This is the fourth chapter of part three of a trilogy of novels of gay sex.
Keywords:
authority, control, slavery, punishment, re-training, submission, loyalty
This story is entirely a work of fiction and all rights to it and its characters are copyright and private to and reserved by the author. No reproduction by anyone for any reason whatsoever is permitted.
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The Market Offer by Gerry Taylor
Chapter 4 -- Marko
The Aloe Palace had been a minor palace of one of the country's leading families and, at present there, I was the owner of some seventy nine slaves from a variety of countries, mainly Europe and the US. Many of the slaves `lifted' were working-class American who were in fashion or Slavs or Russians for required specialist tastes. Now my home, it was a well run and peaceful household run by a number of senior slaves who were overseers of the rest.
It was the arrival of Marko, a new slave, in February, which reaffirmed in my mind the settling effect which good sex can have on an individual whether free man or slave.
One of the reasons to my mind why there was such little violence to the point of non-existence at the Aloe Palace was the fact that the slaves, one and all, had various sexual outlets, one in having a buddy -- assigned to them at the start of their stay at the Palace, but capable of being changed by mutual agreement - and secondly, the fact that each was jerked off by a buddy in the showers each morning without fail.
I determined however to improve matters and initiate a full retraining program on basic sex techniques and to take comments from the slaves themselves.
Most red-blooded males like to think that they know all about sex. It is my experience that the average male knows, without the slightest shadow of a doubt, a lot more about sport or computers than about his own body than about sex.
If perfect knowledge were to be a 10, the average male - and I have trained more than my fair share of them - would score perhaps a 3 or maybe a 4, on any sex scale of your choosing.
My slaves at the Aloe Palace have more sex in a year than any normal man, red- or blue-blooded male -- to be precise - each of my slaves would have sex on average each year over seven hundred times at the Aloe Palace either with a partner or by being sucked or jacked off in the showers by a buddy.
One of my favourite slaves is Bob Conrad. I had not forgotten Bob's concern that he was not able to take his lover Flavio, due to Flavio's considerable size. Bob is a 6 foot 4 Canadian house slave, a former student and college sports jock who was `lifted' by those who sold him into slavery.
Bob had had little sexual outlets before being `lifted' -- despite being popular with the girls. If his sex life with girls had been little, his sex life with men had been absolutely zero, but that was not Bob's fault -- he was straight as a die, and not only that but with a naturally small anus, and was unnaturally anally tight back there.
Flavio was the Italian slave who was my cook and on being lifted' was fist fucked for over a month by his handlers as part of the revenge exacted on him by the father of an accident victim. Flavio was as they say in Canada according to Bob, beer can' big -- very large in the penis department. In fact, Flavio was more than big, he had a thick and long monster cock which definitely needed to be serviced at least twice a day if it was to stay flaccid.
And Flavio, now Bob's lover, even when flaccid confirmed every single syllable of the sobriquet Italian stallion. If flaccid at five inches long, but over ten inches in circumference, when erect Flavio was a beauty to behold but would have had a tight fit in anyone's butt-hole, let alone Bob's.
I had a word with the slave dealer at al-Mera, one of Dahra's two deep sea ports and the centuries' old slave markets. I explained the predicament. It was not frequently that he was asked for a slave with a bigger back passage, quite the contrary! But about six days later, he stated that he might have a slave to interest me.
I arranged to have Faisal drive me down to al-Mera after work that afternoon. It is the farthest away of the ports, but a most pleasant drive down the coast road with the limousine windows open and the slight sea breeze blowing.
As I had the chauffeur drive me down along the seacoast I noticed some persons on a beach apparently collecting seaweed. When I got to the al-Mera dealership, I asked the slave-dealer what was going on and was told that seaweed was the best source of potassium in the region for fertilizing the land.
Subsequently, I had the dealer's assertion investigated and found it to be quite true about the potassium. I had Yuriy, the stables overseer at the Aloe Palace, then arrange for a truck to the sent every morning to collect a load of twenty tons of it. This produced about twelve tons per day of the best fertilizer in the region. It was one of the dirtiest and hottest jobs manning the incinerator at the Palace and something akin to a punishment duty which the slaves rotated very quickly.
After some weeks of this, a Dahran businessman from the locality took over the preparation of the fertilizer just back off the beach for a small investment of mine as his silent partner, and the slaves at the Palace breathed a sigh of relief as a very dirty job had no longer to be done.
The slave dealership at al-Mera was where I met the slave Marko that afternoon.
His file said that he was Albanian, but that was doubtful. He had been lifted' in Albania where he had been a toy to one of the captains of one of the local warlords in those interminable Balkan skirmishes. The captain had been assassinated and Marko as spoils of war had been sold on to the first lifters' who had passed by.
His file said that he could be late teens to early twenties. That was anyone's guess and maybe the Palace dentist by looking at his teeth could give a better or more accurate idea. He was about 5 foot 6 and only weighed 61kgs, with a small three inch-penis, which barely erected to three and a half inches.
Though Marko's hair was described as black, that did not do it justice. It was jet black and lustrous, and soft to touch. When I inspected him, he was standing at `display' and nervous as hell as I could see from his frequently blinking eyes that were almost entirely black iris. His hands were clasped behind his head. His chest stuck out. A fine bush of black hair surrounded his genitals, a very light trickle of a treasure trail up to his navel, and two heavy bushes of hair in his axilae, quite dense for a young man of his age and physique.
When I touched his skin with the back of my fingers and let them run up over his rib cage, there was a slight whiff of manly perspiration, more the sort brought on more by fear than exercise -- for the auction room normally filled to capacity was that day empty but for me and the dealer and by no means as warm as the outside Dahran afternoon. On being touched, Marko did not flinch or move.
Slaves are not supposed to look at a Master, but Marko's eyes were riveted on mine or at least on my face. It was like a piece of prey or a rabbit looking over at a carnivore, or a serpent trying to avoid the attentions of a mongoose, not that I regarded myself as either.
The slave dealer being a keen student of both psychology and salesmanship let the perfect product sell itself to the purchaser.
`Why do you think he is what I am looking for?' I enquired.
`If the Master would first put a finger or two in the slave's mouth?'
I complied with two fingers. It was like putting your finger into warm syrup, soft and tender, and then the slave's tongue started to lick my fingers while keeping his lips closed all the time. It was an extraordinary feeling of silkiness and quite erotic.
The dealer clapped his hands and his assistant came in with another slave who was well over six feet in height but with a thick flaccid penis, which would have made an ox blush for shame. The dealer nodded to his assistant who opened up a large jar of cream that the slave applied liberally to his penis which needed little or no stroking to become quite erect but did not become really any longer -- thank heavens. It was just like a thick branch jutting out of the slave's genital area.
The dealer bent Marko over and tapped his legs apart revealing a well-used anus. The newly arrived slave went over to him and in one single thrust sent his entire branch of a cock into and up Marko's anus. He did not fuck him, but merely stood there with his hands behind his back at `rest', showing that his entire penis was now in Marko's anus right up to the pubes.
And now,' the dealer said, let me show you something else.' He signalled to the slave, who pulled out his engorged penis, and turning Marko around, had him kneel down in front of the slave. I was standing to the side.
Marko's eyes never left mine for a second. The slave opened Marko's mouth quite gently I thought, and let his thick cock slide inside. I did not think it possible for such a large member to go into any mouth, yet it did, and not only that but clearly down Marko's throat as well, because its full length was now inside the gapingly wide lips of his mouth.
It had not caused Marko to gag, but the slave slowly pulled his penis back out, lest I suspect Marko's air supply was cut off or that he might started to splutter or react, so spoiling the effect of the demonstration.
I noticed that the slave had not even wiped his cock having taken it out of Marko's butt, not even of the lube cream still on it, and which now smeared Marko's lips. I took a cloth off the arm of the slave dealer's assistant, and wiped Marko's lips as he still kneeled before us. His blinking seemed to indicate his surprise at the respect implied in the courtesy of the act.
`Allow me to check something out,' I said to the slave dealer indicating that I wanted Marko on his back on a nearby table. I put him holding his own ankles close to his face. His anus looked gaping and quite lubricated from the previous entry into it, but I took a large dollop of cream from the assistant, and holding it up so that Marko could see what I was about to do, not an intention of hurting him, and I inserted two fingers into his anus, moving them around until I found my target, a hazelnut sized prostate, firm but not hard.
I massaged the prostate for over two minutes until it was now large and hard and then applying two firm strokes to it, was rewarded with a guttural sound from Marko and one, two and a third streams of thick cum went up his belly and over his small chest from his small penis. As soon as the prostate deflated, I stopped, pulled out my fingers and gave them into Marko's mouth for him to clean. His sensuous tongue did the job in no time at all.
Well done,' I said to the dealer. Exactly what I am looking for. Now what exorbitant price are you looking for, for a slave who has been obviously so used in every way?'
`Twenty five thousand euro, Master. He is worth more because of that throat of his. But for that price, he is yours, if you will also agree to allow me send you a slave for retraining should the need ever arise.'
I smiled and said `Ah, your colleague in al-Qatim has been speaking to you.'
`Not just to me, Sir Jonathan, but to every buyer who takes a slave off him guaranteeing them a perfectly obedient slave, and if not so, one who will be retrained by the retrainer himself.'
That title was indeed beginning to stick to me, but I suppose it did not harm to have the reputation or the suggested ability.
I commented on Marko's lack on details in his file.
`We know little, Master. He could be from anywhere in the Balkans. I do not think he knows himself and we cannot speak to him as he speaks no language we know. He does understand about thirty commands in Arabic.'
I bought Marko for the twenty thousand and a promise to the dealer who said he would have him sent to the Aloe Palace immediately.
I said no, that I was returning there myself now and that he would come with me. I think I surprised the dealer by putting Marko on the floor in the back of the limousine, instead of in the trunk, but it would be a long drive back to the Palace and I thought to myself that I should find out just how good this new slave was.
Once the limousine got under way, I had told the driver to travel easily, I blacked out the windows and stripped out of my clothes. Marko was still sitting on the floor just looking at me.
I motioned him forward and raising my cock towards his face, he needed no urging or further explanation.
I can truly say that his velvet mouth and the flicking of his tongue over the next hour was one of the most enjoyable experiences of my life. Finally, it was I who could endure the pleasure no more and I released a torrent of semen down his throat. His mouth stopped its sucking and his flicking tongue eased up a little as if trying to find out if I were sensitive after coming.
I took a tissue and dried my genital area. I slid down off the seat to sit on the carpeted floor beside him and holding him close to my chest, I ruffled his silky onyx black hair until we were five minutes away from the Aloe Palace.
He was quick learner, because as I dressed, he helped fasten cufflinks and put on my socks and shoes. Finally, I was ready and I smiled at him. He just looked back at me with those black eyes of his. I touched the sides of his mouth to try and create the dimples of a smile. He did not. Then I though maybe he does not know how to smile, that so far in his life there has been nothing to smile about.
On arriving at the Aloe Palace, I brought Marko through to the kitchens where Flavio was working.
`Flavio, I bought someone today to help you in the kitchen. Maybe you can teach him to cook a little as well. His name is Marko.'
Flavio just looked at the small figure beside me and said `Thank you, Boss.'
Bob was also in the kitchen and as I left, I gave him a wink and said `Get Marko cleaned up and prepared in the style of our house, Bob.'
Bob got the message in one, and with a wide grin over toward Flavio, he whispered `Thanks, Boss. Thank you!'
The following morning at breakfast, it was usually Bob who brought things in, but Flavio appeared and having put some items on the table, hunkered down beside me.
Bob told me all about it, Boss. Thank you. You did not have to do it, you know. I really like Bob and this request he made of you shows you why I do. The fact that he could not take me, it did not matter at all. And as for Marko,' he said with a grin he doesn't speak any language I know. He can't cook, but with a culo like his, who cares?' And he gave his best shrug of his Italian shoulders.
I gave Flavio a big hug and we both laughed.
In the following weeks, Marko slept sandwiched safely between Flavio and Bob. Flavio did not need Marko every night, but any night he did, all action stopped in their communal cell to witness the ease with which Marko took Flavio's massive organ.
Bob told me that Marko would simply lie there or sit down on Flavio's erection and let it happen much as I had seen at al-Mera. He did not appear to enjoy it or not to enjoy it, but afterwards he would always snuggle up to Flavio and put Flavio's arms around his chest and then he would have Bob move forward so as to be really in between the two.
`Does he laugh at all, Bob?'
`Now and then he laughs at the antics of Food and Drink—theses were my two body slaves—but not when you are really looking at him' and he went off about his business back into the kitchens, but came out immediately and signalled to me to come but with a finger on his lips, for me to be quiet about it.
As we went into the kitchens, Marko was at a sink washing up and Drink was at the outside of the window in the courtyard making funny faces at him up against the glass.
From our angle of entry, Drink did not see us until we were standing behind Marko and, then seeing us, ran away across the courtyard.
Marko turned and saw Bob and then me. A plate in his hand slipped and broke in the sink beside him. The look of sheer and undiluted terror on his face was such that it made me shudder. He dropped to his knees with such speed that his head almost banged into the floor as he made obeisance, his wet hands trembling and shaking on the floor beside him.
I looked at Bob. Bob looked at me. Before I could tell Bob to get him standing up, there was the unmistakable smell of piss and a pool of urine appeared from under the slave prostrate on the kitchen floor. From somewhere in the depths of Marko's lungs there started a small keening sound of anguish and his body began rocking forwards and backwards on his heels.
I told Bob to get Marko up off the floor and he stood him beside me as I sat on a chair behind the kitchen door trying to make sense of what I had seen. There was no common language between us to explain the terror and anguish he felt, and it would, in fact, be another year, before he had enough command of English or Arabic - our two common Palace languages to tell me.
I put my arm around his back to draw Marko closer to me and for the first time I could feel the ridges of hardened welts at the bottom of his spine and down the cheeks of his backside. His skin colouring was such that if you did not feel them, you would not really see them.
There was the sound of bare footsteps coming up the passageway, and Flavio suddenly burst into the kitchen to see what the commotion was and pulled up short seeing the mess and the piss on the floor.
Sitting behind the door he did not see me or Marko but pointing a finger first at the mess and then at Bob shouted `Who did that in my kitchen?'
It was such a stupid scene with poor Bob almost being blamed, that I said `Boo' behind Flavio's back and I looked at Marko and simply started to roar laughing and with Marko held with my arms over his shoulders, our laughter rocked the kitchen until tears flowed freely.
Holding Marko in my arms as he laughed, I touched his pits axilae again and again, and finally between little jumps and grunts and groans, Marko laughed again like water tumbling over a full dam. His peals of laughter continued as Bob gently tickled his feet -- far more gently than would every be required for a good tickle. But for Marko, all this laughter was the straw that broke the camel's back of his unrelenting seriousness and like the single drop of rain hitting the surface of the pond, his up to then poker-face disappeared.
Whatever demons were in Marko's soul were dispelled that morning in the kitchen of the Aloe Palace, and someone who was essentially bought as a fuck buddy toy for Flavio our chef became a valued member of the Palace family.
In Andy's English class and in Hassan's Arabic class, Marko was what Andy called a `sponge' absorbing and commented that he was retaining information in far greater quantities than any other slave. In his own way, Marko was one of my more interesting slaves at the Lime Palace.
It was Hal Thiecke, our Palace dentist, who again came to the rescue and found me the doctor I was looking for. I wanted someone on the Palace premises full time knowing the numbers of slave we were going to have to handle.
Hal's recommendation was a Frenchman, whose contract was up for renewal at the university hospital. Hal knew him because he had referred some patients to the dentist. I said to Hal that if he was half as good as Cal Thorsen, our resident dentist, we would be well served.
Hal replied, `this guy you have to meet. He's better than good, and he has an interesting side-line.'
I contacted the man, a Dr. Yves Fournier and asked him to come to dinner that the following evening. I mentioned Hal's name and the position I was seeking to fill. He agreed to come out to the Aloe Palace to meet me and said he would bring a resume as he put it.
Yves Fournier arrived five minutes before the hour and parked his Renault Megane in the courtyard. I was to hand to meet him and went down the steps to greet him. He was a small man, about five foot eight or so, impeccably dressed in a light cotton suit and looking as if he had stepped out of his wardrobe rather than a car after at least an hour's drive.
`Yves, delighted to meet you and thank you for coming out to my home. Had you difficulty in find us?'
`Sir Jonathan, the pleasure is all mine I can assure. It was a pleasant afternoon drive out of the heat of the city, and no, no difficulty in find you at all. Hal's directions were perfect. I could hardly miss a lime-green palace on the west road, could I?'
We shook hands, always the first sign of friendship and lack of intent to harm among civilised peoples. His handshake was not only dry and firm, it was surprisingly strong. I could not help but notice his fingers, they were long and thin, but clearly full of strength. The tanned colour of his hands matched that of his face and neck. Obviously a man, who was not totally confined to indoor work.
We sat on the veranda as the final touches for dinner were put together, and I had Bob bring us out some lime drinks -- Yves declining anything stronger. I noticed however a certain tiredness in the eyes. I have made it my business over the years in banking to read body language which very often is far more eloquent than any verbal one. Yves Fournier had a problem on his mind. The ending of his contract perhaps? Perhaps, not.
I apologised for there being only two of us for dinner. I said that normally I would have invited Cal Thorsen or some of the managers to dine with us, but I had wanted to talk with him over dinner about the position I needed filled here at the Aloe Palace, and subsequently at the Lime Palace, upon its completion.
`Ah, yes, Sir Jonathan. I read about your extraordinary find of water, not just in one location on your land, but in two. It was in all the local newspapers.'
`Yes, indeed, Yves, you might say we made quite a splash with that gusher that came in.'
He passed me across an envelope.
`A very brief resume,' he commented.
Brief it might have been, but every line packed a punch. Scholarship to Lyons, a doctorate in both medicine and surgery, with a gold medal in some `-ologie' which I could mentally pronounce. A subsequent doctorate in veterinary medicine, specialising in equine blood-work. A wife's name with (d. 1992) after it, which made him a widower. A single son, Jean-Pierre, now aged 22 years. Yves Fournier did not look his fifty years, and as for his CV, impressive was not the word to describe it. What was this man doing in the Middle East, and specifically in Dahra?
I was about to ask him, when Bob arrived to say that dinner was served. There was no need to go through any charade as to my ownership of slaves as he was already a Dahran veteran.
Bob stood to the side of Yves chair as his servant for the meal and Jerzy, the former Polish waiter to my right.
Because of the sultriness of the evenings that fortnight, Flavio had prepared a light salade gourmande to start, a sorbet au citron glace between it and the main course, blancs de volaille au sabayon de poireau -- leek stuffed breast of chicken in the lightest of egg and water sauces -- perfect for the evening that was in it and the occasion itself.
Although Bob served us a glass of chilled Chablis each, neither Yves nor myself took more than a sip, keeping to water.
When the chicken was served, I said to the slaves Bob and Jerzy, `I shall call you when I need you.'
As they disappeared, Yves remarked, `they look very well cared for -- your slaves. Hardly much work for me there I would say.'
`Why did you leave France, Yves?' I said cutting into the chicken.
`Marie, my late wife died, and I found that I could no longer stay in Lyons. A friend had worked in Kuwait and when he heard of the opening here at the hospital in Dahra, he mentioned it. I applied that was the start of a series of three year contracts. My present one is due to expire now in March. I work three days each week at the hospital, but on full contract pay.'
`And the other two days -- you are free?'
`No, not quite. I found my skills as a surgeon were more required for horses than for humans here in Dahra. So some eight years ago, I took a doctorat in veterinary. That work pays three times as much as the hospital contract.'
`Would you then be interested in a job here at the Aloe Palace as our resident doctor. The salary is a quarter of million euro a year with July and August off. You fit out your own surgery and a small hospital clinic to the highest standard. You would look after my overseers, my slaves and, just looking at your CV, I would like you to look after me.'
`Sir Jonathan, in normal circumstances, I would be very interested, but something has come up which may require my return to France for a time, and is now coming to a head. Hal did not actually say that your position was for immediate filling such as this month.'
A look of concern had clouded his eyes, and I noticed that as he said this that it was for the wine he reached not for the water.
`Do you wish to share what is troubling you, Yves?' I said quietly.
He took a sip of the Chablis as if to steady his nerves, put it down and sighed `My son, Jean-Pierre, was caught two months ago with a sizeable quantity of cocaine for resale in his car. He is facing fifteen years. The trial is due to start next Monday, and as he has two previous suspended convictions for other drugs charges, there is not much likelihood of anything but the severest of sentences.'
Yves had pushed his plate away from him, his appetite lost.
`If that were out of the way, what other problem would stop you from starting to work here? Will you allow me to help?'
Help, Sir Jonathan? It is not help that is needed but a miracle' and he pronounced the mirahkle' more quietly than the rest.
I could not help but wonder what I would do or have done if someone I loved deeply as a member of my family, my nephew Jack for instance, were to be in trouble on the other side of the world. Yves' sense of frustration and the powerlessness was sapping his strength with the impossibility of surmounting the obstacle he or rather his son was facing.
I asked Yves to keep up his hopes and that he and I would talk the coming week about his working for me. He declined an offer to overnight, and as if a dark cloud had enveloped his evening, he bid me good evening as he returned to the capital city.
Flavio was concerned that the dinner had not been finished and his profiteroles aux deux chocolates had not even been brought to the table. I said his meal was superb as ever, but I think he still was in doubt.
Though the hour was late, I rang the French Ambassador on my mobile and asked if he could give me the number of someone in the French Department of Justice.
`How high do you want to go, Sir Jonathan' diplomatically he had avoided the question of what was entailed.
`The person who can do me a personal favour which will not be forgotten.'
`Moment, s'il vous plait'.
The moment' was less than a minute and the Ambassador was back on the line, Sir Jonathan, the Minister's private number. When it answers, simply say `Code blue, Dahra', and the phone will be handed to the Minister.'
There was no `goodbye' and there was a ring tone in my ear. I dialled the long number - an international code and number -- and said my code words, and waited perhaps thirty seconds.
`Oui?'
The voice spoke the single word with the authority of power.
I introduced myself and summarised the problem in less than two minutes. The Minister did not interrupt once, and I wondered if we were being recorded. I finished.
`Sir Jonathan, the Ambassador will ring you tomorrow. Bon soir,' and the line went dead. I thought the whole thing a bit abrupt, but who was I to complain?
The following day at the office, my secretary said the French ambassador was on the line. It was a very brief call again. The charges against Jean-Pierre Fourier were being dropped and those of `drugs for personal use' being introduced, but because of the previous suspended charges, he would be sentenced to a year in an open prison to be served concurrently with the other charges. He would be out all going well in September.
I thanked the Ambassador as best I could. I was actually speechless at the speed of the result, and I asked him to ring Yves Fournier, with the news. Did he know Dr. Fournier? He did, and would call him right away with the news.
I also told the Ambassador that he could pass on an item of financial interest to the Finance Ministry that Deckams would be investing a further two billion in the new railway bonds for the expansion of the TGV -- the French high-speed rail system -- as a result of the ambassador's own promotion of France in the country.
Apart from his Justice Minister him having spoken with him earlier in the day, I think it was my news that made his day.
I then did a thing which I never thought I would do or countenance. I rang the slave-dealer in al-Mera and asked what was needed to have a person `lifted' in Europe. I was surprised at how little information I would have to supply and the relatively small costs -- that is in the scale of things compared to an investment in French railway bonds. I said I would contact him should the need arise.
`Sir Jonathan, I am always at your service' was the customer-friendly reply.
`For a price, for a price' I thought to myself.
Two weeks later Yves Fournier started working at the Aloe Palace and, for a further ten days, there was a stream of surgery and hospital ward equipment arriving every second day as he fitted out the most modern surgery in Dahra. I was touched when he arrived and gave me a bottle of Chablis.
`To make up for the one we did not drink,' he said.
`Yves, we shall both drink it on a happier day' and I told Flavio to keep it safe in the cellar.
Yves was a marvellous doctor both a physician and a surgeon. He was now happier back dealing with human beings full-time, albeit slaves.
I gave him carte blanche to fit out his surgery including an operating theatre at the Aloe Palace. By the time, he had finished it had cost almost a million euro and was state of the art from a Ruby Laser for the removal of tattoos down to a cold laser for warts and verrucas, from a variety of new surgical appliances for keyhole surgery to mundane equipment. It did look impressive to tell the truth.
I asked Yves if he wanted to choose a slave as his assistant. He seemed confused by the request and said a slave would not have the medical expertise to be an assistant, and I re-phrased it -- `As your messenger boy, or whatever. To do what you need to get done. To keep the place clean.' He said no that he did not know any of the slaves, so I said I would get one for him.