard Ethan say, `thank you, Master,' which was then echoed by the other two.

`One thing, each of you should know, is that a very good way for a supervisor to put his mark on a kofila is to fuck each member of the kofila during the first week, and if you fuck each slave before the assembled others, it is all the more forceful a reminder of who is the supervisor and who is the slave.'

I could see the shock on the faces of all three new supervisors.

`Don't worry any of you. I have every confidence that each of you will be able to do that. Nothing too brutal, but by the same token, nothing too gentle. The slaves need to know who is the boss of the kofila and who has the Master's confidence. Do you think each of you will be able to do that.'

I saw Sam and Sandy nod. Ethan looked dubious and said `Master, do we have to tell you when all have been...fucked.'

`No, Ethan. You do it. You don't have to confirm anything to me. You have heard the suggestion. What a Master suggests has for you the force, the weight of a direct order. You need nothing more from me.'

The slave swallowed hard, and in a way, he was the microcosm of every slave. In a new environment, new rules had to be learned and he was learning fast.

So too were the fourteen ex-mercenaries who had not signed over their bank accounts. Whatever was said overnight by whomever to them, they were all already before inspection the following morning, walking up to Ben Trant, my secretary, to sign the powers of attorney which he had laid out on a table on the veranda of the Lemon Palace. Having signed they seemed to be at a loss as to what to do until Ben ordered them to line up for inspection, and having been inspected to report back to Overseer Georgi at the al-Kadir properties.

I took my time inspecting these fourteen ex-military types as a Master should, particularly when they had given me a first sign of both individual and collective trust. I spent extra time with the two whom I had identified as being the most rebellious and the least willing to trust me, bringing them to erection and then flicking my middle finger off the top of their penis to get rid of the erection.

After inspection, you two will suck each other off. No one else needs to see it. It is my order to the two of you. In a month's time, we will speak again,' I said to both of these slaves. You have done well today. Let's see how quickly you adjust to serving me.'

That, in summary, is what the entire issue of Master and slave is about--a total and committed service of the latter to his Master, and the guidance of the Master in the present life of his slave, clearly indicating that the slave has something to live and look forward to.

That evening I took Matt Peoples to my bed. It was a watershed, because after that date I discontinued the lists of bed companions for myself, and let it be known to one and all that this eldest brother of the Peoples was now to be my long-time companion at night.

Each day he would have duties around the various Palaces. This once bruised but beautiful slave was the essence of what a slave should be; no matter how punished or demeaned, capable of restoring himself time and time again to the full service of his Master's needs.

At night and in the morning, the softness of his mouth on my expectant cock was a delight that I looked forward to during the day and on those rare occasions I would awake during the night.

His nipples and other piercings had totally healed. The operation on the septum of his nose has closed the ring opening, and I found the subcutaneous ridges from his previous beatings under the skin of his backside to be quite, quite erotic.

`Matt, I cannot promise you that I will not have sex with other slaves, but you alone I can promise my love,' I whispered.

Jonathan, I accept your love,' he said in that husky rasped voice of his, and I give you mine entirely. I will never sleep with anyone else but you or make love with anyone else but you. You are the Master of this Palace and you can do with me what you want. I promise you that I will love you till the day I die, but I want you as master to exercise your rights over your slaves and I will not be jealous when you do.'

I looked at his beauty lying beside me and kissed his neck, and the softness of the hollow of his throat. I sucked the slightly damp hairs of his armpit and he gurgled some form of appreciation. I licked and then nipped with my teeth his studly nipples and he groaned. He tried to pull me on top of him so that his hands would have access to my back which he knows I love to have caressed and fingertip massaged, but I held one of his arms by the wrist and kissed and licked the inner angle of his elbow and then whispered secret words in his ear. I was not longer a Sir' or a Master' or a `Boss' for him, between us there would be no barrier of ownership, but simply a bond of love.

Jonathan,' his voice was raspy, I want to love you too. I don't know how I can fully. I want to learn with you and from you. I want no one else but you,' he whispered in his voiced throatiness.

`Matt, I love you more than any other and whatever else happens in this time line, you are mine and I am yours.'

Dahra, November 20xx End of Chapter 22 and End of Novel =========== 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