This is the seventeenth chapter ex twenty two of a novel about slavery and gay sex.
Keywords: authority, control, loyalty, slavery, punishment, re-training, submission, gay, sex
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The Special Memories by Gerry Taylor
Chapter 17 - The Teams
Fridays involved quite a lot of inspections around the farms. I made a point of being as close as possible to the more recent arrivals in the previous months from the various EU countries. The going was a bit slow at times, as the levels of English and much more so of Arabic, required many times that one of the other slaves be present as an interpreter who had a better grasp of the languages of the slaves.
I was particularly sure to physically touch each of the slaves and point out to each how well their best features were looking, even at times if it were only the length of their cocks, which usually caused a bit of an awkward or even ribald laugh.
Soon after their arrival, I was able to observe the recent three English slaves, Donnie, Justie and Gary, who formed a team with two other Chechens as they went about their water duties. Even with a light Panama hat on, I could feel the heat of the approaching mid-morning, top heat. Justie looked a bit blistered in places and I applied some Aloe milk to his back from his own water-guy contained as we stood in the middle of a row of vegetables. He had a type of scarf or bandana around his head, because he said, even with the full covering of Aloe milk in his hair, his head was still getting burned.
I asked him how he was getting on.
'No problem, Master, only the sun at times. And me and Gary are now together you know and that's great as well.'
As I was by then about to walk back to the Palace, I swapped his bandana for my hat and he looked a bit surprised, as the straw fringe came down right over his forehead. He tilted it half back on his head and the straw Panama looked quite rakish on him.
It made me think of getting a common hat for all the fair skin slaves, particularly the Swedes, who had a variety of headgear. It was at the time of getting the straw hats that I made the decision of having all my overseers and assistant overseers dress in knee-length khaki pants and an open necked short-sleeved Cossack shirt. Yuriy was pleased to no end with the Cossack, style which he said had originated in Kazakhstan, his country of origin.
The only truly individual thing, which the overseers had was their selection of plain or carved leather belts. Like Yuriy, most opted not to wear footwear and only Stan wore sandals out of preference.
Friday was also a day I normally used to catch up on the progress of the medical staff, another of the many teams, which in my mind, made the Palaces tick and we would usually have an early lunch together.
That particular day, the Palace's original dentist, Hal Thiecke turned up to see how his protege as he called Cal Thorsen was getting on. Hal has this agreement with me to keep a watching brief on the less experienced Cal's work and subbed for him during the summer holidays in late July and August, and when Cal was away at his yearly conferences.
Cal was doing particularly well. Having seen almost five hundred or so newly arrived slaves now at the Palaces, he had straightened and capped almost four hundred and fifty of them after a year and a half and anticipated completing the rest by October at the latest, when he said he would be able to catch up on his reading and research.
I had asked Cal, how he was getting on with Sergio, his Brazilian slave assistant, to which he replied with a smile 'Each night, every night and twice on Thursdays. Having found how I can now hit his prostate with every penetration, he is on his knees on the bed with that butt of his up in the air, before I am even fully undressed. And as for his work in the clinic, he is there before I start and still working after I finish. I could not ask for a better assistant.'
Nacho Cuesta, the ophthalmologist, was a dream come true. With the help of the youngest of the Swedes, Thor, who was totally computer literate, he had the smoothest operation going of the three medical professionals. He had corrected all major eye defects on the slaves. With his laser surgery, he had also corrected the short-sightedness of almost all the slaves who needed it and instead of glasses, those who needed them, were given one-day soft lenses. That was where the pigeonholes came in handy initially, until the new buildings and their different style slave quarters came into use. At the end of the year, when he reported fully to me, almost one-third of the slaves had had their vision corrected by laser and one-third were now wearing soft-contact lens either for corrective vision or as sunglasses.
Dr. Cuesta was apparently the only celibate at the Palaces. He told me, he had not yet wished to take any partner at the Palaces -- no particular reason -- and I respected that. He also told me, Inaki Ergoitia had offered himself to him by way of a 'thank you' for straightening his left eye, but that he had declined that invitation.
As for the other possible celibate at the Palaces, I had never firmly decided about my head of household, Aziz al-Aziz, if he and his giant assistant, Yedo Petrov, had a sexual fling going as well for each other. But on probability, I thought not. Yedo however, from the very beginning of his original living at the Aloe Palace, would simply scoop up Mamoud and Mehmed after inspection time and bring them both back into the slave quarters to their great delight.
Aziz's residence had been built on the grounds of the Lime Palace to accommodate himself and Yedo, four guests in suite rooms and twelve slaves in six double bedroom rooms. On designing the house with Annan and Annan, the Dahran architects, Aziz had insisted that each pair of slaves have their own room. And so it had been drawn into the plans.
Ali Tisani the Kurd and Jiri Aron the Czech, had chosen to transfer to him, as had Mamoud and Mehmed, as well as Yedo, Hassan, the Arabic teacher, and his lover, Pavel the Russian.
So his residence would by no means be fully staffed and he did not seem overly concerned about it and although the slaves had transferred to him, they still kept on doing their various jobs at the Palaces for the time being.
One small thing did happen. Aziz approached Dr. Fournier and asked, as he was entitled to now that he was a freeman, whether the brand of the al-Akhri house could be removed from his right hip, where it had been burned into the flesh as a teenager.
After much thought, the doctor removed it by excision and when the wound had healed, Aziz refused any plastic surgery on what looked like a burn, but no longer a clear brand, on his hip. It was easier to remove the SIN tattoo on his left upper chest with the new laser equipment. In fact, Aziz showed me the result on his chest and had you not been previously aware of it, you would never have known.
I was still worried at the back of my mind about Yves Fournier. I do believe that sex is a great outlet and though Yves was one of the oldest persons in the Palace, he had chosen none of the slaves to be his bed companion. I had not mentioned it directly to him, thinking that if he wanted it, he would ask.
Randy Tait, the American slave, was his assistant and for some reason unknown to me at the time, they both got on very well together. Randy had become, according to Yves, very proficient in all sorts of first aid treatments, the application of sutures, changing of bandages and most importantly, the keeping of the computer records and his appointments.
Yves' original assistant, Todd, who was now an assistant overseer on the farm and his partner Raoul, who was French, approached me one evening after dinner, as all slaves could and said they wanted to go to Yves' quarters one night and, at the very least, offer to keep him warm at night.
Todd told me afterward that Yves had invited them in and that arrangement stayed in place twice weekly for quite some time.
But it was not until one Friday when I went looking for Yves to invite him and Cal Thorsen to dinner that evening, that a small mystery was solved.
Randy Tait, Yves' slave-assistant in the surgery, quite literally worshipped the ground that the doctor walked on. I had always put it down to the fact that the doctor had operated on tightening up his scrotum and his formerly low hanging balls which had been stretched by a ball cinch.
I knocked on the door of the surgery, but it was Randy who answered with some cleaning materials in his hands.
`The doctor has gone to see Dr. Cuesta, Master, there is a difficult eye operation later this morning.'
I was looking for some reason at the cleaning materials in Randy's hands. I think he may have thought I was querying him on something, because he said, `I am just cleaning the surgery again, Master, for the doctor.'
`Again?'
`I clean it after every three patients, Master and then again in the evenings.'
`You really like the doctor, Randy. Don't you?'
`Yes, Master. I....' he stopped.
`What, Randy?'
One day some months ago, Master, we were just finishing up work and he put his arms around my neck and kissed my forehead. I just stood there. I did not know what was going on, Master. And then he said, If ever I had a second son, that son would be you, Randy,' and he just walked out. `Nobody, Master, ever said, they loved me like that before.'
There was fierce pride in Randy's eyes. I seemed to remember something from his file about a poor childhood of his own and a broken home. He had clearly found a substitute father-figure, if not a father, in Yves Fournier.
At thirty days, Jean-Pierre Fournier, the French doctor's son was the most obedient of basically trained slaves. He responded clearly and quickly to fifteen basic commands in both Arabic and English. I had the centre at the auction-rooms do a full medical on him. Miraculously, his health was totally fine and his blood tests were clear. His teeth in time would require attention. His eyes were fine.
I had him delivered to the Aloe Palace.
Ben Trant input his data for me on the computer system and for a surname, I told him to merely put in the word 'Effe' -- the letter 'f' in French. I had reduced Jean-Pierre to a slave. I would reduce him still further starting with his own surname.
Ben Trant looked at me after he put in the new surname, awaiting further instruction.
'Not a whisper, Ben. Not even a whisper of a whisper.'
'No, Master.'
That was the one good thing about a secretary slave who would not tell a lie. A promise had the force and value of a double encryption.
Neither Greg Logan, nor Jess Tollman, my assistant retrainers, would have known anything of the family circumstances of Dr. Yves Fournier, the Palace doctor. So I informed them of the presence of a slave in one of the holding cells of the Aloe Palace, who was to be retrained at the Aloe Palace and at the Aloe Palace alone for a full ten days.
'And what happens if the slave breaks before ten days are up, Master,' Greg asked quietly, knowing that only Wik Kootens, the Dutch slave, had gone as far as day three's training.
'Let's hope he does not break and if he does, just continue, as if he has not. But give me a report each evening when I am on my own.'
'Yes, Master,' Greg replied looking at me, but did not venture any further question or comment.
At the end of the ten days, Jean-Pierre was, up to that time, the only slave in the history of the Aloe Palace to have been subjected to ten days of retraining. His reflexes were automatic. His obedience perfect. His muscles straining at every position to which he was ordered.
He had been humiliated at every possible moment, having his anal virginity taken on day one and being fucked in his ass and mouth twice a day by his retrainers. His greatest difficulty, even at the end of ten days, was being deep-throated and his body would spasm when it occurred initially, but little by little, he learned to accept what had to be accepted.
The first night, he had tried to roll himself into a ball, but his retrainers had put him on his back with his hands by his sides on his pallet and waited, cane in hand, until he fell asleep, lest he change position.
It never rains but it pours, as we say, but certainly not in Dahra in the atmospheric sense. The same day as the slave dealer's van from al-Qatim had delivered Jean-Pierre to the Aloe Palace, Aziz, the head of my household at the Lime Palace arrived in late afternoon to say, he had just signed for a delivery.
`What?' I enquired.
'Not a what, Master' -- he still had not got out of a lifetime's habit of using the term, though I had told him to call me Jonathan - 'a who' -- and he passed me over the tan coloured folder, which is given to the Master of each slave out of the auction rooms of al-Mera and al-Qatim.
'This letter also accompanied the folder.'
The sealed cream coloured enveloped had the single word, 'Jonathan', written and underlined on it.
Inside a folded note 'In thanks for the advice. I took 50%. A playmate -- unbroken and untrained. Enjoy.'
It was signed 'Tariq'.
The advice it referred to was about a computer franchise in which Tariq had been thinking of investing and of which we had spoken in the past while. He had obviously taken a 50% share and was now sending me a 'playmate' of all things! Tariq has such a sense of humour at times.
The tan folder from the slave market showed a twenty-nine year old Sardinian car salesman with deep brown eyes and the most gorgeous eyelashes and eyebrows. His tackle was nice, but there was nicer within the confines of the Lime Palace, but his body showed a tan line where he had worn a swimsuit and he was completely devoid of body hair, except for his head, armpits and pubic areas where short slightly curled hair was in abundance. His anus was unused, according to the file and its photo showed its muscles contracting even under the light shone on it for its picture-taking.
'Can you have him brought in, Aziz?'
Since his freedom, I have tried not to give direct commands to Aziz, but have tried to frame requirements as questions.
Gianni Centini was brought before me and in his nakedness, he was clearly terrified. He had a GPS bracelet put on his right ankle at al-Qatim and found himself in a transit van to me within four hours. His purchaser -- Tariq al-Akhri - had asked the dealer to send me on the best looking, untrained slave who was there, as a challenge to the Retrainer.
Ben Trant, my secretary, was at his own desk and computer in the office off the study and when he saw the shivering slave, though it was in no way cold in the study, he came over to Gianni and first looking at me to see if I objected, he ran his hand over the back of the slave, who was nervously blinking at those around him -- myself, Aziz, Ben beside him and Bob having come in from the kitchen with some limejuice.
Ben's hand on the new slave's back was a gesture of pacifying and reassurance to a frightened animal. We were all just looking on. Little by little, the slave settled down. His hands had been half at his sides, half trying to cover his genitals. Ben had his mouth close to the slave's ear and I think he was blowing in the ear, his hand still touching the slave's back and neck.
Then Ben raised his own two arms and put them at the back of his neck as the slave was looking at him, nodded to the slave and Gianni Centini did the same.
Ben straightened up. The slave straightened up.
Ben breathed in deeply twice. The slave did likewise.
And two slaves, one barely over a month in the Palace, the other not five minutes stood quietly there at 'display'.
I went over to Ben, lifted his chin with my fingers. The new slave was observing. I touched Ben's chest, his belly and let his balls rest in the palm of my hand.
Though the new slave was looking ahead, I could see from the corner of my eye that he was observing all I had done. When I had finished with Ben, so to speak, I did likewise to Gianni Centini and he did not move a muscle.
I told Bob to call, Flavio, my slave cook out from the kitchens. When he arrived I said to Flavio, indicating the new slave at 'display' with an open hand, 'Flavio Pinelli meet Gianni Centini'.
The Italian name registered somewhat with the new slave, so when I pointed to him and said, 'Gianni Centini' and pointing with my open hand to Flavio, said 'Flavio Pinelli.'
Flavio stepped in front of me and gave the new slave a hug, nothing short of a wrestling full Nelson and within a minute the two were crying in each other's arms.
When things had settled down and the two slaves had untangled somewhat, I said more in rhetoric than in a specifically directed question 'Who's going to have time to train this slave? He has not even been given the basics.'
Why was I not surprised when I heard Ben Trant's voice saying, 'Master, if you allow me, I will train him over the next month.'
'You are just out of training yourself,' I replied a bit sharply.
'Yes, Master, everything is fresh in my mind.'
'Why do you want to train him? Have you not got enough to do here? And anyway, I have another project coming up that I want you involved in.'
'Master, I will do everything I have to do and the new project, do not worry. You have not given me a buddy yet, so I can train him and, Master, he can be a buddy at the same time.'
And Ben Trant, then said a word, I had not heard him say before.
He said, 'Please, Master.' For the first time an almost self-sufficient slave was asking me for something, and I even heard a hint of begging in his voice.
I looked at him, at the others and at the uncomprehending slave whose future was being determined. There was something here on which I could not quite put my finger. No one was coming up with other suggestions, so I said to Ben, 'See that he's trained well or you will join him in the retraining room if anything goes wrong. Get him to the medical staff. He is not to have sex with anyone until his bloods are back. Get him settled in on some training for the day with Rolf in the gym.'
'Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.'
When Jean-Pierre was told that the Master would inspect him on his final day of retraining and to take a shower, Greg stated that Jean-Pierre had washed himself as he had seen no other slave wash himself and begged his retrainers to confirm that he was clean.
When inspection occurred in the slave-quarters, although Jean-Pierre was formally at 'display', he literally threw himself across the quarters to make obeisance and put my foot on the back of his neck.
I heard 'Master, Master' murmured at least twice.
Jean-Pierre's training at the slave centre and his retraining at the Aloe Palace were as successful as I would have wanted. He hopped up on the examination table as few others before or since. His knees were so wide apart that his hanging cock was almost touching the table. When he had been ejaculated, and I had tasted his sweet cum, barely was the order off my lips to lick up the balance of his own cum, that he was licking the table for all he was worth, and then went to perfect display.
Could this be the same arrogant drug user of two months previously how could not wait to get out of jail to get his next high?
I ordered Greg to have him put on one of the two water wheels in the water gardens of the Aloe Palace.
Greg again looked at me and said, 'Yes, Master.'
This was the first time that the slave would have heard me speaking in English and he looked at me his eyes blinking hard.
I told Pete Downings, as the head of household of the Aloe Palace, to ensure that the slave on the water wheel got two biscuits each morning, one at midday and two in the evening for the next thirty days. As he would be expending considerable energy during the twelve hours of daylight, I wanted him well fed. Water was not necessary, as the slave would only have to reach down and scoop a handful from any of the wheel-buckets.
The slave's toilet area was a patch of sand some distance away from the hut, which had been erected for him. Within two hours of his first crap, the dung beetles had located his turds and never left the general vicinity afterwards. A sixty-foot length of chain attached to a two-ton block of concrete just under the surface of the ground assured the circumference of his wanderings in the evenings and at night.
An automatic water gauge, which re-sets itself to zero at midnight indicated the cubic litres of water which the gardens received. When his daily target was not met by seven in the evening, which happened only on one occasion, the slave's two evening biscuits were withheld. It did not happen a second time.
At thirty days, Jean-Pierre Effe, the water wheel slave was to be taken off the water wheel, shaved, shit and showered and then Pete Downings was to inform me of the slave's readiness for further training, or any other required attention.
When I inspected the slave and had recovered my foot from the back of his head, he was leaner, fitter, stronger, more muscled. His legs were almost those of a runner, even after a month of continuous exercise. The effects of his excessive drinking and drug taking had disappeared though I am sure the fishhooks of his drug dependency were still deeply embedded in his system.
I looked him in the eyes for over five minutes and in them I could only see submissiveness, the will to accept authority, a humility which had not been there previously, the beginnings of a strength of character, which might or might not develop as character is a personal trait and not one which a Master can give.
But in Jean-Pierre Effe's eyes there was also a trace of fear. Not a fear of his circumstances, or even of me, his Master, but a fear that his efforts to date would have been insufficient for me and unsuccessful in pleasing me. Yes, his will was now being moulded for the first time in his life, to the pleasing of another human being and not to merely suiting himself or his habits, but to the pleasing of another human being, who was his Master.
I had Jean-Pierre put back on the water wheel for a further month to be absolutely sure of matters, and for the first time, I told him about his future. I would consider in a month's time what work he would do at the Lime Palace if his performance pleased me.
It was Yves who mentioned to me twice towards the end of September that he had not heard, nor indeed had any of his old circle of friends in the Lyon area, of Jean-Pierre -- and he was now beginning to get worried. Jean-Pierre had not even tried to get in contact for money, let alone to make a social and family contact.
My replies were non-committal, of the type that Jean-Pierre was a survivor and that I was positive Yves would soon get to hear from him.
The numbers of EU prisoner-slaves by early summer of the year after our initial agreement with the Ambassadors had almost reached their full complement and then it trickled off, when we reached two hundred and fifty of them. I have often wondered why no sharp eyed journalist ever failed to notice the number of almost unexplained natural deaths in the various prisons. All prisoner-slaves on leaving their prison for Dahra had a death certificate prepared showing natural causes for the most part. Perhaps, the dregs of the European prison system was not noticed being spread over as it was the many states.
I also took well-trained slaves out of the market auction-rooms, from some of my neighbours and from Farouq al-Hamdi's opal mine. Their overall better treatment at the Lime Palace ensured an unparalleled loyalty to the ways of the Palace and a total submission to me.
One of the side effects was that the number of assistant overseers grew until there were about thirty in all at the Aloe Palace under Yuriy Obov, the stables manager and Pete Downing, the head of household and at the Lime Palace under Aziz and Dumi Bod, the stables manager. With two other alternating assistants, we took the morning inspections, varying the groups among ourselves.
As the lands of the Lime Palace were being recovered and re-fertilised now much more quickly with the number of slaves, it was Yuriy who came up with the suggestion of specialised crops at the Lime Palace, where there was plenty of water and of merely having Aloe plants at the Aloe Palace, where they had grown naturally in the first place and the milk-sap of whose leaves were being used so widely as a sun-block.
This occurred after exhaustive tests had come back from a Swiss research unit I had commissioned. Their year-long study and laboratory work confirmed there was absolutely nothing harmful in the milk-sap and it did have very effective sun block properties which we all ready knew. They also confirmed the local usage its chewed leaf had as a very strong laxative. For that confirming information, they charged one hundred thousand euro. Researchers certainly know how to charge.
I had the researchers in Bern patent for me all that was possible on the discovery for world-wide application, with all ownership rights going to the Buddy Foundation.
One interesting fact continued to be present in the medical examinations of the slaves to which Dr. Fournier had alluded way back. The tests were more complete than any public, civil or military examinations. What was also tested was semen, both for abnormalities, which might be a pre-indication of cancer, and a measurement of the motility of the sperm. Dr. Fournier showed me one day his Bell chart on fertility, a top 4% of highly sexed, highly motile sperm slaves. It made me smile was that those who were most fertile were very ordinary looking slaves, and not those who had great natural physiques.
However, what the good doctor was also measuring was the number of completely infertile slaves -- those who were shooting blanks, as is impolitely put at times. These comprised some twenty eight slaves in all, close on 5% of the total slave population.
The doctor was calling these twenty eight back each three months for a further general medical, but really he wanted a further sperm sample from each. And what was delighting him from the scientific and medical point of view was that invariably a previously infertile slave had become fertile in the intervening period.
Dr. Fournier stated that this was one of his favourite projects and which he hoped to publish in due course if he could get the scientific and medical reasons down on paper.
One of the advantages of having Palaces like the Aloe and Lime Palaces and as structure of slaves and overseers is that the all have a job to do. Sooner or later every slaves finds a metier at which he is particularly good and even, at times, excels. No one tried to take that task from him, but the overseers on the contrary refer and defer to him as the `expert' in the matter, even if it only on window washing. The overseers themselves find slots into which they fall and that becomes their task and objective, all of which is aimed at my ultimate pleasure, as Master of the Palaces.
Just as when slaves perform well in their given tasks, they are praised, so too the assistant overseers and the overseers themselves. I give quite an extraordinary latitude to the four managers who are my two stable managers -- the old Dahran title for farm manager -- and to my two heads of household. In simple terms, what they want they get. Putting it another way, I have yet to
Faisal my driver acts as conduit and messier for them, once I have been deposited at the Bank, leaving commissions and orders and requisitions around the capital city, which, if the truth be told, can provide anything that money can buy.
Following on Yuriy's advice therefore, I had my four acres of cactus gardens transferred, plant by plant, line by line, to a new site at the Lime Palace. Both Mamoud and Mehmed looked quite authoritative as the assistant overseers in charge, now on loan from Aziz and did a truly splendid job over a period of three weeks in seeing to the transfer. I thought to myself that they had come on in leaps and bounds overseeing quietly, but firmly some ten prisoner-slaves.
Under Yuriy's supervision, the dry and fertile grounds of the Aloe Palace were being prepared for the new Aloe plants.
End of Chapter 17