This is the nineteenth chapter of part three of a trilogy of novels of gay sex.
Keywords: authority, control, slavery, punishment, re-training, submission, loyalty
This story is entirely a work of fiction and all rights to it and its characters are copyright and private to and reserved by the author. No reproduction by anyone for any reason whatsoever is permitted.
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The Market Offer by Gerry Taylor
Chapter 19 -- Prisoner-slaves again
It was now November and the transfer of the majority of the slaves and of all the facilities had taken place to the Lime Palace. The builders and architects, fair dues to them after their upbraiding by Stan and his eagle-eyed assistants Marek and Jerzy, brought the Palace in on time.
Like any new building its interior decoration would take more time to finish at our leisure and pleasure, but the slaves were particular pleased at having sleeping quarters on second and third floors with fine views of the desert landscape the majority of them from quarters which now housed only four slaves each. Also the early evening views of purple and red sunsets, so unusual in the Gulf area, had to be seen to be appreciated.
A new larger type pallet had been installed throughout to allow for a comfortable night's sleep for two buddies and an another slave where that might be required during the initial thirty-day training.
I have always believed that there are three great restorers of equilibrium to the human condition, which must be extended to slavedom as well, sleep, sex and tears. All three in their own way wash away the cares of life and restore us all.
Whether it was the combination of manual labour of the farm work and the clear desert air, but I had heard of no one who slept poorly at the Lime Palace or previously at the Aloe Palace after their first few weeks there.
I placed a high level of importance on twice daily sex as a norm, and at the morning jerk off or suck off in the showers at a required minimum. But after sex, there is the desire to sleep at night, and after sex in the morning, there is that delightful feeling of being alive.
Tears on the other hand are the floodgates of the soul which can no longer hold things together and once released invariably bring peace and restore equilibrium to the soul.
Eight months had passed between the first meeting with Sir Graham and the diplomats and the arrival in September of the first prisoner-slave at the Aloe Palace. And what happened to Jens Johanssen, the first of the EU prisoner-slaves to arrive in September, happened in the following weeks to four others, and a month later a further fifteen and then to a constant flow.
None had to be retrained by Greg for beyond a morning or evening and he expressed disappointment at that as he was only getting past using his first five techniques, which he had now thoroughly mastered with all successes and no failures.
The diet regime, the early morning work, the gym training, the buddy system, learning either English or Arabic or in half the cases learning both, the evening swim, all created a lifestyle totally different to what some had endured for many years.
The placing of the prisoner-slaves between the `oxen' worked well. They were being jerked off regularly. They were being trained in the ways of the Lime Palace. Even at work in the fields, they seemed to be doing well, even if at times, one or other of them just stood still to look a high-flying hawk and going on his hands and knees to look at one of those pink desert flowers which grew in clumps in the area.
A blind eye was turned to some of their antics, like one falling on his knees to look at a worm unearthed in the soil, or another going across a couple of lines of slaves for no apparent reason and then bursting into tears, clutching himself around the chest as he saw some desert flowers growing beside a rock. It was a time of adapting for them, coming all of them from a régime of close surveillance, to that of the open companionship of the two `oxen-slaves' and the company of others who would become their friends.
One of the side results of the first well of water not being able to be capped for almost half a day and it covering so much of the surrounding land under water, which did disappear totally after two days, was that within the month the entire area which had been submerged in the water took on a verdant hue as seeds dormant of years sprouted. The prisoner-slaves, in particular, kept bring back plants such as the local Ledebouria bluebell and the Adenium obesum, a type of desert rose as it is called, to put into the gardens between the buildings and around the fountains.
I did have all the slaves stay assembled after that first evening meal at the Lime Palace -- we had taken to having a bowl of soup at this stage with the two evening biscuits. It was most relaxing to see so many slaves just sitting down and feeding their buddies. But on this occasion, I wanted it to be more for all of us, a kind of inauguration of the new Lime Palace.
I had Bob making gallons of his limewater and Marko spend a day making ice-cream. I thought that together with the soup, it would be as much as stomachs unaccustomed to bulky food could take. There was almost an absolute and unworldly silence as slave just sat and ate and offered sips of limewater to their buddies.
In the silence of the desert evening, noise carries a considerable distance. Jack's stereo more than filled the acoustics of the new courtyard with `easy listening' music.
But more than just an inauguration, I did want to hear how they were getting on, and strange as it may seem, I did want each of the prisoner-slaves, in particular, to be as settled as each could be in the forced circumstances. I felt that they had lost out doubly in life, first, the betrayal within their own countries and second, a life of slavedom due to hypocrisy. Maybe in time, they would be able to consider the Lime Palace as truly their new home, and not a place to which they had been sent.
It was slow going because of the number of languages involved, but with several of the other slaves to hand, the reason for the Arabic and English classes became clear to all. I do believe in emphasising the positive side of things with my slaves.
The first question asked in general was what do you like most about being here at the Lime Palace?
The answers were simple - the sky, the lack of cameras, the sex -- that was mentioned quite a lot, the freedom to walk around in the evenings, the gym, the swimming pool, the sauna. There was quite a variety of things mentioned.
When asked about their companions, I wondered if many wished to change. Of the over one hundred slave present at that session, some five of the prisoner-slaves said `yes'.
What surprised me was that all of those they wished to change were not a change from farm slaves who had been assigned to them at various points, but my so-called `gifts' from my neighbours.
On that evening, there were for various reasons six slaves who were not or had not been assigned a buddy.
We made the changes there and then. I made the five prisoner-slaves changing their companions stand up, and then stand in order of height. Starting with the smallest, I told him to go up to his former companion, kiss him on the cheek, shake his hand and say `thank you.' Then and only then to choose another companion from among the six available.
The first prisoner-slave did as he was instructed and the `gift' slave he chose had wide shoulders, a narrow hip and a quite large flaccid penis. If anything, that penis was the largest of those on display.
Each of the other prisoners followed suit and chose a new companion, having thanked the old companion. I noted that two of the old buddies had been chosen afresh by others. As they say there is no accounting for taste.
There was one quite touching incident as all of this sorting out of buddies drew to a close. One prisoner-slave was left without a buddy. He was Belgian and in his early thirties as far as I could judge. Raoul who had spoken to him told me that his name was René and had been in solitary confinement for far longer than his official dossier suggested. He looked slightly tanned from being on the farm, but his physique looked poor and undernourished.
I said I would assign him two buddies for the next thirty days again, but he looked distressed when I said that and mumbled something while staring at the ground, which only Raoul grasped - `Master, it is not sex I want. I just want to hold someone and someone to hold me.'
When Raoul said it aloud, those slaves from his slave quarters moved closer to him and started to hug him. He started to shake and just put his arms around those near to him. I heard afterwards that each night different buddies would take turns just to hold him tight until he slept. It was such a small request from someone who had lost everything in an old life.
Although there was a very wide variety of professional talent among the new prisoner-slaves, I thought it more prudent to let them get accustomed to simple farm work and a relaxed environment before trying to apply their talents to anything -- Jens was the one exception in the early stages.
I had Aziz keep an eye on their buddies while in the Palace area and I had Yuriy and Dumi keep an eye those in the fields.
While it would have been very easy to bring in mechanised machinery and tractors to do various things, I preferred, in every sense of the word, the human touch.
Various of the prisoner-slaves were told by Dumi to ease themselves into the farm work as they were not at all accustomed to physical work over a consistent number of hours--although those hours -- at four -- were not long--nor indeed how to pace themselves while doing it.
For each of the prisoner-slaves, each in their different ways, it was a time of adjustment. Just as their bodies reacted to the tanning process of the sun, their bodies strengthened week by week with the regular work, and sleep, after the first few weeks, that was not interrupted by nightmares of confinement, and when they did occur, two buddies were there to hold, sooth and report the event to Aziz in the morning.
I had taken each of the gift slaves again to my bed and I enjoyed one per night on successive nights. When I would finish dinner, Komil would excuse himself to get one of them ready for me, so that arriving in my bedroom suite, one of the gift slaves would be there fresh and lubed awaiting my pleasure at `display.'
Of the twenty gift slave who had been given to that night at the Aloe Palace, six were virgins, which given their previous owners was a wonder. Each of these on differing night, I took them on their backs, their legs resting on my shoulders, with Komil to the side a container of more lube in his hand should it be needed, which only on one night it was.
I tried to make my time with each slave different. Finding some erogenous zones on each one and playing a sexual score on each. My greatest pleasure was to hear the groan of a sexual impetus being unchained, a reaction of sexuality about to be uncontrolled, a lover albeit for a single night, being brought to the edge of passion and back a number of time, all the time keeping eye contact with the lover to ensure that that night he was mine and mine alone.
If on each occasion I was pleasured by the tightness of their anal passages, I was equally pleasured by the virgin heat which their hot recta gave off, until they climaxed first spewing out their uncontrollable semen in burst after burst, and then, I in a more controlled fashion would let mine fly into their surrendered bodies.
Then, in each case, I would invite Komil onto the bed to take each one again with his ten inch cock, his favourite trick being to take each around the waist and sit each `buttered bun' down on the distended member, invariably at a forty-five degree angle, and keeping a hold around the slave's waist simply raise and lower him on the impaling member.
If the gift slaves had groaned as I worked their prostates, they shouted with pleasure when finally being allowed climax after Komil's perfectly controlled bedroom gymnastics.
In every case, I asked each one with a little bit of malice, `Well? Who is the better lover, Komil or the Master?'
The efforts of each to avoid giving an offending reply to either of us was part of the fun of the night and usually involved taking out a long feather to help a positive answer.
After I had taken all the gifts to bed, only one slave really was on my mind -- Wik Kootens, the young Dutchman who had such trouble adjusting.
The night I took him, he was at display' when I came into the bedroom with Komil at rest' beside him.
`Nervous, Wik?'
He nodded and gulped a number of times.
`Don't be. This will be a night of pleasure for you more than any other thing,' I said leading him to the bed.
With Komil taking one foot, and I the other, we each licked a foot, his toes, in between his toes, up his ankles, gently rubbing the hair on his leg the wrong way to create a static electricity. By the time, we were at his knees, his cock had hardened to all its impressive length and all its more than impressive girth and circumference.
`None of this hurting, Wik?'
He shook his head from side to side like a child.
When Komil and I jointly worked the backs of his knees and the inside of his legs up to his tight scrotum, Wik started to groan. As Komil had his tongue well in the inguinal area between Wik's ball sack and right leg, he gave me a big wink to say that we were really turning on this slave. My really serious tonguing was momentarily stopped by a suppressed laugh as I returned the wink.
Up over Wik's hip-bones, I found that, without ever touch his cock, Wik was in the agony of unreleased pleasure.
At this point, Komil got up and straddling Wik eased himself down on the young slave's ten-inch pole. Wik's eyes widened. His cock had never been in another man before. He had only sucked off Stan and the two assistants and had been fucked by Stan. The heat coming from inside Komil would have almost pushed him over the brink of restraint.
That restraint was sorely exercised as Komil with perfect gymnastic measures raised and lowered himself on the pulsating member of the young Dutchman, at the same time playing firmly with a pert set of Dutch nipples.
By this time, I was at the level of Wik's face, and who was looking in amazement at Komil taking his time contracting and relaxing his anal and sphincter muscles on the engorged pole.
I kissed Wik deeply. His tongue responded and then with a sigh from deep inside him, his mind responded and he kissed a man for pleasure for the first time in his life.
Komil seeing how close the young Dutch stud was from coming, slid off him and with a quick motion, flicked him over, spreading his upturned butt for me.
Two perfectly chiselled and firm buttocks were before me as I slipped my cock in between them and into the lubed passage awaiting my pleasure. I was quick but not too hasty.
Wik gasped as I went in three inches, stopped, pulled back an inch and then went in full tilt to my very pubic hairs. He gasped and grasped the sheet on the bed.
Again, I said, `None of this hurting too much, Wik?'
This time he found his voice, `No, Master, just a little. It is more strange to feel you inside me.'
I therefore picked up a rhythm and aiming in the general of the prostate I had felt walnut hard on the way in, I hit it hard three, four times, and as I took aim for the fifth time, Wik started to arch his back and I hit a home run for a fifth time.
It was a baritone roar of pleasure that shook the room as he ejaculated four, five and then a sixth strand of thick white cum as I pulled his kneeling form up from the bed and the two of us rocking back and forth, he pressed back against me seeking the magic touch yet again on his innermost recesses. After that night, Wik Kootens cried no more, and subsequently found steady lovers in Stan Mercer and his two Poles.
A second month into the presence of the prisoner-slaves being at the Palace, I had them assembled after gym one evening, to ask them how they were getting on.
I was surprised to hear how well they were settling in. The negatives were the initial sex, at the beginning perceived as forced, with persons with whom they could not even communicate, - many had said or tried to prove they were not gay - the slave-biscuits, and the heat.
I said that the sex was a deliberate part of their re-education here to get them to bond in time with others and to find a buddy. I also told them that if they wanted to again change buddies they could as they had done a month ago. It was only a matter of telling Aziz and their old buddy - and new buddy if he accepted.
The prisoner-slaves all now saw as a positive the stress-free life out of the twenty-four hour surveillance-camera lives they had held in high security prisons; the regular, if forced gym -- a complaint which disappeared as they became more fit; the morning jerk off in the showers when their buddies either sucked them off or jerked them off as they wished, and the walks in the gardens under the climbing creepers in the afternoons.
I asked two questions, `Would anyone like to return back to the jail you came from?'
I remember there was a hush the first time ever I asked that question as if it were either a threat or as if I had asked who wanted to return to return to hell.
There was not one volunteer for that suggestion after even a month with this batch of slaves, nor in the following years from any other groups of prisoner-slaves.
All of these first two batches of prisoner-slaves had not received a family or personal visit for at least three years, before they were sent to me. None of them had any true or real friends left in the world. Most had been in solitary confinement for such lengths of time that not even in the prisons were they had been were their names really known.
It is strange but I had no real desire to bed any of the prisoner-slaves. It was not that they were not my type. The desire was simply not there. In more than one way I regarded them as birds with a broken wing. They generally looked pathetic on arrival and it took various months of walking around naked to get their proper tan.
The biscuit regime helped some of them. The regular uninterrupted sleep helped some others. The gym and exercise programme helped others yet still. Some of them even had to be on an extra soup diet to help them put on weight.
But I believe what helped most of them was the restoring of a sense of dignity to them as persons. I know we do not regard slaves as persons, but to me they were, albeit on a lower level. They certainly were not things' or playthings' or animals', though I do refer among my household slave to the playmates' of the previous night.
It was known among the slaves the levels of punishment that their companions had endured under other owners, quite apart from the ringing and tattooing and other so-called embellishments.
In that restoration of dignity, an important element was the health care they received. Two had to be operated upon for untreated hernias, another for haemorrhoids the likes of when I had not seen since Stan Mercer, my now property and water overseer. The public nature, at inspection each morning, of the announcement, of who was going to the dentist, or the doctor and surgeon, or the ophthalmologist, showed that the treatments were there from all.
The unfortunate who had his haemorrhoids removed received an above-the-head slow handclap amid all the laughter when he walked from Dr. Fournier's small hospital ward, and a prisoner who could well have feared for this life in his former jail, saw himself being applauded by his fellow-slaves in the Lime Palace.
One thing happened in mid-November which surprised me a little. My private banking arrangements are done discretely out of Georgetown in the Grand Cayman Islands. Quite literally, total discretion and no taxes worth speaking of.
Normally, it would be I to ring the bank with differing instructions, particularly relating to the Buddy Foundation and the direction of the managed funds which they were looking after for me. It was generally one-way traffic from me so to speak over to the lawyer Josh Green, though each end-of-quarter I would get a Bank statement of how matters stood and the investments made on my behalf.
So, it was a little surprising to get an eMail asking me to contact the lady manager at the Bank in Grand Cayman. As soon as the time difference was correct for both of us, I did.
The manager apologised for the eMail, but said it was the quickest way. The accounts were all fine and that was the problem. I now had a hundred and fifty million euro on deposit with them -- almost a hundred and eighty million US dollars. Their management of the funds, particularly some currency buying and selling on the South American markets had given a healthy impetus to the accounts, apart for the regular six million coming in from Dahra each month from the water sales, and the recent eight million average for the prisoner-slaves.
In a nutshell, she was having the problem that a lot of bankers have of finding good homes for investments. I knew the problem. I had it almost every day at Deckams. I told her to let me think about it
I immediately put in another call to Josh Green in Georgetown and I said I would be requesting reports on almost two hundred other people. While his curiosity I am sure must have been piqued at times at having investigators do reports on families of people who had disappeared or now as would be the case of people who were dead -- all of the prisoner-slaves were being classified as dead' and cremated' by their respective governments, he never voiced a query. A perfect and discreet investment banker.
I also told him I was transferring another ten million to the Buddy Foundation and also to get me a report on Tuttles of Scotland, the food people.
To be continued...