Dahran

This is the thirteenth 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 13 -- Prisoner-slaves

All too true to their word, the ambassadors had informed their respective governments of my willingness to take their prisoners who would then become my slaves at the Lime Palace. The first fifteen had arrived in late September two weeks before they were due--such was the unholy haste by the EU countries to get rid of them now that they had been paid for.

Perhaps I had made a mistake in saying that one million euro each would be my price for taking them for life. To myself, I called these wretches whom no one wanted and of whom all were ashamed, the orphan-slaves, though in fact they were now prisoner-slaves. In the pecking order of institutionalised beings, they were on the lowest rung.

So as to put a number of issues at arm's length, I had each prisoner-slave sent to either the slave-dealer at al-Qatim or al-Mera for processing for one week, whereupon arriving in Dahra, each one had a bracelet put on his right ankle.

I do not know what actual arrangement was made between the EU governments and that of Dahra itself, but I something was agreed on, and I was told that a lot of new equipment went into schools where there were only now twelve pupils maximum per class and into the four main hospitals where public wards were abolished. But clearly some price for the agreement of the Sheikdom had been paid.

I made a point of being in al-Qatim for the arrival of the first five prisoner-slaves. The various governments were processing them at different speed and these had arrived by air. At the cargo airport in Dahra, which is separate from the passenger one, the prisoner-slaves were simply taken off the plane in neck-restraints, I was informed, down a connecting tunnel into a waiting blue transit van, and hooked onto its walls. Within the hour they were being unloaded into the delivery bay at al-Qatim without them ever having seen the airport or even the countryside.

I always still very mindful of Gus Jennings' original warning when I first came into the ownership of slaves that a truly obedient and submissive slave was the product of two years training. So, a mere one week stay at all-Qatim would do little for them but serve as a mere introduction to the subject of being slaves.

They were stripped naked of all clothes and on my prior instructions completely shaven from neck to toe, with the exception of axilae and pubic hair, which were trimmed, and a standard `high and tight' given to all.

It's strange the things you notice, but three were wearing glasses which were taken from them. One had dentures which were taken out.

When a sizeable enema was given to each, there was a bit of commotion in the case of one French prisoner-slave. He became very distressed when the enema shot out `mon plan' as he kept calling a small two inch smooth piece of wood which would not have appeared on any x-ray machines. It looked for all intents and purposes like a small piece of bamboo but was in two halves one screwed into the other.

It must have been inserted very high into the gut of the rectum for it not to have been felt in the probing manual searches to which all the prisoner-slaves had been subjected, or at least, so I had been assured. It just went to prove that you could not take anything for granted in the case of the prisoner-slaves.

The `plan' when washed was brought over to the slave-dealer and myself, and when we unscrewed it with some difficulty I might add, as I was using a handkerchief not to touch the wood, considering where it had been lodged. There was nothing more nor less than a small colour photograph inside it, folded in four, showing an elderly couple and between them a young child of five or six. There was writing on the back of the photo which we could not read as the ink had run, but what we took to be a date was some ten years earlier.

In time, I got around to finding out the story behind the photograph. The slave's name was Louis - the child in the photo, his son and the elderly adults, his parents. It is quite amazing how much sentiment we can attach to small things. Louis was very emotional when I showed it to him again about two months later. But he cried, when I showed him the report I had had done on his family, where the Buddy Foundation had bought his parents vineyard, but kept his father on as a manager.

At the auction-rooms and slave centre, each of the slaves was told how to stand, to be at rest', to display', and over the following week were given fifteen basic commands in English and in Arabic. One understood English. None, Arabic.

After a week, the first five were transported to the Aloe Palace which would be their temporary home for some months yet, pending the completion of the Lime Palace.

Each prisoner-slave had been given an exhaustive medical prior to departure, or so I had been led to believe, but I did not actually trust some of the governments to send only healthy prisoners, so I had Yves Fournier repeat the same, with dental and optical check-ups from Cal and Nacho. Nacho operated on the two who had glasses previously to correct their myopia, and Cal spent a full week on their teeth. That alone seemed to have an extraordinary calming effect on them, as I was told, in the absence of mirrors, they would just inspect the teeth of the latest slave coming out from the Cal's treatment. Cal had found it best to simply keep the slave overnight in the hospital ward until the anaesthetic wore off fully.

The new slaves were then brought to Greg and Jeff for retraining. Nothing had prepared them for the short sharp shock of having their bodies, freshly shaven from neck to toe, with their buzz cut hair style and trimmed pubes, tied to the retraining table and given just one stroke of each of the first five training procedures. The combination was just as effective as the longer and more individual ones.

Yves Fournier had introduced a new product, French, of course, which was the newest and most sophisticated hair remover on the market. Applied for fifteen minutes one a week for three weeks, body hair would never grow there again.

It had delighted me to find such smooth bodied slaves, my own original slaves, at inspection after some weeks, where their only body hair - as was my preference - being a trimmed rectangle of pubic hair, their axilar hair and the `high and tight' or crew-cut on their heads. I found it a real pleasure to be able to fondle the very smoothness of balls devoid of all pubes.

Each and every one of the prisoner-slaves did quickly what they were told after a single day's retrainer. They were not professional criminals in any crime sense of the word and in that way were not `hardened' as the term is so often used.

I believe there was in many case for some a fear of a totally new and alien environment. But also a strong element of prison institutionalisation had set in for some. I found it quite extraordinary that prisoner-slaves would arrive at a closed door and actually wait for someone to open it for them, such was their forced ingrained institutional conditioning.

The prisoner-slaves were then brought in to the showers, shit and douched, and then given their first sex training session, which, at times, required all the strength of the two mentors to deliver particularly if the prisoner-slaves were being introduced to prolonged anal sex for the first time, as to opposed to any quick fucks and gropes they might have endured in their respective European prisons.

Among the first five, was Jens Johanssen and as untypical of each of them as each of them were of him - a thirty-two year old computer hacker. He was the one who understood English, and he had brought down a country's entire Scandinavian government's systems not just once but twice - just to prove he could. And he had compounded matters by swearing to do it again.

He was stated to be a total nerd, unsociable in his habits, a loner, unresponsive to social interaction, quite apart from being a genius, amongst other things. According to his government, he was never to be let near a computer or a modem or a telephone line. At the Aloe Palace, that was easy, as we had none, expect in one triple-secure communications room near the entrance -- a room of which no one knew but myself and Aziz -- not even Jack. Aziz knew of its existence, but not the code to get in once the concealing bookcase had slid out of the way.

Jens, like the others when he arrived, looked dazed, but then I realised it must be glare of the day or the sun coming out of the van.

Welcome to your new home,' I said. You will address me as `Master', and as of this moment onwards you are my slaves.'

Raoul was to hand to repeat in French what I had just said for the benefit of three slaves and Rolf, in German, the same for another Austrian.

Their eyes just widened as they tried to take me in and the courtyard and their surroundings, standing there naked with the wrists velcroed to their neck restraints.

`You will be processed and we shall speak again later this evening.' I nodded to Greg and he led the first of the prisoner-slaves away to piss and shit, to be showered, shaved, and then broken.

Very intelligent people are always frightened by needless or thoughtless violence, hence the bastinado, as in the case of the Dane, to Jens's feet and the targeting of his anus and balls with the corded whip would have appeared doubly frightening to him. Greg said he broke very quickly and had begged him to stop when his anus was hit fair and square just once.

Later on that evening, after I had given him a good butt and prostate examination with three lubricated fingers in the slave quarters - his heretofore untouched prostate a joy to finger - he had ejaculated all over the examination table on which he was kneeling.

Now he was sitting at my feet of the veranda. I had him explain what had happened to him. All he knew was that one minute he had been in maximum security and the next he had awoken in the hold of a plane -- a mild sedative had been put in his food - strapped to a gurney with a catheter up his urethra.

I told him that Fate had brought him here and that here he would stay, that slaves were not ever let out of the country. I pointed out the titanium bracelet that was as now on his right ankle, put there on his arrival and monitored by GPS satellite.

I also told him that he would be assigned two buddies with whom he could have sex and who would have sex with him when he wanted it. He said that he was not gay. And I countered by saying that gay had nothing to do with it, that when he wanted sex at night there would be two buddies available to him and vice versa. He looked frightened more than he had been before.

His two buddies would do everything for him, shave him, shower him, feed him, and he likewise for them. That if one of them was punished that most like he would be punished as well, and vice versa, and that from the following day, he would be working on our farm and following the routine of the Palace. I did not think that he took all in there and then.

On Aziz's advice, I assigned one of the new Aussie Rules types who would be house-broken so to speak and one of the opal mines slaves who would know all about hard work. The mine slave was an Iranian called Mirzan and the other gift Aussie type, was a Chechen called Vasili, but Vaz for short, sold on to `lifters' after that internal civil war.

I had Aziz explain to them their duties and how they should care for their buddy, and they were to report back directly to him and to me, like each of the other buddy teams. They did.

The Iranian sucked Jens off the first night and, later on, Jens told me he was afraid to move a muscle in case something further happened to him of a sexual nature. Had he had basic Arabic, he could have had the Iranian stop, or the Chechen - well maybe not the Chechen - from licking him all over.

They slept on either side of Jens till morning when they taught him how to piss, shit, to stand still while being shaved and sucked off. The Chechen then did the same to the Iranian to show Jens again what was to be done to a buddy, and then they fed him his two biscuits before bringing him out to Dumi to go out to the fields.

Dumi had sun-block with him and Jens's two buddies, much to their amusement, first covered his white naked body with sun-block from head to toe, even working it down between the crack in his ass for good measure and slipping a finger of it up his anus.

For the Iranian former mine slave, working among the vegetables in the fields would have been like a walk on the beach compared to his former work. He had been in the mine for just six years and would have known how to pace himself.

It would have been clear to all the original slaves that these new prisoner-slaves for some reason appeared to be important to the overseer and Master. Though none of the overseers and slaves in the Palace knew the details yet other than that their common denominator had been their status as a prisoner of an EU state.

Jens had been given a hat, and working beside and between the two of them his body soon glistened with sweat and the melting of the sun-block. The other two were simply very healthily tanned all over.

I was afterwards informed that that second night the Chechen wanted to be sucked off and the Iranian wanted to be fucked. It was as if it was their night off from being tops for Jens, but he obliged with man-sex ending up sucking both off and despite being Danish, it was a first for him in his entire life. But between two trained slave-oxen so to speak, Jens' life had been harnessed.

Another reason why I remember the details of Jens Johanssen so clearly was that among his papers sent to me in his dossier was that a copy of the death' certificate having been left in his file by mistake between two other documents. He had died' in prison, and had been `cremated'. This I subsequently discovered was to stymie any form of investigation, journalistic, public or private.

By the time his thirty days between his two `oxen' were up, he was as submissive in sexual matters as any well-trained slave with no inhibitions in doing sexually what he was told to do.

Jens had been prohibited when sent to jail from ever going near a computer again for having brought down entire countrywide systems. I spoke to him at length one evening a little over a month after his arrival at the Aloe Palace.

`Is there anything you would like, Jens? A helicopter and a modem are excluded,' I said with a smile.

He seemed to be at a loss for words and then he said which in a way surprised me.

`I haven't yet been a assigned a fixed buddy here, Master. I mean not after the first buddies on arriving here. I would like to have, just a friend.'

`Jens, I think you and I are going to have to do better than that. What you need is someone who really sets your world on fire, not just something like your love of computer systems.'

But in fact, without meaning too, Jens had put an idea into my mind. After this thirty days out working on the farm, he looked much healthier, having put on a little weight and acquired an all over superb tan. After the first week, he had had no longer any need of the sun-block. His eyes were bright and his skin looked less hanging on his thin frame than it had. Nightmares, which he had been suffering from, had stopped, he said, after about the third week.

The loss of his anal virginity he said had been gentler than he had expected and was as exhausting on him as on both the Iranian and the Chechen, who both well knew of the Master's interest in the blond prisoner-slave. Jens, over the years, was to prove invaluable to me and to the Lime Palace as in the case of Aziz.

Aziz is the head of my household. I had `inherited' him from the previous owner and he had lived his entire fifty plus years at the Palace as far as he could remember or his file could tell me. He reflected my authority throughout and his mere presence, though a slave of small frame, was enough to send slackers scattering to the four corners of the property where they should have been working in the first place. He and Yedo, his giant Bulgarian assistant, saw their work eased by the installation of a human resources program on the computer, created by Jens Johanssen.

Aziz was reluctant to use the system, as he could not type, until he found that it was voice activated, after which there was no problem. Yedo was shown how to type in four or five lessons by the computer itself and never looked back.

Yves Fournier, the doctor, also got a mirror program for the health care of all those at the Palace, with the generic conditions of regular checks, the removal of blemishes, body imperfections and tattoos, a myriad of other medical things which I did not comprehend.

Summer was coming to an end and my nephew, Jack Tuttle, was supposed to start his world tour. He seemed reluctant to leave after two and a half months in the Palace. He did not bring up his departure so, I told him to get his ass in gear as our American cousins can so succinctly put it.

`Uncle Jonathan, you know how Mum and Dad want me to have a career. Could I do that here in Dahra?'

`What a career in slave management?'

I was being particularly obtuse and sarcastic that evening.

`No, Uncle Jonathan, at the Bank. You said I could in London. But could I do it here in Dahra?'

`Jack, it is always better to get the broadest experience in a large office. While the office here is very well run by Gustav Ahlson, we do have very limited functions.'

It doesn't matter, Uncle Jonathan. It doesn't matter. London would be so boring' -- and he said the word as if were on a par of being condemned to the gallows -- after Dahra and everything you do here.'

The `everything' was emphasised.

I did had a word however with Gustav and it was agreed, Jack would come in for an interview with him.

Gustav pulled no punches at the interview and told Jack that he expected him in at work every morning at eight, and that like everyone else there starting new, that if he missed one day for any reason in the first six months, that was it. He would be out.

Jack came out of that interview with a very humbled opinion and viewpoint of himself and his potential as a future banker, and started the following week pushing the post cart around the Bank delivering the morning mail. My estimation of Gustav went up a grade, as I could not have pulled Jack down to ground level better than he did.

As Jack had to be in the Bank by eight, it meant that he either got an apartment in the capital or that he would travel in with me from the Palace in the mornings. We decided on the latter, and as if to emphasise that this was work, he travelled up front with Faisal, the driver, while I read my reports in the back.

Also I warned Jack that from the time he set foot in the limo to the time he got out of it again in the evening, he would address me not as uncle' but as sir' like everyone else at the Bank, that family was family, but business was business. When he replied, yes, sir' and thank you, sir,' I thought that he might just make it.

The Lime Palace was really coming on superbly. I had had a straight road put - exactly a mile in length -- between the two palaces.

Apart from the main palace building itself, with a larger sports and gym complex attached to it than at the Aloe Palace, there were six almost identical three storey buildings to the rear of the palace where the slaves would be housed on the upper floors and, on the ground floors, the service areas for each building and the palace itself. One of the features of the slave housing areas was that they would no longer be sleeping in open areas when fully trained, but in large rooms who took two large pallet beds and basic furniture for four slaves.

The six buildings had some interesting features in that they were all inter-connected by glass corridors on the second and third floors, so that in theory a slave in the most westerly building could walk through four other building and their inter-connecting corridors and end up in the most easterly building.

Secondly, between each building and the next was a courtyard with a number of fountains and some small gardens with pergolas against the hot sun. Various of the gardens were being designed by the slaves themselves with plants from the local desert flora.

Overall, the building programme was taking shape and I was a happy camper.

Another problem pressing on my mind was the staffing of the new Lime Palace, where the most pressing issue was to find out who would transfer across there immediately -- a reduced number to run the Palace itself, but the bulk of slaves to start tackling the new farmland itself and to reclaim the untilled tracts of desert lands. It would be wrong to think of the desert lands as being tracts of sand like you would see in the Sahara. Desert simply meant poorly fertilised, poorly drained and above all, no water. All of these aspects and particularly the latter were being well and truly attended to.

It was little surprise that Dumi Bod, the Moldavian, was the unanimous choice of the various overseers as the new stables' overseer for the Lime Palace, if Yuriy at the end of the day decided not to move. Dumi was a happy slave and never shirked his duty, and was always on hand to help anyone who got into difficulty out on the Aloe Palace farm. It was clear that all who knew him trusted his word and his work.

It was then a question of deciding on five new assistant overseers for the farm work. I was not that surprised when young Jiri, the Czech slave, was again named. We had ruled him out when appointing the last assistant overseers.

But I was surprised when I heard my two now cactus garden slaves -- the layabouts as I still regarded them -- Mamoud and Mehmed being recommended. Apparently, they were now quite responsible workers.

I was delighted when Todd -- even though he was helping Yves Fournier, the doctor -- and Raoul were also mentioned. As no other names were forthcoming, we settled on these six for the time being.

With Yuriy, the stables' overseer present, I had him call Dumi Bod and told him of his new position. I also told Dumi that I would have him in my bed that night. As Rolf, the gym overseer, was his lover and a very fit lover at that, I wondered how the sensitivity of his walnut sized prostate had fared and if it was as rough to touch as when I had first had him.

Dumi said, `Thank you, Master. If I am to share your bed tonight, can I have Rolf share it also with you?'

And so it was. That evening I was rather tired and told the two just to make love as I looked on. Rolf was about to say something, but the wiser Dumi put a finger to Rolf's lips and started a bout of love-making which went on for over an hour, as each touched the other in a hundred places eliciting the whimpering groans of lovers on the permanent brink of orgasm. Neither had fucked the other but their cocks were straining hard and leaking copiously after the hour, then Dumi said `Master, will you suck Rolf and me off.'

It was my pleasure as they say, but when I had sucked both Dumi and Rolf off, although their arms were touching me, their eyes were on each other, as the eyes of lovers should be.

The five other new assistant overseers, Jiri, Mamoud, Mehmed, Todd and Raoul were called in. Jiri just opened his mouth at the news, but no words could come out, other than Yes, Master.' Mamoud and Mehmed rushed over to kiss my feet. Todd and Raoul just said Thanks, Boss' and Todd added, `I won't let you down.'

The following morning at inspection they were presented with their ivory fly-swishes which seemed to intrigue some of the newer arrivals.

Their most urgent task was to each choose twenty slaves who would be the buddies -- the oxen-slaves to calm down the new prisoner-slave arrivals from the auctions rooms of al-Mera and al-Qatim.

At this stage, the overseers and slaves would not know of any of my dealings with the EU governments, but merely this was another number of slaves from to the Palace.

The initial processing was to see that their sex-training was started immediately by a quick double fuck on the first or second night, and a compiling of a weekly report to each of the assistant overseers on the progress, adaptation, and submissiveness of each of the prisoner-slaves.

The system worked a treat and by the end of the year one hundred prisoner-slaves had been transported to me at the Lime Palace, each given two oxen-slaves and under whom they would be trained in. For each of the prisoners, I received a million euro transfer for their keep for the rest of their lives.

None of the prisoner-slaves lasted more than three retraining sessions with Todd and Jess. Those who had lasted three sessions were put among oxen-slaves with the largest cocks to be made truly submissive by the end of thirty days. And the groans at night of quite a number of virgin asses being taken and plundered were eloquent testimony of the oxen-slaves -- whether farm slaves who thought all their Christmases had come together or the `gift' slaves taking their task really and truly to heart.

Not one single complaint of mistreatment was heard from any of the prisoner-slaves after thirty days, and they were happily working the lands of the new Lime Palace by early in the new year.

The medical staff of surgeon and physician Dr. Yves Fournier, to whom I gave a new assistant in the American, Randy Tait, who worshiped the ground Yves walked on, dentist Cal Thorson who was still infatuated by the Brazilian slave, Sérgio, and the optometrist Dr. Nacho Cuesta, were working flat out. Nacho still did not have an assistant slave, but always said he would choose one in due course.

In early October all the medical professional transferred to their new medical wing at the Lime Palace. `Wing' might be the wrong word for it, as it was an entire floor of one the six new buildings, where they all shared a common small hospital ward, and had their private quarters overhead. It was all so brand new and shiny that it seemed obscene that any one should need medical treatment or be sick there. Most of their equipment transferred over from the Aloe Palace, and what did not was replaced.

Despite all the expenses of building the Lime Palace during the year and its total refurbishment, my finances had improved dramatically during the course of the previous twelve months. Revenues for water from the neighbours were never less than six million euro a month, even after deducting Jalal al-Hamdi's five per cent `handling' fee.

The income from the prisoner-slaves was now never less that an average eight million euro a month, and from during late in the month of September of my second year in Dahra, they had started to be lodged in the slave quarters first of the Aloe Palace and then in the six new slave quarters buildings of the new Lime Palace.

In the first batch of fifteen prisoner-slaves with which Jens Johanssen came, a reduced number went for retraining for one day, with great dramatic effect on their overall attitude. The psychological fact that they themselves had it in their power not to return to the training room for a second day, let alone a total of a further eighty plus days, was the decisive factor for most, in choosing to acknowledge me as their Master.

Actually, the prisoner-slaves seemed overpowered not by the fact of now being slaves - a fact which did not truly register with them in my opinion - but by being so free to effectively come and go in the Palace grounds.

They had to this point in their own countries been in cells and close confinement and under twenty-four hour surveillance for. Here, there was no such technical surveillance, just the watchful eyes of the `oxen.'

The farm work by its very nature was not hard work. Hot perhaps, for those not accustomed to the Dahran heat, but each morning their white bodies were smeared down with the aloe sun-block into every crack and orifice and cranny, and this continued for a fortnight, some for less, until their first permanent tan started to kick in.

After three weeks, most were beautifully tanned and their fully shaven bodies -- I had insisted on the removal of all body hair like the other slaves except for a small amount of pubic hair over their penises and axiliar hair in their armpits -- became slowly hard and lean and muscled with the farm-work and then under Rolf's careful supervision in the gym and in the pool. The new cream recommended by Yves which was coming in by the barrel load constituted quite a savings on the original disposable razors.

It was perhaps the introduction to sex that took most of the prisoner-slaves by surprise. I had introduced sex training for all those who would be mentors and `oxen', each having to practice for a full fortnight on a variety of basic sexual techniques on the other companion slave.

I had paid particular attention to having both of the oxen-slaves taking the virginity of the new arrivals as soon as possible and to introducing them to deep-throating, with the obligation to return as much pleasure to their partners as they could within reason, or else go in for a session of retraining.

Each morning at inspection, it became a second skill at seeing who had been well and truly fucked and plucked the previous night among the prisoner-slaves. At times, they did not want to look me in the eye, but with soft words of encouragement and `well done', the newness of this form of sexuality, in companionship if not in wanted sex itself, was made clear to them.

At the end of the first thirty-day period for each new prisoner-slave, I would go to see him having sex with his two mentors and oxen', and the enthusiasm with which he went about it. Those who were still not enthusiastic about man-sex were then handed over to Komil, or to Mehmed or Mamoud who would then exercise them with their very sizeable or beer can' cocks, as Bob the Canadian slave so quaintly put it to me one time.

Any one who had been faking it up to them, was soon confronted with a no-holds-barred session of fucking, and deep-throating, which Komil and the two newly appointed assistant young bull overseers loved. But this happened very infrequently it must be said.

A strange thing also happened at the end of September -- that is not to say that anything else that had happened was just ordinary. A little mystery was solved. Since about February, a small container, a punnet really, of beautiful sweet figs would appear at different times every Thursday morning on the balustrade of the veranda in the Aloe Palace just down from where I would have my breakfast. Flavio, the cook, had commented upon it. But I gave it no attention and it had gone out of my mind. The figs were very nice and formed part of the bowl of fruit that was usually on the breakfast table.

I had gone into partnership with a local Dahran Arab small business man, who had been handling the deliveries of seaweed being made to the Aloe Palace and he had suggested their burning down into potash not at the Palace itself but at a venue just off the beach at al-Mera, where it would be better and simpler.

It had suited me fine, and for a very small investment, which I think went into the purchase of an incinerator, a proper lorry and some machinery, the Palace would get all the potash we wanted each week, initially to be free for two years and then at a price to be agreed after that. The Palace paid only for the transport and the surplus production at the little plant was sold to other vegetable growers and coast farmers.

I had written off the investment in my mind and saw the delivery of the potash even over a two-year period as more than a return on the small amount of money paid out. The other thing that I had liked about the small businessman -- Abu Ben-Azri was his name -- that every two months unrequested and without fail, I received in an envelope a two page handwritten account of the income on what had been sold, less the expenditure mainly on wages and diesel for the lorry. My partner in seaweed and potash was an honest man.

Now with the latest `set of accounts' to the end of September, there was a note from Abu Ben-Azri requesting to see me. I had the chauffeur carry back a note, I don't think that Abu was even on the phone, that Thursday of that week would be fine with me, if it was with him. Faisal, the chauffeur brought back an affirmative reply.

When Abu Ben-Azri arrived with another young Dahran, it was in the `potash' lorry and he parked it at the far side of the Palace courtyard. I was sitting on the veranda enjoying one of Bob's proverbial limejuices when the two approached and I went down to meet Abu.

I had not actually seen him at all since the first time, we had met, and although he was obviously dressed in his best white dish-dash and ogal, the traditional long white Arab garment of the region and headband, he looked gaunt and even worried.

I, uncharitably though to myself, how worried can you get running a seaweed plant -- but I went down the veranda steps to greet him and his companion, whom he introduced as his son, Abdul.

We seated ourselves on the veranda and Bob poured out some more lime-drink for the two new arrivals.

Having enquired about my health and the Aloe Palace and the talk of me having bought the Lime Palace land, and all the polite noises that are necessary to make first in Arab society before getting to the business in hand, I had to enquire about him and his family and the plant.

He seemed a little wistful, but stated that as in the accounts he just sent, the plant was going well. That his two brothers and some of their sons were now working for him -- the wages bit, I seemed to remember -- and with the plant all was well, that, unless I objected, with the profits being made a second lorry might be bought. I stated my total lack of objection. But I had noticed that he had not spoken of his family as such -- relations working for him, yes, nor of himself, so I repeated that part of the question.

`That Sir Jonathan is why I am here. I am dying of stomach cancer and the university Hospital professor tells me it is a matter of months.'

I looked at him and at his son who appeared to be looking at the ground.

`Abu, I am very sorry to hear that. Are they sure? Is there anything I can do there?'

`No, Sir Jonathan. It is definite. I know my body and I know that something is very wrong. It is not one of those cancers that can be quickly treated with chemotherapy. I shall be dead in some months. The hospital is correct, and you do know we have a free better health service than in Europe or America.'

That point I had to concede. The equipment at the university Hospital had either been borrowed or stolen from galaxy class star-ships it was so up-to-date and beyond.

`The reason why I am here is to ask you a favour and in return I shall give you my half of the business. I want to ask that you allow Abdul live at the Aloe Palace.'

I looked at him and again at Abdul who lifted his face up when he heard his father speaking of him. He had a perfect smooth face of small features, very light almost pale brown satin-like skin and the two most beautiful doe eyes of perfect brown that I had ever seen. He smiled and he had almost perfectly natural brilliantly white teeth, but there was something amiss and I could not quite put my finger on it.

I had not responded, so Abu was continuing to speak.

`My wife died at childbirth giving birth to Abdul. It was long and difficult, and medicine could neither save her nor correct Abdul.'

`Correct Abdul?' I did not understand what he meant.

`Abdul is a perfectly healthy young man, but his mind is that of a person younger than his nineteen years and he will never grow older in his mind. That is what the doctors tell me.'

The message clicked Abdul Ben-Azri was mentally retarded brought on by oxygen starvation at birth! He did not look or appear so, but if his father said he was, he must be.

`Abu, I am not sure how to address this issue. I do not have the facilities here to care for a beautiful young man like your son. Surely, your brothers, your family will be able to take care of him, even the Sheikdom itself.'

`My brothers children make fun of him because he is not as intelligent as they are, and he himself is not comfortable with them. He comes here each morning with me our first load of potash - which always come to the Lime Palace - and he loves meeting your slaves here. He knows many of them by name and they have never been anything but kind to him and very patient with him as he helps unload the bags from the lorry.'

All of this was news to me. I knew the potash was delivered each weekday, but I was always gone to the Bank early, so would not know the ins and outs of its delivery schedule.

First and foremost, Abu, your partnership share is yours and yours alone. Do with it as you wish. I shall not take it. Will one of your brothers be able to run the installation in the future?' -- I had almost said when you are dead'.

`Yes, Sir Jonathan, one of them will be able to do this, but that still does not solve the problem of Abdul.'

Turning to Abdul, Abu said, `Abdul, my son, stand up and let the Master see you. Take off that dish-dash.'

Abdul smiled stood up immediately before I could say yea' or nay', and pulled the white dish-dash over his head dislodging his ogal in the process. He put it carefully on the chair and slipped out of his sandals.

If his face was perfection, his body was that of any angel. It was pale pale brown without a trace of body hair except under his armpits where black twirls of hair were peeking out.

He must have been all of six feet, standing on two firm trunks of legs, almost hairless, and between those trunks hung a branch almost as thick as my forearm, of a penis so well proportioned that it would not have been out of place on a young bull. It was thick like a hose at the top and ran down all of ten inches, and it was totally flaccid, to large corona, which rose directly off the shaft and made a flange such as I had only seen in exaggerated art. But here it was in live flesh. His cock head was the size of an egg and his piss slit a good half-inch long and slightly gaping.

But nestling behind that beautiful penis were two testicles the size of small oranges which back up against his body pushed the penis out so that it was not tumescent or anywhere near it, but rather a large and long gentle curve out and down.

`Turn round, Abdul, and let the Master see your back.'

I held my breath, as the pale pale brown skin of the front was replace by the total smoothness of a curve of the body which went from neck to hips and rested above buttocks on which there were sensually globed and racing down to thighs of sinew and muscle.

Wars had been fought over less!

`Go closer to the Master, Abdul, so that he can feel your skin and body parts.'

Abdul drew close, and with one portion of my mind, I saw my hand reach out and stroke his skin which was warm and smoother than any satin. He turned and his privates were before my eyes. No visual feast was richer, and from the warmness of his body, the slightest scent of manly musk!

I dared not touch any place on his body front below his neck otherwise I would not have been responsible for subsequent actions.

`Sir Jonathan, you can see that there is not a blemish on his body, which reflects his mind. He is a good son. He is an obedient lad. He is patient, kind and hard-working. He has also a virgin never having been with woman or man.'

Abdul,' I heard my voice-box say, put your clothes back on.'

I had not yet heard his voice, and I was afraid of what would happen to me when I did hear it.

I was going to say something more to Abu, but he beat me to the punch.

`Sir Jonathan, I beg to you to take in my son. I know he would be happy here to work on your farm, or in your Palace or as a body servant. You could have him do what you wish and he will obey, such is his nature.'

`Abu, you must surely realise that apart from the medical personnel here, all my staff are slaves.'

`Yes, Sir Jonathan, male slaves, that I know and can see each morning. But what I have also seen and heard since I first started to deliver the potash is that not a single slave has ever spoken badly of you. Not a single slave has ever appeared with a whip mark on him. Not only that but I have observed that metal decorations have disappear off those who have arrived here and the infidel tattoos as well, and that soon after arriving all have perfect teeth given by your dentist.'

And then Abu Ben-Azri stunned me.

`If you will not take my Abdul as a worker, then I shall sell him to you.'

At that moment, time took a holiday. Space converged and I felt what only those who suffer from claustrophobia must feel - the walls of the courtyard closing in on me, the ceiling of the veranda pressing down on me, the rush of blood in my veins as I though of such simple ageless beauty being mine and in my arms.

`Abu Ben-Azri, how could you sell me your own son? Let us all think clearly and calmly about this. Is it possible in Dahra to sell a family member?'

`Sir Jonathan, I can sell him to you because I love him more than life itself. I have thought clearly and calmly about this. And yes, it is possible to sell a family member. I know of many who have been sold for a variety of reasons. If I had the time, I would think of other options. I have less than ninety days.'

`And what does Abdul say to all of this?' -- I was asking the father, not daring to look at the son. Abu had his son give me the answer.

`My son, would you like to live and work at the Palace, with the Master here?'

`Yes, father, I would.'

`And what would you do for the Master, Abdul?'

`I would work for the Master every day and love the Master forever.'

I closed my eyes and before I could stop myself, I heard my disembodied voice of before say `Abu, I give you my word as an Englishman that I shall always look after you son here in my home.'

I looked across at Abu Ben-Azri and said `Let us see what is the best way to do this, Abu.'

He did not reply, but was looking out into the courtyard.

`Father, ask the Master about the figs. About the figs' -- Abdul was speaking and it broke my own reverie.

His father smiled and said, Abdul wants to know if you like his figs. He leaves the small box of figs for you every Thursday morning to say thank you' for having given me permanent work in our joint-venture.'

I must have looked puzzled, for Abu continued, `before the venture, life was very hard. I am not really a businessman, but a vegetable farmer who saw the opportunity of delivering the seaweed and then the potash to you, Sir Jonathan. Now we are all able to eat fish or meat every day. So Abdul picks a box of figs for you every Thursday from our fig-tree in the garden and leaves it for you. It is his way of saying thanks.'

I looked at Abdul whose doe eyes were gleaming bright, and I said `they are the most beautiful figs in all of Dahra, sweeter than sugar.'

He laughed and his smile brightened the walls of the courtyard, `No, Master, not sweeter than sugar. Nothing is sweeter than sugar,' he said shaking his head again with his ear to ear smile.

Who was I to contradict?

That evening I saw the full humanity in a father who would do anything to help his son. We agreed that Abdul would become my slave and from that evening on, he would live at the Aloe Palace.

When he heard that bit, Abdul said `Can I now be like Mehmed and Mamoud?' -- he was referring to the two cousin layabouts who looked after my cactus and succulent beds.

`I suppose so,' I said not thinking, whereupon he whipped off his clothes again and sat on the ground. I clapped my hands and Bob came out.

`Bob, will you find Mehmed and Mamoud for me. We have a new slave at the Palace from his evening.'

The two layabouts upon arrival were over the moon at having their own slave to look after and train. In the presence of Abu, I warned them both.

`He is an angel. See that he remains one. See that you look after him as you look after me.'

`Yes, Master. Yes, Master' were the happy replies.

I agreed with Abu Ben-Azri that Abdul would want for nothing in the Palace and that if at some stage he wanted to be my body slave, that he could decide on that in his own time and in his own way, but that for the moment he would just assist inside the Aloe Palace.

We also agreed that Abu's shareholding in the potash installation be divided between this two younger brothers to prevent fights and to ensure hard work on their part.

My last agreement with Abu was that the slave-dealer in al-Mera would prepare the necessary documentation on Abdul, who had to travel one day to al-Mera to get his titanium slave bracelet put on.

It was the last time Abu Ben-Azri and I spoke. He was dead within six weeks, as if having fulfilled his last important mission in life, there was nothing more for him to do.

When I told Abdul of his father's death, he did not seem to be moved, as if I had told him about the weather or some such thing. He merely said `My father is now in paradise and he is no longer in pain.'

When he looked at that moment into my eyes, I merely wished to dive into the soft brownness of his and be enveloped in their lack of guile and utter simplicity.

I put Abdul on a light gym training programme with Rolf in the gym, who strangely enough had to teach him to swim properly -- though he had lived all his life near the sea. In time, he became one of the most beautiful bodied of all my slaves. But not one of them, absolutely none of them, could hold a candle to him for his simplicity of soul.

When I saw how well Abdul was settling in and working so well with Mamoud and Mehmed in the cactus gardens, I decided to invited to my bed one evening because an idea was germinating in my head. If something happened between us, fine, if not then so be it.

It was an extraordinary evening that I shall never forget for two particular reasons. Abdul's skin was velvet soft. It was more like touching velour or combed silk.

The second thing was that after a long session of just touching many of the sensitive spots on his body, his cock was massively hard and had begun to leak pre-cum. He was trying hard to mimic what I was doing to him.

He said "Master, I love you'.

I could not resist more and I started to suck the tip of his cock-head -- it being practically impossible to get it all in my mouth -- Abdul started the same with me.

While my experience normally allows me a certain control over coming or not, or holding back or not, such was the gentleness of his sucking and the touching of my entire genital area, as if from the experience of his own body alone he knew just where to touch and how, I knew I would not last long at the rate he was exciting me.

Therefore with all my skill, and I mean, all my skill, I sucked as no one since Casanova himself had sucked, and Abdul giving half a sigh, half a groan, came and came and came in my mouth. I lot lost count after thirty ejaculations. But I would say that I had swallowed well over a cup of semen.

No one had sucked him or pulled him off before. He had never pulled himself off before. It was as if his whole life he had been waiting for that moment.

The only negative, if that be told, was that after such an outpouring of semen, he fell asleep as if a switch had been thrown and never moved until morning.

I had him as my bed companion for over a fortnight and taught him all the basics of sex that he would need to know in the Lime Palace for what I had in mind.

The road I had built in a straight line between the two Palaces came into its own the first weekend of October when two large open backed lorries helped in moving any items that need to be moved from the old Palace to the new one.

First in were the medical team into their new facilities and what were now extremely well furnished apartments for the paid servants in one of the six blocks.

The straight road actually solved a number of issues. Randy was Pete's buddy and lover, and so stayed in his overseer's quarters in the Aloe Palace. Each morning he merely walked up the road to the Lime Palace to assume his duties with Dr. Fournier, greeting Stan and company who were walking down the road to take care of their early morning duties in the palleting of the vegetables for the market in the capital city.

The Swedes moved across to the new Palace by merely walking up the one-mile road in pairs, their curious individual straw hats aflutter in the evening wind that always blew in from the direction of the distant sea.

On the evening of the first day at the Lime Palace, my own quarters were essentially moved over in full. Some filing cabinets and like would be moved in due course.

When the bulk of the slaves and all the overseers, with the exception of Pete, now effectively the new head of household at the Aloe Palace, I ordered a small celebration be held.

While the grounds of the Palace had been totally cleared of all builders rubble and materials, the gardens were still to come into the own, and without the surrounding vegetation to give a proper acoustic, the new fountains sounded hollow with their splashing waters and incomplete garden beds.

But no one could take from the cheerfulness of the evening. It had taken all of three days to fill the Olympic sized pool and it was being used for the first time.

The buddy system for both overseers and slaves had worked out without a flaw. Only seven or eight slaves, depending on their duties, were working at the Lime Palace, while their buddy would be at the Aloe Palace. The solution could not be simpler, each evening they went `home' to their buddy and lover at the Aloe Palace, and each morning came up the straight road to work at the Lime Palace just like Randy.

Flavio, my cook, had trained in Ivan, the Crimean slave, to work in the kitchens of the Aloe Palace. I was not too sure that he would be a long-term success, as originally he had said he had hated working in the kitchens of the Ukrainian army. But he had basic cooking skills and Pete, the new head of household there, seemed happy for the moment.

Why was I not surprised when Stan approached me and said that he was thinking of asking me to appoint Bob, the Canadian slave, as the property overseer of the Aloe Palace. Bob was Ivan's lover and buddy.

`This, Stan, is totally your own idea?'

Actually no, Master', he said with a grin, I have been persecuted for the past week with requests from both Ivan and Bob.'

`And Bob, could he do the job?'

`Yes, Master, no problem.'

`Ok, Stan, have him found and come and see me.'

Stan merely raised his voice and said, `You can come out now, Bob.'

Bob has been waiting inside the kitchen doors all the time. I found it hard not to laugh at the set-up.

`Assistant overseer for property, Bob, a bit of step, eh? This would have nothing to do with the fact that Ivan will be based at the Aloe Palace?'

Bob blushed and with a swallow said `Yes, Master, it has everything to do with Ivan. I just want to be near him and know that he is near day and night.'

I fondled Bob's generous genitals as I thought of what to say, but am I to stand between star-crossed lovers? The Aloe Palace got its new assistant property overseer.

I finally got around to having a heart to heart talk that weekend also with Jens, the Danish slave and computer expert.

`What do you miss most, Jens?'

After a moment's hesitation, he said `My computers.'

There was a wistfulness and wishfulness in his voice.

`Do you know what the first sentence in the Hippocratic Oath is for doctors?'

He shook his head.

Primum, non nocere -- first, do no harm.' If you were to be given a computer again, would you do harm? Would you do only what I would tell you.'

A sheen of perspiration was breaking out on his forehead and face, like when an alcoholic has a drink passed under his nose after a year and a day on the wagon.

`You know the court said I was never to get near a computer ever again?'

`Forget about European courts. That was there. This is Dahra and here in the Aloe Palace I am the law. You are now my slave and I make the rules in this Palace. But my rules must also respect any number of issues in this country and around the world. So, again the question, would you do harm, or would you do no harm or only what I would tell you.'

`Is this a trick question, Master?'

`No, Jens, it is an honest question.'

He wet his lips.

`I would do only what you would tell me, Master.'

`Again, Jens, no trick question, would you do harm, if I told you to?'

`No, Master, first do no harm and I would do only what you told me, Master.'

Jens was getting very nervous.

`Why would you do no harm, Jens?'

`Because I have seen the harm I can do. I can stop entire countries in their tracks, stop traffic lights, shut down airports. You name it. Once the hacker bug is in control, you become another person and the real you seems just be a spectator.'

`So, Jens, let me tell you. There are no phone lines in the Aloe Palace, no communication devices, no modems, no outside or satellite lines' -- well the last bit was a little white lie but he was not to know that or where it was located.

`If I were to give you a stand alone computer and asked you to design a personnel program for the Aloe Palace, you certainly would be able to do it, but one, would you? And secondly, would you able to do it without it turning you back into a computer nerd?'

`Primum, non what, Master?'

`Nocére, Jens.'

`Primum, non nocere. A program about the personnel here at the Aloe Palace, a piece of...'

And then he stopped and swallowed and continued, `I was going to say a piece of cake, Master, but it won't be. It will be like a heroin addict handling the drug again but not injecting. Like a diabetic handling the bag of sweets, not eating them and knowing that something nice can kill him with their sugar. Tell me what do you want, Master, and I'll do it. A piece of cake, it most certainly will not be.'

I told him the type of database I wanted for Aziz and Yedo. He looked at me and said, `This can be bought in any computer store.'

`But not one designed by the world's best computer hacker with all the time in the world to make it ten times better than any generic product in a shop.'

`Not the world's best computer hacker, Master, that guy is still out there, somewhere.'

`Maybe, Jens, maybe. Now write down what you need by way of a computer. Jens, I am also going to set you up with your own computer system. It will be a stand alone one, I am afraid, and you can do on it anything you like, as long as you do not connect with the outside world. Perhaps you can dream up a couple of programmes to help run the new Lime Palace. Would you like that?'

He came across to me. I thought he was going to make obeisance, instead he said, `Master, just this once, I want to say thank you, my way.'

And he have me a hug and then kissed my hand. That had been the start of our computer based systems at the Palaces.

Within two weeks Jens Johanssen had came up trumps with an integrated system for new medical facility in the Lime Palace which interfaced with Aziz's own personnel system, all of which was voice activated. I had had him install a Personnel Programme first of all on a stand-alone system, which showed the brilliance of the former hacker and it was a system that never failed once in subsequent years.

I then had him make an improved copy of it for the full running the Lime Palace, and without compromising anything, I had the two systems linked up. This new programme provided for following the progress of every new prisoner-slave and his two buddy slaves, his `oxen' so to speak who would ease him into slavedom and into the ways of the Lime Palace.

Each of these three slaves formed a training unit. Five training units or fifteen slaves in all were the responsibility of an assistant overseer. Every five assistant had a household overseer of whom there were five. In this way, the Lime Palace would at half capacity be able to handle some six hundred slaves overall, of whom I estimated in time some two hundred and fifty would be prisoner-slaves, subject to a head of household.

However, it was a scheme dreamed up by Stan that showed Jens true brilliance. Stan had the overall responsibility for the Palaces, in their fabric and security, and he wanted a control system to allow him monitor the entire grounds of the Palace.

A surveillance system, Stan?' I remember saying to him. The prisoner-slaves have just come away from that'.

`No, Master, it is just that we are not well protected here. We are relatively safe in that we are sixty miles from the capital city and a mile from the main road west. But not safe in the strict sense.'

I contacted the German firm which had put in the safe rooms into the new Palace and they said that what Stan had been saying was correct. They had just the new equipment for the job, which came with a price tag of over half a million euro. Well, they would, wouldn't they?

It was simplicity itself. An infrared monitor was put just under the lowest reach of the windmill blades, eight feet off the ground on every windmill which surrounded the Palace grounds. The only fly in the ointment, the infrared monitors had to be connect by a computer programme to a central system -- that was when Jens was brought into the picture. He took one look at it and suggested four modifications. The German engineer asked him there and then did he want to patent the modifications. Jens looked at me. I shook my head and nodded to Jens giving a half-jerk of my head towards the engineer.

`Why don't you patent them?, Jens suggested to the engineer.

The engineer was so astonished that he suggested two further changes which involved as he said `two small dishes'.

I noticed the sheen of perspiration on Jens' face, but he made no reply to the suggestion.

`What do you think, Jens?' I queried.

`Master, it will do no harm,' he gave in coded reply.

The overall effect of the installation was that anything that moved at more than twenty miles an hour on the grounds of the Aloe or Lime Palaces would raise a silent alarm in the control room of the Lime Palace, and if Stan was not in the room itself, a sound and vibrating alarm would be activated on what looked like a wrist watch on his right wrist and on the wrists of the other overseers.

It was quite ingenious and I had Faisel drive the limo out on to the west road and then come back first to the Aloe Palace and then up the straight road between the two Palaces.

As soon as the limousine came within range of the monitors, Stan's little wristwatch hummed and vibrated and a small map of the road in to the Aloe Palace appeared with a moving dot on it. The map changed and the dot was seen to move on a line between AP and LP -- the straight road between the two Palaces.

When the limousine drew to a halt in the courtyard of the Lime Palace, the dot and little map disappeared from the wristwatch. Ingenious! It worked!

When it was all over, I looked over at Jens. He looked grey under his tan and I went over to him.

`Jens?'

The two dishes,' and he pointed to the two barely visible at either ends of the Palace, you do know what they are -- not just monitoring apparatuses.'

I made no reply.

`They are latest in sat dishes. It like asking a racing horse to pull a wheelbarrow. Have you any idea how many satellites I could reach with those two?'

We were standing at the edge of one of the half created gardens between two of the slave buildings. I bent down and picked up a small stone.

`Jens, I am not a particularly good shot, but have you any idea how many windows I could break with the stones in this flower bed. I don't do that because I know it would be wrong. You must simply learn not to throw bigger stones which can stop nations in their tracks.'

`Some stones, Master, some stones.'

`Jens, are you still on the lookout for a buddy?

He nodded his head not sure of where I was going with that non sequitur.

`I have the perfect buddy for you. He is an angel. His name is Abdul.'

I had one of the slave go find Abdul and introduced him and Jens to each other. Jens was looking at me strangely, trying I think to figure out what was going on.

`Jens, your mind is filled with knowledge, but your soul has yet to really experience true love. Abdul is a slave whose soul is full of love, but his mind will never have more knowledge than what it has at the moment. I think he is the perfect person to teach you about love and also help you improve your Arabic.'

Abdul was just there standing beside us and I said to him, `You know, Abdul, how every slave here has a buddy to look after' and he nodded his head.

`I want you to meet your new buddy, Jens. You will look after washing him in the morning and shaving him. Will you do that?'

Abdul nodded his head again.

`And will you love him just as much as I love you?'

At this he smiled and said, `Don't be silly, Master, I will always love you most of all, but I will love my new buddy just a little little bit less,' and with that he went over to an astonished and bemused Jens and gave him a bear hug of an embrace.

When Jens was finally released to the amusement of those who saw what had happened, I said to him, `I have tell you now, Jens, of a technique which you are going to need every night without fail.'

His eyes opened wide when I let him know the expected number of spurts Abdul could produce on any given occasion.

The mismatched pair were a perfect match, like two pieces of a broken jig-saw making between them a full and true pattern. Like anyone who ever came in contact with Abdul, Jens in time became utterly protective of Abdul, who in computer matters never understood more than the pressing of the big black button to one side of Jen's computer keyboard, after which he would put his arms around Jens until the start-up programme stopped running and the colours had settled down on the screen.

But Jens as told me after a hundred and one sessions of love-making as he put it, which never involved in either case penetrative sex, he had yet to find the a boundary to the love in Abdul's soul.

To be continued..