This is the sixth 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 Dahran Way
Chapter 6 The importance of talent
Harb Salem / Narciso Afonso
Inaki's and Donnie's project was coming on quite well. Donnie had requested me one Friday afternoon to look at a selection of colour photographs he had taken in the cacti gardens and developed in his darkroom. He had hung them on a wall in a well-lit spot to dry off, attracting the attention of various slaves, who came to admire the exhibition.
Inaki was continuously writing and cross-referencing the text, which I had edited by a gardening columnist on one of the London weekend papers.
With a folder full of photographs and text excerpts, I had visited one of Dahra's publishing houses, explaining my wish to publish The Cacti of Dahra under the name of the Dahran Cactus Society, which I had formed for this purpose. As they were intrigued by the samples, the publishers and I agreed to include about two hundred colour plates in the book, each facing a page of explanatory text, with each cactus and succulent fitting into the botanical scheme of things and indexes of their Latin, English and Arabic names. The book design for typeset, layout and cover was well underway.
Inaki's text was now in the first stages of proofreading, though sections on further plants were still being added. The time to take Donnie's treasures to the capital city for photo scanning would arrive in due course.
My plan was to give copies of the book to friends at the bank and in both England and Dahra.
Since I had moved to the new Lime Palace with my household slaves, including Flavio my Italian chef, the cooking staff at the Aloe Palace was practically non-existent. Now that I had invited my nephew and my niece-in-law to live there, the need had arisen to do something about this deficiency. I had Ben Trant, my secretary, scour the database for any slave with any reference to cooking or hotel work.
Some had worked in hotels but not actually inside kitchens. Some of the former army personnel had been assigned to kitchens peeling vegetables but never really for cooking. There was nothing for me really to do but to go out into the market-place yet again to look for specifically trained slaves.
I contacted both the auction rooms, explained the problem in some detail and it was from Mustafa ben-Mustafa at al-Mera that I heard back first, by a whisker as they would say in racing parlance.
In simple terms, Mustafa said there were no chefs or cooks available for auction. Those, who had gone through the auction rooms' databases could definitely not be touched and I got the impression that these had gone to powerful tribal families. The third option was to have one lifted. I ruled that out. Jean-Pierre Fournier still weighed on my conscience and I was not going to repeat a lifting.
I was about to sit back and wait for the owner of the al-Qatim auction rooms to report in with his news, when Mustafa said, `there may be a way, Sir Jonathan, if you are prepared to have your Flavio train you one or two.'
`That will take ages, Mustafa.'
`Maybe not, Sir Jonathan, maybe not. When can you come to al-Mera and I'll show you what I am thinking about.'
Al-Mera is two hours down the coast from the Lime Palace, but only an hour from the capital city itself, so one midday when it was particularly warm, I had Faisal drive me down at a leisurely pace.
Mustafa ben-Mustafa was expecting me and was like a child, all smiles, bursting to tell me something, as if to reveal a secret.
We went to his upstairs office overlooking the salesroom, which that day was empty of both customers and slaves for auction.
`Sir Jonathan, allow me offer you some mint tea after your warm ride down. The weather is definitely sultry for his time of year,' and he nodded to his nephew of the same name, who went off to get what was ordered.
I was about to say that some water would be fine, but there was a glint in Mustafa's eye and I held my silence.
For some minutes, we exchanged pleasantries, market trends in both slaves -- Africans and South Americans being flavour of the month, more Mustafa's field -- and financial markets -- long term gilts, being mine.
Two young slaves came in with a tray each bearing two cups, small plates, an oriental teapot and two small plates of biscuits. Both trays were placed on the table between us.
The two slaves stepped back a pace and stood waiting beside Mustafa's nephew. The slaves looked well under twenty, both showing the white of areas formerly covered by bathing trunks. One slave looked Mediterranean, the other Middle Eastern.
Thank you, Mustafa,' my host said to his nephew, we shall serve ourselves. I think Sir Jonathan would now like also to have some salad and following that I would like some fruit.'
`Yes, Uncle, immediately,' and with a flick of his fingers he ushered the two young naked slaves out. They seemed somewhat unsure of themselves and a little gauche in their actions.
I had not yet clued into the idea as to what Mustafa was really up to, but it had something to do with the two slaves.
`Let us try your mint tea, Sir Jonathan and then we can try mine,' Mustafa said indicating the tray nearer to me and then to that nearer to him.
In middle Eastern fashion, both trays were well laid out. Both teas were admirable and the small trays of biscuits, thought differently assembled were quite carefully displayed.
The penny was beginning to drop and I started to smile at Mustafa. The trays had not only been served by the two young slaves, they had also been prepared by them as well.
`One point each, I would say, Mustafa,' and he started to laugh seeing that I had understood his little game.
We had no sooner finished off a small cup of each mint tea from each tray, though I had not taken any of the biscuits either plain or sweet, when the doors opened again and in came Mustafa Jr. with his two cooking acolytes bearing two larger than normal trays, which they proceeded to deposit to one side of the office and, who then came over to clear away the remains of tea trays.
Each salad was different though both were composed of vegetables. The middle Eastern slave had prepared a tray of vegetables sitting on a base of lettuce. It looked fine with small carrots, radishes, shallots and sticks of celery.
The Mediterranean slave had sliced and diced and done some sort of decoration with the radishes, putting a mayonnaise dip in the centre of the lot, clearly outdoing the other slave.
Mustafa dismissed them and his nephew and asked for his fruit.
`They don't see what the other is doing?' I enquired.
`No, I have them in different areas,' Mustafa said with a smile at his own cleverness.
`Well, two to one, I would say, Mustafa'
The fruit saw a reversal as the young Middle Eastern slave produced a pineapple stuck with all sorts of dates, figs and apricots on canape-type sticks -- quite a decorative piece -- while the other slave presented merely a plate of well stacked fruit.
Two all.
Mustafa was looking at me with a smile.
`Well, Sir Jonathan? Has it been a wasted journey?
`I am not sure, Mustafa, not quite sure. Two all, I would say. But not sure that I want to wait months getting one or other of these two trained.'
`Well, Sir Jonathan. There are no tricks here. I had each of them do this yesterday. They did not see what each other did. They have merely repeated what they did yesterday for me. If they can do that in one day, imagine what they can learn in sixty.'
`Mustafa, you are always selling somebody. You know that?'
`That's my business, Sir Jonathan. Buy a little. Sell a little each day. These two are here less than a month. Basic commands and training only. The Lebanese slave speaks French and Arabic. The Portuguese slave speaks his own language and some English. No language problem as you would have had if they had come from Turkmenistan or Central Asia.'
With a wave of his hand, Mustafa indicated both young slaves over. They came closer. Young underdeveloped bodies. They both looked remarkably like each other, with the exception that the Portuguese had straight hair and the Lebanese curly hair. Even their treasure trails down from their belly button looked similar, though the Portuguese was uncut and the Lebanese was circumcised.
`How old are they, Mustafa?''
`Both eighteen and both virgin, though that may not be of immediate interest to you, Sir Jonathan.'
I was now cupping both of their balls, a set in either hand. Almost immediately, they began to get erections.
`They have not been allowed to ejaculate in two weeks, so be careful, Sir Jonathan, of too much stimulation. Both are marvellously strong shooters with loads of seed.'
`What is your name?' I asked the Portuguese whose balls I had in my left hand.
He understood English, `Narciso Afonso, Master.'
`And your name?' I asked the Lebanese in Arabic.
`Harb Salem, Master,' was the quick reply.
`I am looking for a slave to work in my kitchens. Would you like that?'
`Yes, Master.'
`So tell me why the other slave is a better cook than you?'
Harb Salem looked confused.
`I cannot say, Master, I did my best with what I had.'
I asked the same questions of Narciso Afonso. When I asked him why the other was the better cook, he replied, `I don't think so, Master, or else you would not be asking me the question. I would work hard for you if you choose me.'
`Why do you say that?
`Because, Master, you have my saco in your hand and you have not squeezed it once. That tells me you are a Master, who knows what he wants but not a cruel one.'
I looked at Narciso Afonso and I wondered if I were able to size up people like him when I was eighteen.
`So, Mustafa, what price for one?'
`Either one?'
`Either one.'
`Twenty two thousand euro.'
I took a coin from my pocket, rubbed it between my hands and held out both fists, one to each slave for each to choose a hand. The Lebanese, Harb Salem, pointed to my right hand. Narciso Afonso to the left. The coin was in the right hand. Harb looked pleased with himself. Narciso stood there blinking his eyes.
`And Mustafa, what price for the two?'
`The two, Sir Jonathan?'
`I may have a lot of cooking to do in and out of the kitchens.'
`Forty two thousand.'
`Thirty eight.'
`Forty, Sir Jonathan, would be a fair price.'
I rubbed my hands again together concealing the coin in my left hand and held them out for Narciso Afonso. With a huge smile, he pointed to the left hand again and with an even wider smile, he greeted its sight when I turned up my open palm. At that it was Harb Salem's turn to look confused, but only until I took both their hands, put each in the other's and had them shake. They looked a little uncertain.
`You will both now be working in my kitchens.'
The drive back to the Lime Palace was a relaxed one and both Narciso and Harb showed that they knew how to do more with their mouths than smile and with reasonable expertise for teenagers, I gave each one turns every fifteen minutes sucking me off for over an hour while fingering alternatively the tight asshole of the other.
I reserved the taking of their virginity for another day, but by the time we had reached the Palace I was quite sure that Flavio would be able to teach these two young trainee cooks quite a lot in sixty days, when I would make a present of them to Jack and Fiona at the Aloe Palace.
In all fairness to Flavio Pinelli, he taught both of them unceasingly for just under two months. Even Marko Sqeppa, his Albanian assistant, taught them how to make a number of his own ice-cream recipes.
Since we had introduced the bowl of soup in the evening to accompany the two biscuits for dinner, Flavio normally had a troop of some four or so slaves in the kitchens each morning peeling, shelling and dicing vegetables. With all the vegetable produce being available all year round on the farms, we never had any need to graduate to meat.
So I had the two, Narciso and Harb, added to Flavio's staff and trained in the ways of a Palace and when their young teenage bodies were depilated, save for pubic and pit hair, they both looked quite handsome. They actually almost looked like brothers with their long eyelashes and brown eyes. Cal Thorsen worked his magic on their teeth and by the time the other members of the medical team gave them a clean bill of health, they were quite valuable slaves.
I had the two of them in my bed soon after that and some weeks into their training. Apart from their kitchen training, Frank Kovacs had them both in his sexual techniques classes, where he had given them passing marks. It always seems to me that Frank never gives really high marks to those whose only true talent lies in their ability to re-charge their batteries quickly after coming. It is, as if he believes that sex like wine takes some time to mature.
I was gentle in taking their virginity. Narciso was quite appealing with his ankles over his shoulders being held there for dear life should they be dislodged and spoil my pleasure. He had not yet truly learned the art of participation in sex. So, I took his cherry quickly and easily. His teenage hole was smooth and lubricated and no sooner had I entered him and rammed home my hardness four or five times, mother Nature took over in his body and he shot cum, as if it were going out of vogue.
I motioned Harb over and had him lick up Narciso's cum. It was a small test and nothing else, just to see how pliant and obedient he was to do something, which might not have entirely pleased him.
Harb did it immediately and with relish, passing my small test with flying colours. Komil was there for the follow-up where with one arm he upended Narciso, plonking him down on the bed on his belly, spreading him legs and with a hand under the teenager's pubic bone, hoisting him on his knees to have his still tight chute stretched to the limits of its endurance, with a ramming home of his huge meat in what was little more than an act of impaling.
If I had been gentle, Komil was rough with Narciso. And while he was introducing him to the extent and width and length of his member, I had Harb hang his head over the side of the bed and slipped my cock into his mouth and as far down his throat as I could.
Harb, Arab and all that he was, was a natural for deep-throating.
I have always found it to be the case that where a slave is stretched to a sexual limit, he is much more amenable to receiving all other orders, be they sexual or not.
While Harb, on the flat of his back, was coping with my cock in his mouth, I was working my tongue over his dark-skinned to dark-pink hairless balls and when I had him to full erection and leaking copiously from his piss-slit, I too had him kneel up beside Narciso, who was still being ridden by Komil and like cowboys galloping into the night, Komil and I rode home at our leisure.
Maybe I should take up more swimming or gym work, but I tired first. My attention wandered and I felt that bubbling sexual edge rise, which every man knows is unstoppable.
Komil is diplomatic with me to say the least, because he too let out a roar and a gasp and Narciso was almost welded to Komil's hips with backward pulls by my body slave. When Komil withdrew his member, it was still hard. Narciso collapsed on the bed like a balloon without gas -- a glazed look in his eyes.
`Allow me, Master, to complete your fucking of that slave,' he said to me, indicating Harb, who was now looking at Komil's member, which had not deflated a cubic inch or shorted a centimetre.
No sooner than I had waddled on my knees out of his way, than Komil was up Harb's lubricated chute like a shower of rainwater down a spout. Any doubt as to Harb's loss of innocence went by the board that night and when Komil had finished Harb's was like a wet rag.
Yuriy, my stables manager, at the Aloe Palace was a practitioner of this art and always rode his charges young or old until there was total submission and obedience and loyalty to him.
The night Narciso was taken by Komil, I dried off his tears when Komil was finished with him and I had Narciso sit on my cock, brought to hardness once again by his sucking and squeezing and relaxing his sphincter muscles improved by one of the training exercises in the way that is most pleasing to me.
Harb, being of Arab blood, was more difficult to fully break in anally. Even though he had been fucked by me and then mightily by Komil, he could not relax anally even when he too was seated on my cock and was ordered to clench and relax for an hour.
However, with two small chained clips on his dark brown nipples for that full hour, he sat on my cock and squeezed and relaxed his sphincter muscles just as Narciso had done for a shorter time, but for Harb it was hard work. Each time he tried to ease off, a gentle tug on the chain made the clips work their magic in helping restore his concentration. When his hour was up, I sucked and licked his sore nipples as he cried with relief and at their tenderness.
After that evening, neither Narciso nor Harb gave any further difficulty in matters of sex and according to Flavio, their attention to duty and detail in the kitchen improved no end.
End of chapter 6. To be continued...