This is the preface and first chapter of a novel about slavery and gay sex.
Keywords: authority, control, loyalty, slavery, punishment, re-training, submission, gay, sex
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.
If you are underage to read this kind of adult material or if this material is unlawful for you to read where your live, please leave this webpage now.
Contact points:
e: gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com
w: http://www.geocities.com/gerrytaylor_78/
w: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Erotic_Gay_Stories
The Special Memories by Gerry Taylor
Preface
In the first trilogy of this series, The Changed Life, The Reluctant Retrainer and The Market Offer, I set out the background how, by a quirk of fate, I had become the owner of some slaves, a retrainer of slaves and, finally, a processor of unwanted European prisoners of governments which preferred to see embarrassments to political and legal systems live out the remainder of their lives more safely as slaves - out of sight and out of mind.
There are those who can plan their lives almost from cradle to grave and I must stand in awe of such people and their determination. For myself--apologies, my name is Jonathan Martin, at your service--I have never felt that we are in total control of our destinies, just as a ship, however well built, on the high seas is never in total control of its own safety, journey or final destination.
Those three mythical sisters, Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos, the Fates, spin our past thread of life, weave our present thread into fabric and one future day will cut the final as of yet uncreated thread. And over all of this, how much control do we exercise as we are tossed by the waves of life? Some control perhaps, but not total, I'm afraid.
In this present volume, I have tried to reflect on those slaves who for one reason or another impacted heavily on me so much so that they have created resonance for me during my third year in Dahra.
In my own way, I hope I have some influence on my slaves for the better. I know that in their own way they have influenced my way of thinking. The slaves whom I mention in the following pages were the source, in the main, of fond and special memories, hence the name. The Special Memories is the first book of the second trilogy of The Changed Life.
Dahra,
January 200x
Chapter 1 -- The Dahran Angel
Abdul ben-Azri had been sold to me by his father. His father and I were partners in a seaweed-fertiliser business which the father had set up. He, my partner, had come to see me having been told by his doctors he had only three months to live. A stomach cancer was eating him alive and so it happened that Abdul came to live with me and my slaves at the Lime Palace, my home, here in Dahra.
Apart from my head of household, Aziz, who had been born a slave in Dahra, Abdul was the only other Dahran slave whom I owned. He was an angel of some nineteen body years, but a young boy of perhaps some eleven or twelve years as far as matters of the mind went. His brain, which had been oxygen starved at birth, would never let his mind and soul develop beyond that age.
When he arrived at the Lime Palace, I had put him in the care of two of my slaves, Mehmed and Mamoud, who were then in charge of my cactus and succulents gardens, so as to teach him some of the ways and customs of the Palace, with the warning that he was an innocent and not to be corrupted.
Fair dues to Mehmed and Mamoud, the two layabouts, as they were irreverently called, they treated him like a little brother and a happier trio never existed before or after in the Palace.
Abdul, at nineteen was about six feet in height. His light tan Arab skin was totally unblemished -- not a single freckle, spot, mole or dot on it. When he first arrived he was a fit teenager, but no more. I had him put on a gym and fitness regime with Rolf, the gym Master. He excelled in doing precisely what he was told, simply because he was told to do it. In a short while, his puppy fat, though little, had disappeared and good firm, but not overworked, muscle took its place.
However, Abdul enjoyed three extraordinary features above all others. He had the clear face of an angel, devoid of all guile, which was dominated by two of the most beautiful doe-like eyes in all of creation. It was as if nature, having taken part of his mind, gave him in recompense windows of beauty to what was his soul -- a soul of gentleness and trust.
Secondly, he had a flaccid penis all of ten inches long more like a young man's wrist and forearm in size. When it was brought to erection, it became all of fifteen inches of warm hard solid flesh, the tip of which alone, never mind it full glans would have barely gone into the average mouth.
And lastly, he had hands whose span was fifty percent more than the average. A normal man or slave's hand up against one of his was like that of a child.
To utilise these hands to their best ability I had him train with Vitali, my masseur and practice each evening on two the Swedish slaves who were on loan to the Palace. Such was the gentle touch of his hands, their strength and their span, Abdul's fame as a gentle masseur spread and he was never in want of a veritable queue of volunteers whose bodies he gently and lovingly massaged, in a totally non-sexual fashion, until they were floating in relaxed oceans of sensuous and tactile pleasure previously unbeknownst to them.
Though Abdul would help the two layabouts in the cactus gardens, his first job in the morning was to prepare with Stan and some other slaves the palleting of the vegetables which the Aloe and Lime Palaces were producing for the markets in the capital city. His presence brightened up the morning for the others and his serviciality and sense of helpfulness made him loved above any other slave in the Palace.
It has been my invariable practice to bed each and every one of the house and garden slaves, as a clear statement of my droit de seigneur -- my right of lord -- over those whom I own.
Once that right is exercised, I may or may not exercise it again. It is the expression of my favour to the slave and for that one evening of pleasure--for indeed that is what it is for both the slave and me--the slave will have been trained for some days, even a month or two at times, so as to be able to reciprocate the pleasure that I as a Master may seek on a sole occasion or which I may wish to provide on that single night.
However, in the case of Abdul, it was different. It had to be. His father had said to me that he had not been 'touched by woman or by man'. In a word, he was innocent of all sexual matters. His father had also told him, as Abdul innocently repeated to me, 'the Master will teach you everything you will need to know.'
It was an extraordinary statement of trust by the father. His son had accepted each and every word of it at face value, as he had everything else the father had told him in his nineteen years.
So, on the first night that I was to bed Abdul, it was not he who was nervous, it was I. In all my thirty nine years, I had not remembered being so nervous. It was like waiting for an oral exam or a test result, or my first meeting with the Chairman of Deckams, the Bank where I have always worked since college, those many years ago.
Yes, I was nervous because I felt that I was not to fail the trust of Abdul's late father and I was clearly not to fail the total trust of Abdul himself, as it is quite frightening to have someone place themselves totally and firmly in your hands without a solitary iota of fear.
Mehmed and Mamoud, the two layabouts, had brought Abdul to Komil, my personal body slave, who in turn brought Abdul up to my bedroom suite in the Lime Palace and left him there standing at `rest'. I had told Komil, my Uzbek lover and more regular bed-partner, to find someone else among the slaves for the night. He informed me after dinner that Abdul was in my bedroom, so I retired for the night.
He was standing at rest', but upon my entry went to display'. Even after a single day in the Palace, he knew the right position to assume inside the Palace in the presence of the Master. As his father's helper in bringing the fertiliser, he had seen how the slaves stood at 'rest' and at 'display' and imitated them to perfection. Now, as a slave, he was doing it as his obligation in the presence of his new Master.
Outside the Palace proper, particularly when meeting his Master for the first time in the day, he would have more than likely assumed one of `obeisance' with his forehead of the ground. But now he had simply gone to 'display'.
I was more nervous than he. In fact, Abdul was not nervous at all.
'Help me take off my clothes, Abdul.'
The command had the effect of assertion, of getting him close to me and of allowing me to observe him without staring.
He slipped off my shoes and socks. His fingers were velvet and warm. He laid the socks carefully on top of each shoe. He unbuttoned my shirt and placed it carefully on the dresser, followed by my pants and shorts.
I had moved toward the large double king-size bed which was off-centre in the room, but before I could get up on it, Abdul was beside me and taking each of my hands in his own much larger and definitely warmer hands than mine, brought the back of both my hands to his lips and said 'Master, teach me what I have to do. Let me learn from you how to love you every day of my life.'
His doe brown eyes would have melted steel and the utter trust in them has never been matched in any slave of mine before or since.
I drew him close and whispered into his ear,
'I will teach you, Abdul, all you need to know and I will learn myself how to be a better Master to you, as you learn to be my slave. And I too will love you every day of my life as I love each of my slaves'.
And I kissed him gently on the lips which tasted for some reason like cinnamon.
That simple kiss, the touch of my hands on his back, my presence close to him were all sufficient for me to feel his massive penis twitch and press against my own. I drew my fingertips up his back from buttocks to neck and down again.
He broke the kiss long enough to whisper, 'Master' and when we kissed again his mouth had not closed; I could taste the sweetness of his saliva, feel the roughness of his tongue, the sharpness of his teeth, the warmth of his breath.
And then I was almost electrified.
From the tops of my buttocks, just as I had touched him, Abdul ran his fingertips in mimetic action up my back, up under the scapulae where I can be most sensitive, over the shoulder blades themselves and touched my neck. It was as if ten points of silk were moving and touching my body all at once and every spot touched was screaming to be touched again and again and again.
I ran my finger up over his scalp and used my thumbs against the style of close-cropped hair he had chosen for himself -- perhaps in imitation of the two layabouts, perhaps not.
He shivered and I felt the increased pressure of his organ between us.
When Abdul returned the mime and touched my scalp and the sides of my head, it was as if every nerve ending had heard of his touch and was waiting to sound a resounding welcome. I knew that my own penis was now weeping and we had not even made it to the bed.
I broke the kiss. Abdul's half-closed eyes sprang open. I took his hand and led him to the bed. It would be unfair of me to itemise the techniques of sex and love I used on Abdul that first night.
I will merely content myself in recounting the last one, or more precisely the last one and a half.
An active lover will, at times, lick and suck the penis of a partner. In this case, it was not possible as Abdul's penis had a girth which simply did not allow me to get the full head of his penis into my mouth, let alone anything of his shaft. Therefore, as I always suggest in sexual technique, improvise! I contented myself to merely licking the tip and slit of his penis, inserting my tongue into the slit of the urethra and sucking on the top of the glans, much as you would do sucking the top of a pear, knowing that your lips will never encompass the whole body of the fruit.
Such a technique leads on naturally to the licking of the balls and of the perineum. I was quite well positioned over Abdul's body, my own tackle over his face, not quite a classical sixty-nine position, but close enough to match the description.
My body was over his and I was nibbling, for that was all it was truly, at his sizeable member, when again I was quite shaken to feel his tongue, yes, it had to be his tongue, touching and flicking over the tip of my own very weepy member, again in much a mimetic action to my own on his.
As the feel of his tongue was far too much for me in my present state of arousal, I allowed myself to put my elbows behind Abdul's knees, pull them forward towards me so that his legs split -- I having one each under my armpits-- and allowed me full access to his two very sizeable balls and to access the smoothness of his perineum and indentation of his light brown coloured anus.
At nineteen, Abdul had little or no hair in that region outside the jet-black bush of pubic hair and its little treasure trail of barely an inch. The very light tan colour of his perineum would have to be seen in technicolor to be truly appreciated and the tender merging colours of his scrotum changed shade according to the direct presence or not underneath the loose and crinkled skin of the sack containing his two most ample balls.
By moving into this position, Abdul was then thankfully not able to touch the head of my own penis, but I had full access to his more tender parts.
I kissed, I licked, I tickled, I flicked my tongue, I nipped with my teeth, but more than all, I merely ran my tongue, in point as they say and in flat, from the back of his balls up to but not touching his anus itself.
I do not wish to sound conceited, but I am quite good at certain techniques. The practice of years brings a certain perfection and the nightly availability of a variety of different slaves with their different challenging tactile responses soon accustoms you to very quick gear changes, much akin to those of Formula One racing, where the split second reaction is all that is needed for success, or in its absence, for failure.
I heard Abdul cry out almost in pain, 'Master, oh Master, something is happening.'
Thinking first of all that he was getting a cramp, I quickly released his legs from under my armpits and as they fell back onto the bed, I could see the reason for Abdul's distress. His cock had gone from being some ten inches to its full fifteen or so inches, of pure, throbbing, pulsating flesh. I could see the veins standing out on its shaft. The flange of its circumcised head was the purple of a Victoria plum and I knew that he was about to explode.
I put my lips over the tip his large glans and took the head into my mouth as far as it would go and my lips would permit. Whether it was the fact that I had stopped rimming his perineum or not, an orgasmic explosion did not occur, but something more extraordinary did.
His cock started to visibly throb and to pump out his seed. Had I been a more inexperienced lover, the event would have overwhelmed me. But for over two minutes, my mouth was filled and filled and filled again with his sweet semen, tasting yet again of cinnamon. I swallow every couple of ejaculations until I had lost count. There must have been well over thirty. It was like the pulse of a heart, constant firm, unstopping, unrelenting, going on and on.
Someone once told me that the ordinary ejaculation of the ordinary man is about five millilitres of semen, of which the ordinary and average man is so inordinately proud. I calculated that on that first evening of our lovemaking Abdul ben-Azri must have ejaculated at least one third of a litre of semen and that is more than half-a-pint!
I had to use the back of my hand to wipe my lips when his pulses had subsided and I rose off the supine figure on the bed.
His eyes were blinking, as if the light of the room had been suddenly switched on. I smiled at him and sort of shook my head in disbelief. He understood the smile. He did not understand the disbelief. I took him in my arms and we lay side by side on the bed. What could I say to an angel other than 'Abdul, you are beautiful.'
You could have knocked me down with feather when he asked, 'Master, did I learn the lesson well?'
I replied that he did. I asked did that happen often. This time his reply would not have required even a small feather to knock me down had I been on my feet.
'No, Master, that was the first time that has happened. The Master will teach me what it is and how I am to do it again?'
Abdul had just had his first orgasm of his nineteen years and he was asking me to teach him how!
The innocence of body of the man-boy had been in one sense lost, but the innocence of his soul remained. And something immeasurably precious had been found--the pleasure the body of an adult can give and experience. I promised myself there and then, I would teach him all I knew of love and sex and its techniques even if it took me the rest of my days because in his innocence love and sex would never be equated with anything other than pleasure and the pleasing of another human being, me, his Master.
Abdul was also very important for the Lime Palace, because, as I shall subsequently explain, he was also a key to my being able to implant a seed of love in another brilliantly minded slave, who knew a million things, but nothing of the ultimately most important and perduring thing, love itself.
To be continued ..