Dahran

This is the twelfth 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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Contact points:

e. gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com

w. http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Erotic_Gay_Stories

The Market Offer by Gerry Taylor

Chapter 12 -- Runaway

Breakfast is normally a quiet time at the Aloe Palace. I eat alone and tick off in my own mind the things I have to do during the day. On weekdays, it is normally the reports I would have to read in the limousine on the way to the Bank.

The morning after my heart-to-heart chat with Bob, Aziz, the head of the household, came in and announced as I was helping myself to some coffee that the head of the local police was at the front door of the Palace with one of my neighbours, Ahmed al-Karim.

`At half past six in the morning?'

`Yes, Master.'

`Well, please show them in.'

Ahmed al-Karim was one of my twenty neighbours who bought water from me. A quiet man with whom I had had few dealings apart from our first meeting and dinner. I did not believe that he lived locally but rather somewhere in the capital city.

The local police I did not know at all and even in the capital city they were rather scarce on the ground.

Aziz ushered them in and Ahmed was apologetic for the intrusion at that early hour. He introduced an inspector of police in uniform. As is the local custom, I invited both of them to sit down and join me for breakfast. They demurred and I insisted at least for coffee. The police inspector was looking at the coffee pot, and I again insisted, taking it up and starting to pour it out for both of them, and with somewhat sheepish smiles they both sat down to enjoy a cup.

`Gentlemen, what brings you to my home at this early hour. Do you need to know something? Can I help you?'

Sir Jonathan, I knew you were an early riser and did not want to enter your property while you might be out at work', the police inspector said deferentially. I have traced a runaway slave to your property and I would like to go and recover him.'

He held up a device in his hand, for all the world like a small mobile phone.

`It is a locator, Sir Jonathan. It points in the direction of the signal given off by a slave bracelet when the number is entered. My colleague is on the main road with another locator, and when the two are on, we just have to triangulate the signals to see the actual point where the slave is.'

He switched his locator device on, and showed me a green line on it. As he moved it in a general sweeping direction of the outside of the Palace courtyard, the green line changed to a pulsing green star when pointed in one specific direction, which was one of our outhouses where machinery was stored.

`Is this runaway dangerous, Ahmed,' I enquired.

`Not that I know of, Sir Jonathan. I don't really know him. He just works on my farm in Tarim.'

`Tarim? That's over fifty miles away in the north desert, is it not?'

`Yes, indeed, Sir Jonathan. How he has got here I do not know. He was not seen since yesterday midday. My head of household reported him missing last night, and he was located on your property before midnight, but not moving. So we left matters until this morning.'

Turning to Aziz, I said, `Go to the machinery outhouse with Mamoud and Mehmed and see if there is a slave there who is not one of the Palace's'

The inspector of police started to rise saying, `I am armed, Sir Jonathan. It is better that I go.'

`Sit. Have your coffee. Ahmed says he is not dangerous and most likely will come more easily without being alarmed unnecessarily.'

Aziz's ever-hovering assistant Yedo had already sped off to find the two layabout garden slaves, Mamoud and Mehmed, who though built like young bulls in every way, were quite gentle. Yedo actually met them and the other slaves coming out for morning inspection.

Two minutes later there was a commotion in the courtyard as the Palace's slaves lined up saw this figure being escorted from the machinery building by Aziz and Yedo and being supported by Mamoud and Mehmed. The figure was naked and barely able to walk, stumbling and shuffling along between the two young well endowed garden slaves.

`Is this your slave, Ahmed?'

Ahmed looked at the inspector of police who looked at his device and pressing a button, it beeped. It was clear that Ahmed did not know his own slave. The inspector nodded and says, `Yes, Sir. The code and bracelet signal match.'

I was about to say something to Ahmed, when the slave cried out in English, `Sanctuary. Sanctuary. Have mercy on me!' and this with an unmistakeable American accent. His words echoed around the stilled courtyard, and as if it was his last reserve of energy, he quite literally collapsed in the sand before the steps of the veranda where the breakfast table was.

What is this about Sanctuary', Ahmed?'

`Sanctuary exists here in Dahra in certain mosques and for certain offences. Slaves have no rights and therefore it does not apply to them.'

`What will happen to him now?' I asked the police inspector out of curiosity, as the matter had not arisen before.

`The law, Sir Jonathan, says that a runaway slave can be put to death in any manner its owner decides, or if not put to death, any punishment can be inflicted on the slave both as punishment and as a warning to others,' the police inspector said moving over to the collapsed slave, and looking at the SIN number on the screen, read it off comparing it to the number tattooed on the right shoulder of the slave.

To tell the truth, I was more than a bit shocked at the extreme nature of the punishment, but if there were no harsh punishment, quite obviously slaves would be running away all the time.

`Inspector, does what you have said mean that the matter is not a criminal matter, but sort of a civil matter for the owner to decide? I only ask it if the case ever arises with one of my own slaves?'

`Yes, Sir Jonathan, it is for the owner to decide on such issues and the owner asks the assistance of the law as the Master has done in locating the runaway. We merely lend a hand with the tracing devices, just as we would to check a car license.'

`I think this matter can be settled here, inspector. Then hold on a moment before you go. I need to have a word with Ahmed.'

`Ahmed, I won't be a second,' I said and went into my office.

In the office, I took down two of Johnny Greshman's novels from the shelf and going to the safe, put a thousand euro inside the cover of each of them.

I came back out and handing the two novels to the police inspector, I said `Here you are, inspector, a good novel in English for you. And one for your colleague, where did you say he was? Out on the road? Perhaps, we may meet again in less trying circumstances.'

The inspector seemed to be happy to leave and he left, half stepping over the unconscious slave at the base of the steps.

`Ahmed, this slave needs some medical attention. Let me send him across to the surgery and have our doctor take a look at him, while you and I have a bit of breakfast. What do you say?'

`Well, now that you mention it, Sir Jonathan, getting up at five in the morning to go on a slave hunt is not my style.'

Bob was hovering in the background and I told him to have Flavio prepare some more breakfast, and I told Aziz to take the inspection of our slaves and have Mamoud and Mehmed carry the slave to the doctor's surgery.

I noticed that Ahmed had little or no interest in the slave being carried away. I asked him about his farm at Tarim and he said that it was a lettuce and onion farm which was not doing well, due to the lack of sufficient water and that was why he was so pleased with being able to develop a much larger property three miles down the road from me with his newly acquired supply of water from my Lime Palace property.

`So what are you doing then?'

`I'm building three miles down the road from you, and have been disposing of the slaves in Tarim, as they won't be needed at least for a year. Maybe the one who ran away did not like the idea of being sold,' he said between bites of a croissant.

`And how many are you selling?'

`Between fifteen and twenty. It will depend on what the market takes in al-Mera next week.'

`Actually, Ahmed, I am in the market for some new farm slaves. If you wish to send over their files, we might be able to do some business. It might just save both of us going to al-Mera.'

`And the runaway?'

`Let's see what the doctor says. He may well be dead already. Don't give him a second thought. If he's still alive, I shall take a look at him tomorrow.'

`Marvellous!'

At that moment, Bob arrived with more breakfast and the conversation changed to other matters, and the slaves filed out of the courtyard after inspection.

Ahmed left after half an hour or so, and Yves Fournier appeared to let me know that the runaway had a dislocated shoulder, was dehydrated and in a generally poor state of health. He had slipped the shoulder back into place while the slave was still unconscious and now he was sleeping, and on a saline drip.

Aziz was hovering the background. I beckoned him over.

`Would the Master like a report on the morning inspection?'

`No, Aziz, I am sure that you are more than capable of handling any matter which has arisen.'

`And punishment for those who were not well turned out?'

`You decide on the appropriate punishment in each case. Your eagle eye misses nothing and I am sure a simple word of warning from you will put so such fear into any slacker that they will be perfectly turned out for many many months.'

I always felt that some of the slaves feared Aziz and his ways more than they feared me.

`Thank you Master for your confidence. And thank you as well for letting me do the inspection this morning. It was the first time I have ever done it on my own.'

I looked at Aziz, the head of my household, and could see a man, though a slave, wise in the ways of the world, wise in the handling of slaves and of responsibilities.

`Aziz, what would you say if for the moment, that we share that responsibility? I shall inspect the slaves three days a week and you the other days.'

Aziz came forward and kissed my hand in obeisance.

`I shall not fail you, Master.'

When I returned to the Aloe Palace from the Bank in the afternoon, I enquired about the runaway slave who had recovered consciousness and had been taken off the drip. I thought that he would have been worse off, so I ordered him cleaned up and brought to me.

Twenty minutes later, a much-improved figure on the morning wretch was presented to me as I sat on the veranda. He looked about thirty five to forty, with salt-and-pepper hair and a fair amount of uncut and untrimmed body hair. He had clearly been shaved here at the Palace.

Both his nipples were elongated and pulled from his chest by heavy bronze coloured rings, and a three-inch in diameter Prince Albert heavy steel ring was inserted through the opening of his urethra and out the back of the penis. Infibulation, I suppose you would call it. It clearly would have two effects, one to keep the penis always in a downward flaccid position and, secondly, to deny any possibility of masturbation by self or another, or indeed anal insertion of the penis in another slave. A crude but effective abrogation of sex.

The slave did not look in any way threatening and his left arm and shoulder were in a webbed sling, and though Mehmed was at his side, he was clearly standing on his own feet.

`How did you get here?'

Before answering, the slave went on his knees on a step of the veranda.

`Master, a lorry was leaving for the vegetable market in the capital, and I hid behind the crates.'

`But you know that the bracelet tells your exact position all the time.'

`Yes, Master, but we have heard of the lime-green Aloe Palace, where there is Sanctuary for slaves. And I knew that if I got here, I would be safe. When I saw the Palace from the back of the lorry, I jumped off, but it was going too fast and I hurt myself.'

`But why? What is your name?'

`Master, my name is Frank Kovacs. I am originally from Kansas. As to your question, why? The Master is moving his farm and is selling off his slaves. The farm is a business for him. He does not live there nor visit it, nor does he care what happens to his slaves. We heard that you live at the Aloe Palace and that you care for your slaves.'

He stopped, as if seeming to have said too much, but then he surprised me, by saying, `Master, may I ask you a question?'

Slaves, properly trained ones, especially strangers to other Masters do not ask questions.

My facial expression much have given him confidence, because he asked the question, `What year is it?'

I gave him the month and the year.

`How long have you been in Dahra then, Frank?'

`I was captured when I was twenty two, so that was now eight years ago.'

He was thirty years of age. Slavery had not been kind to him and had added another ten years to his physique, which was thin and uncared for, and I would not have been too sure how healthy.

`You have only been with the one Master.'

`No, Master, the present Master is my third. The first one died. The second lost me as a bet in a race.'

Frank, I will not lie to you. There is no sanctuary' here as you put it. I live here. My slaves will tell you for themselves, if I care for them or not. They are trained to do what I want and what they are good at. And I retrain slaves for other Masters when asked.'

If I had said that I was Attila the Hun I could not have created a more terrified look on the slave's face. He literally prostrated himself -- one arm and all - on the steps of the veranda and started to moan to himself.

I looked at Mehmed, who looked back at me. I looked at Bob who was to one side. He did not understand what the matter was either. I indicated to Mehmed to get the slave at least back up kneeling.

`What is the matter with you?'

The slave seemed to focus.

`Master, I did not know that you were the retrainer. Nobody told me. Now I am lost.'

`How are you lost?'

`They say that your retraining programme goes on for over eighty days and that no one has every come out of it a whole man.'

Yes, Frank, I have a retraining programme and it could go on for eighty seven days, but no one so far has ever gone beyond day two of the programme. And what do you mean no one has ever come out of it a whole man.''

`To get the slaves to be obedient that you have them gelded for their Masters and they lose the will to be men.'

Heavens knows what was being said by whom and where.

`Bob, go and call Greg and Jess, for a moment.'

`So, Frank, you have heard that those who are retrained are castrated? Is that so? I want you to meet two slaves, one of them an overseer here, who have been retrained. They are English and an American and you can ask them for yourself.'

Frank looked doubtful, but his breathing now seemed under control, but his head not far up off the veranda step. We stayed looking at each other for some minutes until Greg and Jess arrived.

`Master, you were looking for us,' Greg said on arriving.

Greg as an overseer was dressed in a white short-sleeved shirt, suitable for the heat of early autumn, and loose khaki pants.

`Greg, stand over by this slave here and drop your pants.'

Greg went over to the runaway slave and dropped his pants just as if he had been asked to take out a hankie. He just stood there waiting for my next order.

`Now, Frank, take Greg's balls in your good hand and squeeze them to make sure that they are real, and not some fancy prosthetic things.'

Frank did as he was told very gently, half looking up at Greg and half looking over at me. I told Greg to dress himself again, and for Jess to stand by the slave to have his balls cupped and carefully squeezed.

`Were you both retrained here at the Aloe Palace?'

`Yes, Master,' both replied.

`Frank, do you want to ask them any question?'

`No, Master.'

`By the way, Frank, if ever you are sent here by your Master to be retrained, the two whose balls you have just squeezed are my assistant retrainers.'

Frank just moaned a little more to himself.

`How did you hear of the retrainer, Frank?'

`The lorry drivers told us on various occasions how they had heard from other lorry drivers who collect vegetables from the Aloe Palace, that the slaves here are so well trained by the retrainer that they don't even need supervisors in the morning to load the trucks.'

`And what else did one set of lorry drivers tell another set of lorry drivers?'

`Master, it is said that you use a laser to burn the skin off slaves who won't obey.'

So much, I thought to myself for Dr. Fourier' laser treatment of moles and tattoos, and Dr. Cuesta's laser treatment for myopia!

Greg, Jess and Bob were looking at me as if I was the one to correct such errors of opinion.

`Yes, Frank, we use lasers here.'

The runaway shivered and looked at the ground. With my eyes slitted, I wiped a grin off Bob's face before he spoiled the moment.

Ahmed al-Karim's files the following day did not make for very interesting reading. He was disposing of sixteen slaves in all, a motley lot, neither well chosen originally by any defining yardstick or characteristic, nor with any other qualification other than the mere ability to do manual work on a vegetable farm. Nor had the files been kept anywhere near up to date. Their average time on Ahmed's farm seemed to be around four years, and none had been purchased in the past two years.

I made Ahmed an offer for the lot including Frank Kovacs and we finally settled on a quarter of a million euro in cash. It was a rum lot with an average age of around 29 years. At least, they would know about farm work.

So as to prepare for their arrival, I called in the twenty `gift' slaves from my neighbours who were doing a variety of tasks around the Palace, and told them that they would be buddies to the new arrivals for the next thirty days, that it was their jobs to teach them our ways at the Aloe Palace, to introduce each of them to our sexual outlet in the morning shower and sex play at night. The fact that the twenty of them had received a unified task, even though there were four surplus among them including Ivan, Bob's Ukrainian, meant that they could give extra attention to the training.

Almost a week later to the day of my first conversation with Ahmed, his slaves arrived early by two transit vans. The gift slaves were lined up in the courtyard and Frank Kovacs had come out of the surgery, no longer needing the sling for his shoulder and arm. Greg and Jess the retrainers had come out to view the arrivals. Jess to emphasise his role was carrying the largest whip in the retraining arsenal, almost a smaller version of a bullwhip.

The slaves looked dejected and dirty. Some had nose rings. All had a large Prince Albert inserted through the urethra of each of their penises just as Frank had. All had large and some even larger and heavier rings through nipples than he had. Sometimes the wire of the ring had gone through the teat of the nipple itself, but for those who had no pronounced teats, the ring had been fitted directly through the aureolae.

Aziz took the delivery and informed the new arrivals that they were now the property of Sir Jonathan Martin, their new home was here at the Aloe Palace and that for the next 30 days while being retrained, by the retrainer himself or his overseers, they would be assigned a buddy.

At the mention of the word `retrainer' there was absolute silence in the courtyard and then two of the slaves slipped to the ground and began wailing. Aziz soon put a stop to that, with a shout.

I observed, as I was waiting for the limousine to turn in preparation for leaving for the Bank, that Aziz repeated almost verbatim the punishment for runaway slaves which could be that decided upon by a Master. As Sir Jonathan was the new Master, the slave Frank Kovacs would be punished with five day's retraining.

Aziz called out Frank Kovacs' name and said that his retraining would start that very day. It made all the new slaves cower.

Frank Kovacs looked deadly pale and his legs barely brought him across the yard the before the assembled gaze.

Aziz ordered the buddies to take their named charges in hand and to get them cleaned up. He also said that they should be given water and two biscuits once ready.

Greg gave me a literal blow by blow account of the retraining that evening. Together with his assistant Jess, they took Frank into the retraining room and started by just spending a long time looking at Frank, touching his body here, touching it there, with Greg squeezing a rubber ball in one of his hands.

`I wonder, Jess, if I can perfect my squeeze in any other way?

`Sir, perhaps you should try your squeeze on this slaves balls and see if they squeeze well before we start his retraining. Did you feel the way he squeezed our balls hard, when he checked us out? Better check him out and see if those balls are real or some false prosthetics.'

`Sir, they are real, Sir' Frank blurted out.

`You see, Sir, what did I tell you? This slave speaks when he wants to, not when he is spoken to. I think a lot of retraining is going to be needed here.'

Greg reached down and took Franks right ball in balls and cupped them in the palm of his hand.

`Do you think, Jess, I should try my slow squeeze first or my quick squeeze to check his slave's reflexes?'

`Maybe six of each, Sir.'

Frank had his eyes closed at this stage and was breathing raggedly.

`Slave, your retraining will stop in five days' time and when you say that Sir Jonathan is your Master and that you will obey him at all times.'

Frank's eyes opened immediately, `Sir Jonathan is my Master and I will obey him at all times. I will obey him now, Sir, I will.'

There was genuine fear in his voice and it was not the voice of an arrogant or proud slave, but one who had seen his plan of escape to sanctuary go seriously wrong..

He looked down at Greg's hand and started to say the mantra over and over again.

Greg put his nose right up to Frank's face and said, `If you ever so much as look at my balls again, let alone touch them, you will be in here for a week, morning and evening.'

`Yes, Sir. Yes, Sir. I mean, No Sir. No Sir' was the confused reply.

`Now a simple question, slave. Are the other new slaves going to be as easy to break and retrain as you?' Jess enquired.

On hearing Jess speak, now that he was not transfixed by fear, Frank realised that Jess was American. He was going to ask something but merely replied.

`Sir, they do not need to be broken. Their spirit was broken many a long time ago by the loss of hope, not just by nipple rings and cock rings, and by not being even able to have sex with themselves. You will have no need to retrain them at all. They will want to live here. In the past week, I have not seen a single slave being punished. Everyone gets fed, and only works about six hours a day. On the other farm, we worked twelve hours with only a small break when the sun was highest.'

Greg and Jess looked at each other. Frank was clearly an educated person.

`What did you work at in the States?' Greg asked.

`I had my own pre-school crèche, a sort of kindergarten with another lady teacher.'

`Your file said you were a clerk' Greg said.

`I did clerical work as part of my first teaching job. But I am, I mean, I was a teacher for kids in a kindergarten.'

`Right, Frank. Well, the first part of your retraining is about to begin. Get up on that table and get your backside up in the air. The doctor says your arm is not to be strapped down or we will dislocated it again quite easily, so your shoulders are going to be strapped down instead and the first five procedures applied. Do you want to know that they are?'

No, Sir,' Frank replied very quietly. I just want you to know that I am Sir Jonathan's obedient slave.'

As Greg applied each of the first five techniques to the bound slave, Jess noticed that perhaps, just perhaps, Greg was not putting all the strength of his arm into the strokes of the bastinado, or of the corded whip on each of Franks balls and on his gaping butt-hole.

As each procedure had been applied, Frank Kovacs strangely enough did not cry out or scream as other had done, but cried in his pain as he half-repeated to himself `I am Sir Jonathan's obedient slave.'

Yuriy, the stables overseer, did his now usual bit for those of Karim's slaves with rings and cinches and ball stretchers. He brought a small bolt cutters into the slave quarters and lining up the fifteen new slaves, he had them come up to him, stand very quietly still, and cut the wire thread of each of their nipple rings.

Radek, his assistant, would then pull the wire through and for the first time in years for some of them, the slaves just looked at their bare and ring-free nipples, touching themselves ever so slightly, with a sense of wonderment. Yuriy, at this stage, would have passed on to work on the next set of nipple rings on the next slave.

For this, Yuriy needed a large bold cutters, and in each case, had Radek just sit on the chest of the supine slave, on the one hand so that the slave could not really see when the cut would be made of the metal ring, and secondly, to allow Radek to hold the Prince Albert firmly in place. Each of the new slaves therefore had a close an personal view of Radek's fine arsehole which was in each case just a couple of inches from each of their chins.

When Yuriy showed me the size and weight of some of the Prince Albert later, I was quite amazed at what the slaves must have gone through with such a weight pulling down their penises twenty four hours a day, preventing any form of manual stimulation or masturbation and quite definitely eliminating any form whatsoever of anal intercourse with another slave or Master.

Greg was filling me on the evening of the arrival of Karim's farm-slaves and it did not take a genius to see that he was troubled about the retraining of Frank Kovacs.

`Master, I have no difficulty in retraining a slave, none whatsoever. But Frank does not need retraining. What I was going to him today was pure punishment nothing else. He is a slave who is well and truly broken in. He will be obedient. I have told you of the mantra he kept up.'

`So, Greg, what are you suggesting?'

`Perhaps, Master, a suspended sentence of the other four days? If he even steps out of line once, I will be the first to put him back into the retraining room.'

`Ok, Greg, I trust your opinion. Call him here and I'll spell it out for him.'

Frank Kovacs, recently injured shoulder and all, made a very formal obeisance on the stop step of the veranda.

When I told him that the other four days of his retraining were being suspended, he shuffled forward on his knees and put my foot on the back of his head.

When I took it away, he straightened up and tears were down his cheeks.

`No more running away, Frank, eh?'

`No, Master, not from you ever. I am your obedient slave. Just say what you want me to do, I will do it to the best of my ability and beyond.'

Looking at Frank's nipple rings and Prince Albert, I said to Greg, `See that Yuriy gets those off, but the nose ring stays on for a month. And see that the Greek Cypriot, Spyros and that Brazilian, João, are his buddies for the next weeks.'

Greg nodded and smiled. Spryos, like the Brazilian was one of the recent `gift' slaves, had a long cock which had to be seen to be believed whose mushroom head was unequalled among all the slaves. I suspected that he was really bisexual as he went about his sexual partner with quite a degree of enthusiasm. One of his sore one-night stands said that Spyros had no difficulty in getting it, but a buddy would have a lot of difficulty getting him out.

João the Brazilian the other hand was moderately built in the tackle department but had a fifteen-minute recovery time between coming off and being ready again, and could last well into any night, as I myself can attest.

Frank Kovacs was going to be well and truly broken in and ridden by his buddies in the coming weeks. It would also be Spyros's and João's first time together as a buddy team with a new trainee so to speak.

Each of the `gift' buddies was told to take an extra long time sucking off each of their charges that night and ensure that their nipples were teased and sucked for at least half an hour. The following night it was to be the new slaves' turn to take the active role if they wished, and I was told that ten of the fifteen did, the other six wishing to be either fucked or sucked off again by their buddy.

The buddies reported that as the Prince Alberts had created what was effectively an extra hole out of the head of the penis and that it was quite an extraordinary feeling to have cum coming out of two holes -- the urethra and the false one -- at the same time. This, in fact, I found out to be quite true when I exercised my droit de seigneur and bedded each of Karim's former slaves over the following three weeks.

It was getting close to the end of September and the Lime Place was coming on in leaps and bounds -- ahead of schedule. It is quite extraordinary what money can buy and how it can shift people to achieve extraordinary ends. I always hate to say it, but money talks.

The new Palace would be almost five hundred feet long, with a ground and two upper floors. The upper floors have fifteen bedroom suits with three sets of elevators and service rooms. The ground floor saw the emergence of living and entertaining room, my library and study, a large dining room capable of holding a hundred seated guests, a smaller more private dining area, a service area of kitchens.

Not actually filled in on the plans was a spare large room the size of the ground floor of a normal house. It was just listed as empty space. This was not only a communications room but apart from the bathroom in my own bedroom suite would be a safe-room as Deckam Bank policy demanded. When a specialist firm arrived from Germany to fit it out, enough of the new titanium-steel went into its walls to survive direct shelling and the communications platform itself looked as if out of NASA.

I had found that Stan, my property overseer, with his two Polish assistants, Marek and Jerzy, were invaluable for spotting matters which need to be attended to, and more beyond. Builders the world over will try to get away with blue murder if you let them, no matter how `respectable' the firm.

Marek spotted bricklayers putting in broken blocks into the wall-structure of the second floor, and all hell broke loose when I had that crew fired without pay and a new one brought it.

Jerzy spotted that the glass being put in the upstairs windows was the wrong type, and the glaziers could not believe it when they were told to redo the entire upper floors, or else, according to Annan and Annan, the architects, they would never do business in Dahra again.

Each of the bedrooms was being fitted out and decorated in the style of a different North African or Middle East country, and over the coming months, each bedroom would have standard luxury fitments common to a modern building, at the same time, a tradition motif in keeping with `its' country.

It was around this time that Marek told me that Stan had taken a liking to Wik, the Dutch slave, and had trained him to take his well sized cock without gagging. He also taught Wik a little trick of contracting his throat muscles when his cock was fully in Wik's mouth.

It so happened that Marek and Jerzy walked in on Stan one day, as Wik was deep throating him. Being young and randy Poles, they quickly had an erection each at the mere sight of what was going on in Stan's quarters.

`Sir, can Wik do that to us as well?' Marek asked for both of them.

`Only if he wants to,' Stan replied and looked down at Wik on his knees before him.

Wik gave one final mighty throat contraction and Stan was pushed over the climatic edge and spilled his pent-up cum down Wik's expectant throat.

Wik then reached across and cupped Marek's balls in his hand, which almost made the young Pole come there and then such was his sexual excitement, but as soon as his cock had gone down Wik's throat twice and felt the contracting of Wik's gullet, Marek told me that he had shot his load.

Jerzy lasted a mere three times down Wik's throat. The four of them looked at each other, sexually exhausted- three from coming and one from receiving three direct loads down his throat. Stan reached out his arms and encircled the three other slaves, arms over shoulders, as if in a pre-match huddle. Marek and Jerzy were smiling.

The four of them formed the backbone of my property team for many years.

To be continued.