Dahran

This is the ninth chapter ex twenty two 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.

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The Dahran Way

Chapter 9 The importance of celebration

Ben Trant / Gianni Centini

It was the last week of March and one of those days best forgotten weather-wise. Even with the air-conditioning on at full blast at the Bank, it was not enough to stay cool. March is not supposed to be that hot, but when it blankets the land without a puff of wind, it is definitely best forgotten. It was in a way good that so many were on Spring holidays otherwise tempers would have frayed had we been fully staffed and treading on each others toes.

The switch put through a call at some stage in the morning from Abu al-Shaad, the second son of my late neighbour, whose farm I had purchased, and on which I was now in the process of beginning the construction of the Lemon Palace by starting to reclaim the land as proper farm lands.

`Abu, how are you? Delighted to hear you.'

Abu and I met usually about once every three weeks or so for a tryst, once he had revealed his true sexuality to me and although we did not have a regular schedule, he usually rang when he was free, staying overnight at the Lime Palace, where his flawless body and soft doe eyes were pleasures to feast on. I thought that he might be ringing to see if I were free that weekend.

`Jonathan, my apologies for calling, but Khalid and I have a small problem and wonder if I might drop by this evening or over the weekend, if you are at home?'

Khalid was his elder brother.

`Whenever. There is no problem.'

I shun the social life of Dahra, though I must belong to every society in the Sheikdom either as a corporate Bank member or as an ordinary member as required under noblesse oblige being one of the country's leading bankers.

`Abu, come this evening and any time after five I am at home. Stay for dinner and for the weekend if you wish.'

`After five then, Jonathan. I shall be there.'

This did not sound like Abu at all and I wondered what was his and Khalid's problem.

I was back home after a pleasant traffic-free drive at just a minute to five. Faisal, my driver, I do believe has some homing device in the limousine to get me to places exactly on time.

Food and Drink came out dancing attendance, full of the Palace news, insisting on carrying in my papers. I saw Aziz, my head of household, scowl at them as they pranced along and thought that I had better not ask. They were quite capable of getting up to devilment and then pretending that nothing disastrous at all had happened.

I had time to change and relax a while when Food was back to say that Abu al-Shaad had arrived and was in the study. By the time I got down, Bob Conrad, who serves my table, was serving him some limejuice and seeing my arrival poured a glass for me as well, before withdrawing.

After greetings and pleasantries, we had not even sat down, Abu said, `Jonathan, I really should not have bothered you at all, but we did not know what to do and I suggested to Khalid, my brother, that I speak to you.'

I was beginning to get intrigued, not that I was at all piqued that Abu, him of the flawless skin and soft doe brown eyes, was not coming to see and visit me for the evening, with himself as the main dish.

`You know that we have been disposing of various of our father's smaller and lesser properties to lower the overall level of debt on the business.'

I nodded and indicated to Abu that he sit down. This sounded, as if it could take time. My general manager at the Bank, Gustav Ahlson had been advising the family on debt reduction.

`We found out that my father owned a small house up in Tarim.'

Tarim is a town very much to the north of the Sheikdom, which is known for growing various vegetable crops.

`The house was maintained by one of our father's servants and we only found out about it when the servant contacted Khalid as he had not been paid for some months. He had not even known that our father was dead.'

I re-filled Abu's glass of limejuice.

`We did not know of the house. It was not listed among our father's papers. Khalid and I travelled up to Tarim and we discovered that our father had bought it some ten years ago and ...'

Abu's voice faltered and he seemed lost for words, but he recovered his composure and looking at the ground, said, `over the years our father kept boys there.'

I thought that I should try to help the narration and said `Abu, are you trying to say young boys, teenagers or young men.'

`Teenagers and even younger, I think, Jonathan. According to what the servant said, they were usually young teenagers, thirteen, fourteen years of age, from what we can see. When they became older, my father would sell them and buy another.'

`And...'

`There is still one left.'

`At the house?'

`No, he was at the house. He is now in the boot of my car outside. We did not know what to do with him and I said to Khalid that you were the retrainer and most likely would be able to suggest something with all your contacts.'

`Abu, thank you for thinking of me and for trusting me. I'm sure there is something that can be done, quickly and quietly.'

`Jonathan, we did not know that our father liked boys. I am sure that my mother never knew or my father's other wives. Khalid wants it kept quiet, but I am not sure that we can just sell this slave.'

`You're saying that he is a slave, Abu, not just someone taken in off the street?'

`No, Jonathan. He is a slave. He is an American.'

`Abu, let's go out and take a look at him and see what we can do. Shall we?'

I led the way out to the courtyard, Abu at my side. I put my hand around his slim waist and squeezed it in friendship. He smiled and I kissed him lightly on the lips. The lips tasted of salt and lime.

Abu's car was a large model sedan and upon opening the boot, there was the naked figure of a slave lying on a rug. He looked up at us sideways. We looked down at him.

`Out,' Abu said in Arabic and the slave hopped out of the lip of the boot.

The slave was not a young boy as I might have expected from the previous conversation, but rather one in his late teens, though very slim of build, with straight shoulder-length straw blond hair, a small treasure trail of hair down to a fine reddish-blond bush and a superb penis all of eight or so inches in length. Perhaps it was his overall thinness and the slimness of his hips that accentuated the size and dimension of his cock, or perhaps the fairness of his skin. It looked, as if he had not ever been in the sun, and particularly not in the sun of Dahra, which can burn you severely if unprotected in less than fifteen minutes.

If he was American, why had Abu spoken to him in Arabic? I noticed that even in the presence of his Master's son, or in my presence, though he would not know me as a Master, the slave was just standing there, neither at rest' as we say, nor at display'. Just simply standing there, more on one leg rather than evenly balanced on both.

`What is your name?' I asked in English.

The slave looked at me strangely and then very slowly said, in quite Arabic-accented English with an underlying American accent of sorts I could not place in the way he pronounced the words, `My name is Terry. Terry Peoples.'

It was, as if he had not spoken the language for many years and looking for the words, or the structure into, which to put them.

I saw Drink's head appear at the door and I told him to go and call Food, both of whom immediately pranced out, quite incapable of ordinary walking.

`Take Terry here, give him a shower and clean him up, inside and out. And get him to the doctors for a check-up and get him all the food he can eat at dinner time.'

`Yes, Master, yes, Master.'

The two echoed each other, delighted with an important assignment given to them directly by me. As I had spoken in Arabic to them, I could see that Terry Peoples had understood. He did not object to being led off by the two, who headed for the slave quarters.

I asked Abu if he had the folder on the slave. Abu reached into the glove compartment of the car and extracted the tan folder, which exists on every slave.

I flicked through it. It had been prepared eight years previously. Terry Peoples had been sold by his parents in West Virginia for four thousand dollars. A half obliterated handwritten note in a small script beside that said `Five others. Maybe one of them next year as well.'

The pictures on file were those of a ten year old child. The head and shoulders one showed large blue eyes. The full-length back and front profiles showed a thin and scrawny looking kid.

`What do you want me to do, Abu?'

`I'm not sure, Jonathan. Khalid and I are agreed that we don't want this slave listed among our father's assets. We sold the house in Tarim yesterday for cash.'

`Would you like me to buy him off you for cash? Would that help?'

Abu just nodded his head.

`Have you and Khalid a price in mind?'

He shook his head, as if his voice had deserted him, `that, Jonathan, is the least of our worries in the matter.'

As we walked back into the Palace, I saw Bob and told him to tell Flavio that we would have an extra guest for dinner and to find me Ben Trant, my secretary, who appeared before we even had sat down in the study.

`Ben, get me twenty thousand euro from the safe and prepare the standard sale document for the purchase of a slave and an invoice'

Five minutes later I handed Abu al-Shaad an envelope with the money and Terry Peoples became my slave once I had filled in the details and Abu al-Shaad had signed the document of sale.

`Problem solved, Abu. Forget about it. How about a massage and a swim to help you relax and then some dinner?'

`Jonathan, you don't know the cloud that has disappeared from over my head.'

The massage was so good and Vitali, my slave masseur, was at his very best, even with his usual little joke of `on the count of three', whereupon he assaulted my spine on the count of one with his elbow.

`Ah, Master! All out of place. Not enough swimming.'

Vitali was never satisfied with either my spine or overall state of fitness, always prompting for that extra bit of exercise.

One of Vitali's new assistants was doing likewise on Abu. Vitali was almost like a barber with the continuous stream of comment and chat and palace intrigue, and told me that he had his two assistants practising each day on the Swedes before they took their afternoon swim.

I was drifting off, when Vitali delivered a smack on my bum as he is wont to do, `Now, Master, Rolf is going to pace you for a kilometre in the pool. Quick before the muscles tighten again.'

I dove into the pool and was quickly followed by Abu, while Rolf effortlessly swam two feet ahead of us all the time for the duration of the swim.

At the end of the swim, Rolf said to me, `Master, less massages and more swims.'

`Yes, Rolf, now help me out of the pool. My spine is still not reassembled.'

`Master Abu, you have a fine stroke, but you need a lot more exercise,' Rolf said, and the muscles on his own naked abdomen and torso rippled in the late afternoon light.

When we went back in to the Palace after our swim, the medical staff were there for dinner as they are accustomed to be when no emergencies are to hand.

`How is this new slave of mine, gentlemen?'

`Eyes perfect,' Nacho Cuesta, the eye-surgeon and ophthalmologist replied.

`His teeth do need a day's work. The usual capping and evening, but fine gums,' Cal Thorsen answered.

A little on the thin side for his height. If I did not know better, I would say that he has been kept on a very low diet. And he has been extensively used for a long time,' Yves Fournier said. I'll have the bloods in the morning.'

None of the medical staff was making a connection between the slave and Abu al-Shaad at my right hand side and Abu for his part revealed nothing.

After dinner the slaves were still in the courtyard finishing up their evening meal when Food and Drink came across with a much cleaned up and better looking Terry Peoples.

`Master, he eats more than Yedo and Komil put together,' said Food.

Master, he has eaten four biscuits, four,' and Drink held up four fingers, and three bowls of soup,' chimed in Food.

Putting my hand on his torso, I could feel a firm heartbeat in Terry's chest.

`You were hungry?'

`Yes...Master,' he was hesitant in how to address me.

`When did you last eat?'

`Just bits for the last week, there was no food, Master.'

`You are now my slave and you will work on my farm.'

The slave looked confused.

`I don't know anything about farms, Master.'

`What do you know about?'

`How to keep my ...other Master, pleased in the bedroom, Master.'

`How long have you been his slave?'

`As long as I can remember, Master,' he was touching his cock as he spoke. It was not a deliberate or provoking act, he just did it unselfconsciously, as if he were back in a bedroom and thinking of pleasing a Master.

Food and Drink were looking at each other as Terry stroked himself. When he was fully erect, which must certainly have been all of eight inches and more, he just stood with that stance of his -- his weight on one leg.

The tip of his cock was now bright red with the smallest trace of precum glistening at its narrow piss-hole. The entire length of his cock seemed longer than it really was due to the thinness of his body.

Speaking to Food and Drink, I said, `Find him a bed for the night on his own. His tests are not yet done by the doctor.'

You don't want me tonight, Master,' Terry asked with some incredulity. I have always slept with the other Master when he was at the house.'

Terry Peoples did not appear to have any training as to how to speak and be silent in the presence of a Master, rather than an owner, who had simply owned him, nor indeed how to actually behave in the presence of others. It was most strange.

As it turned out Terry Peoples' blood tests were clear and for the rest of the month I assigned him to Food and Drink to train in the ways of the Palace. They were delighted at the importance of having a new trainee.

However, even in paradise all is not fair sailing. In my Palaces, it is our habit that we never speak ill of others. It is just something that is there. I give the overseers a job to do and let them get on with it. Normally they are only too happy to have something challenging and interesting to do, as indeed the slaves, because if the truth be told, the repetitive nature of some slave work does tend to bore and bore quickly.

It was Drink, who mentioned to me in passing as I think he was worried about it that Terry Peoples was criticising all and sundry including myself. As Drink had never heard criticism of me, he did not know what to do and came to me immediately.

The criticism was very simple. I had not fucked Terry Peoples, who had been fucked by his Master every time the Master was at the house and that I did not know what I was missing. The slave had made some rapid motions to Drink with his tongue suggesting how well he could and would use it in all the right places.

I bade my time and waited two days until I was less annoyed. I told Drink that he had my permission to give Terry three strokes of a camel-cane the next time he spoke ill of anyone.

`But Master, only an overseer can use a camel-cane?'

`Do you think, Drink, that while you train Terry that you can be, let us say, an assistant overseer?'

For the first time since I had known him, Drink did not smile when he was happy. He looked very, very serious and said, Master, I will be your very best assistant overseer.' And immediately added, And Master, what about Food?'

Such was the symbiosis between the two that one would not think or act without the other.

`I think, Food can be an assistant overseer as well while you are both training Terry.'

This time, there was his usual grin from ear to ear.

Two days later Food and Drink walked Terry over to me after dinner and turned him round so that I could see his buttocks. There were six nice clean and clear-cut welts across his backside.

`What was that for Drink?'

`He was not respectful of you, Master and said he could suck you off like his old Master in two minutes and then used a vulgar finger sign.'

`And you gave him only six for that?'

Drink looked a bit abashed.

`I think that he deserves another six, don't you think, Food? He does not look at all repentant.'

`Yes, Master, he deserves another six, but I don't have a camel-cane here.'

`Go and get one,' I said not taking my eyes of Terry Peoples. If he thought that I, his Master, was going to put up with lack of respect, he had another thought coming.

Food dashed across the courtyard and within two minutes was back with a three-foot cane. There was silence in the courtyard as he ran back with the cane. I nodded to Food, who had Terry bend down from the waist there and then, on the veranda, grasp his ankles.

`Count each stroke' Food ordered.

The silence was uninterrupted and the swish of the cane descend on the taut buttocks of the slave.

`One, overseer. Thank you.'

The slave's voice carried in the silence of the courtyard.

Food realising that he now was the centre of attention, took his time with the remaining strokes, which were as hard as any I have seen given.

`Two, overseer. Thank you.'

At least the slave knew how to count.

After the sixth stroke, Food then ordered the slave to make an obeisance to me and when Terry went to kiss my feet with his bum up in the air, the cane swished a further once and I heard Food say, `Today, not next week.'

Never was a foot put on the back of a neck so quickly after the kissing of feet.

The slaves in the courtyard still had not put away their food dishes and there was an appreciative tapping of dishes, which I took to be as much as of Food's performance as an assistant overseer delivering of a quick but light punishment, as of Terry's own obeisance itself.

`I think, Food and Drink, that you are going to be more of assistant overseers from now on and less of body slaves to myself. Will that be a problem?'

They looked at each other and grinned and Drink said to me, `No, Master, we are growing up and like being assistant overseers.'

I rubbed their heads and they grinned hugely.

Looking down at Terry Peoples still on his knees at my feet, I said to Food and Drink, `get him cleaned up for my bed tonight. Rather better, tell me when he is ready in the slave quarters and let me know.'

`Yes, Master,' the two new assistant overseers chorused.

That night in front of twenty five slaves in their quarters, I took Terry Peoples hard and fast. As far as I was concerned, his cock deserved no attention long and all as it was, but I plundered his butt hole and when I had come at my leisure, I had him clean my cock with his mouth.

There was confusion in his eyes and I realised that he had not been ridden hard in a long time and that he himself had never been treated with the contempt, which he had displayed towards me earlier on. Also with the confusion, I could see that there was something of shame. He was being used as he had not been used before.

I asked for a cloth and blindfolded him and with a finger to my lips, indicated to each slave to come forward and to touch any part of Terry Peoples' body, which was lying perspiring on his back on a pallet bed.

The slaves touched and touched, each a zone, which for them might have been either sensitive or erogenous. Soon Terry's perspiration was dry and he was breathing heavily as his erection took on a life of its own and rose at right angles to his body, pointing towards the ceiling.

When two of the slaves with glints in their eyes, went on either side of the supine slave and started sucking his nipples, at the same time as touching him at the back of his balls, Terry Peoples started to grasp the pallet and began to shout, `I can only come off for the Master. Only the Master can make me come.'

The two slaves looked up at me without either releasing a nipple. I bent forward and took off the blindfold and allowing Terry to see me, put my hand down between his legs and continued to frottage his perineum as the two slaves had just been doing. His hands were again gripping the sides of the pallet and his head was up off the mattress itself. He was trying so hard not to come that I was not doing more than the lightest of touches, though I think the two slaves were now chewing more than gently on his nipples.

`Master, oh Master, I can't stop it. Ooooh, Master,' and Terry Peoples started a shoot of cum, which lasted all of thirty seconds. When he finished, there was cum up his body and torso, on his chin and face, even up to his short cut hair.

I looked at him as he trembled with his last ejaculations.

I looked at the slaves and said you now know what you have to do for the next month,' and turning to Food and Drink, I said and if he comes any night without me, his Master, being present, he is to receive three strokes from each of you.'

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

At this remove, I now realise that this one act of responsibility given to my two body slaves, Food and Drink, changed them. They became more serious towards me; they no longer frolicked their way to the limousine and back at my return from the Bank. Inadvertently I had changed something. I had made them responsible adults. While they laughed and joked at things they did and at gossip around the Palaces, their body language said that they were now assistant trainers appointed by the Master and they were acting and living out the part accordingly.

When I mentioned this to Aziz, my head of household, he smiled and said, `Jonathan, this happens, but you will notice something else, just as they pleased you immensely as prancing boys, now they will please you immensely in their new responsibilities.'

In time, Aziz was proven to be very correct in his analysis. Even when I took the two to my bed from time to time, the teenage and youthful zest was gone and two expert changeling lovers had been mysteriously left in the place of Food and Drink.

It was the 5th April and my 40th birthday. I was sitting on the veranda having breakfast, looking at the mysterious small cactus in the middle of the table. It caught my eye because it was a notocactus haselbergii with a bright flame-red flower atop its spiked ball shape. It had not been there the previous morning and the thought struck me that for the past while, there was a different small cactus on my breakfast table each morning.

I silently toasted the n. haselbergii and said to myself `Happy Birthday to you too' and thought about how fortunate to be able to do so in peace and quiet, in the light and warming rays of the early morning sun.

A beautiful view of the Dahran landscape spread out before me, with the cream sides of the Lime Palace stretching out to each side of me. I had a well-run household of loyal slaves around me to do my bidding. I was lucky.

My thoughts wandered to the last birthday I was present at -- that of Jack and Fiona -- not so much a double birthday as a wedding celebration.

Then I thought back to the one before that -- Rashid al-Akhri's 50th birthday. It was a source of some very dark memories. A slave strung up in a courtyard, condemned to die from thirst. A second slave chained to a wall, starved and filthy, with terrified eyes and a body covered with lash marks.

How memories concatenate when they surface! The first slave I bought from Rashid, suspended over the retraining table, myself positioned between the painfully splayed legs, driving my penis into the anal passage of a man unable to put up any resistance. Greg Logan's roar was of futile protest and despair. And I considered how Greg had now become one of my most trusted overseers and how Ali, the filthy figure in a stall was now the content slave of Aziz, a Master whom he himself had chosen.

Shaking off the memories, I emptied my coffee cup and rose. In the study I went to retrieve my attaché case and on top of it there was a plain white envelope with an open flap.

I was surprised, upon opening to read the words

Sir Jonathan,

Happy birthday with grateful thanks.

Ben Trant

I called for Ben, who was just outside the study door ready to attend my needs should I have need of him.

Holding up the letter, for it was more a letter than a card.

`Thank you, Ben. Have you told anyone else?'

`Oh, no, Master. I never tell anyone about your affairs.'

`Not even Gianni?'

`No one, Master. A good secretary does not tell anyone anything.'

`So you think you are a good secretary?'

`I try to be, Master. But...'

`But what?'

`If you will allow me, Master, I would like to tell Gianni about today. Only him. I give you my word he can be trusted. We are your slaves and can offer nothing to you that is not yours already. If you will permit it, we will prepare something for you for tonight.'

`Prepare?'

`A surprise for you, Master.'

Aziz, my head of household, had arrived to see why I was not out at the limousine to go to the Bank.

`Aziz, Ben and Gianni are relieved from their usual duties today. And whatever they ask for, they get.'

And turning to Ben, I said: `I count on your discretion as a good secretary. But if anyone puts two and two together, it is not your fault.'

My day at the Bank flew by. As lead Bank, we were organizing a syndicated loan for a Pakistani firm and it was taking up a lot of time to get the fine-tuning right. I was glad to leave at four and relax in the back of the Rolls as Faisal wound his way through the capital city and out onto the straight road west.

Ben and Gianni, the two lovers, were waiting for me in the courtyard with Food and Drink, impatiently wanting to know why they were there.

Food and Drink took my papers and attaché case as usual and headed for the study.

Ben said, `If the Master will follow me?' and headed off upstairs to my bedroom suite where they disrobed me and washed me down in the warm water of a long shower in what can only be described as a very loving and gentle manner.

When the shower was over and they had dried me off, Gianni put a pair of slippers on my feet, while Ben wrapped me in a white bathrobe and with his crooked finger indicated to me to follow them, which I did up to the roof of the Lime Palace.

Two enormous Bukhara carpets had been spread out side by side on the roof away from the solar panels. On one a table, spread with a linen cloth, there were plates of food and various decanters of drink -- all of this beside a sofa, which I recognized from one of the salons.

On the other carpet, there was one the guest king-size beds, covered with enough bedclothes to keep an entire Arabian tribe warm in the desert night and, which must have taken all of six slaves to disassemble and re-assemble on the roof.

At the outer corners of the two carpets were four unlit torches. I was invited by Gianni and Ben to recline on the sofa, which was at an angle to the quickly setting sun.

Gianni was kneeling down next to me and proceeded to offer me a plate of savoury stuffed olives and dried spiced tomatoes.

There was a `pop' beside me and Ben had opened a bottle of pink vintage 1980 Dom Pérignon, pouring out two-third's of a flute for me.

It is never too early for good champagne and I let my two slaves indulge me as it was their idea and treat.

The view from the Palace roof is a splendid one of the green lands being continually watered and irrigated and of the reddish-brown silken desert sands beyond. In the evening after the heat of the day, the irrigation comes on section by section for over two thousand acres, and I always think that the white waters being pumped out of the irrigation nozzles are like streams of semen splashing over a land that needs the unlocking key to its own fertility.

I took a small pastry from between Gianni's fingers and broke it in two. I put one half in his mouth and pushed it in until his lips were licking my fingers. His face was a study in surprise as he tasted the exquisite food. I turned and did likewise with a smile to Ben, who half-sucked my finger as it was withdrawn from his mouth.

Ben went over to the table and came back with two slave biscuits. It was a way of saying that neither of them had been expecting to be fed the Master's food. I broke three small portions off the first biscuit and gave them a portion each, while I ate the third.

`Happy now, Ben?'

`Yes, Master. The other food we intended for you.'

`I know. Open wide. Taste a bite of this little stuffed tomato. Now you, Gianni, open wide.'

As they each chewed for what seemed an age on a small cherry tomato, I put my glass of almost untouched pink champagne to Gianni's lips and he drank a mouthful. I offered the same to Ben.

Gianni was licking his lips of the last droplets of the champagne. His lips were moist and pale and with a finger under his chin, I drew his finely sculptured face towards mine and left a kiss on their moistness. The Sardinian trembled. He is most sensitive to touch, and particularly to a kiss on any part of his body. It is the unspoken overture to a sexual opening.

When I turned towards Ben, he was looking at me.

Master,' he said, today is a day when we must do things for you.'

`You may, but also I will do things for you as well -- for both of you because it pleases me to express my appreciation of two very hardworking slaves in my service. Now what about some dessert, or are you both my dessert for the evening?'

Yes, Master, we are,' said Gianni with a smile, but we also have some sweet dessert here for you' and he slipped off the sofa, moved quickly to the table and came back with some qand, the local sweets of Arabia and Dahra which centuries ago had given its name to candy now known world-wide. Also on the plate in his hand were some small sugared figs and petits fours.

I noticed that he was leaking precum from an erect penis and the precum was glistening in the evening Dahran sun. I looked at Ben and he was hard as well.

When I refused another sweet fig, Gianni took my hand and kissed it. Looking up at me, he said `Now Master, are you ready to open your birthday present?'

I smiled and both of them taking one hand each and led me to the enormous bed on the other carpet.

Gianni hopped up on it and laying himself down on it on his back, he pulled his legs up over his head, separating his thighs wide. Ben looped a corded silken rope around each of Gianni's ankles and then around the ornate headrest on the bed.

Gianni's butt hole glinted with its lubrication in the evening sun. Its puckered muscle was not entirely relaxed, so I knelt down and running the flat of my tongue down the inside of each of his thighs, I stopped at their junction and ran the tip of my tongue down his perineum to touch his most private of openings.

Gianni gasped. His brown eyes shooting wide open at the pleasure caused by my tongue. Ben was beside him, almost like a carer, touching his head and face and shoulders, as if to reassure him of what was happening.

This was Gianni's first time as a slave to be sexually with me as Master. His thick five-inch cock had come partially out of from under its dark foreskin. His entire cock head was wet with precum glistening in the warm evening air.

I did not delay but placing my hard penis head on his butt hole, I pressed hard into his lubricated chute. His tightness yielded in an instant and my insertion was complete.

`Ben, undo the cords. Gianni does not need them anymore.'

Gianni's legs rested on my shoulders lightly. I let him feel the fullness of my love-organ for him, its length, its girth, its softness, its hardness and above all, appreciation of its presence in his body. I set up the most gentle of motions of penetration and withdrawal. He was not a slave, who needed to be taken hard.

After about three minutes of gentle penetration, I picked up the beat suddenly and Gianni started to giggle to himself.

`Ben, I can't stop. I can't.'

I looked at Ben for an explanation.

`Master, Gianni always laughs when he comes or when he is close to coming. It's what he does when he ejaculates. I have been training him not to.'

To a mixture of laughs and cum shooting up his body and his arms suddenly around my neck and his cries, of `Oh, Master. Oh, Master,' Gianni Centini declared his lost his virginity to his Master.

Gianni's penis had erupted, but his foreskin had not slipped back completely over the head of his cock, which would be the norm. I careful took his rapidly deflating penis and pulled the foreskin back against the glans. The opening of the foreskin was only about half the width of the penis-head, so availing of all lubrication and wetness still on the cock-head, I pulled the foreskin back down the shaft.

Gianni's right hand came forward to stop me.

`First time for this as well, Gianni.'

`Yes, Master.'

`I am not going to hurt you. You will feel the smallest amount of pain for a minute and then it will be gone and you will not have very much trouble with this tight foreskin again.'

The foreskin slipped back over the glans, back over the corona and down the shaft of the cock.

Gianni was half-sitting up looking at his cock as he had never seen it before.

`Master, it did not hurt. Just a bit. I have never seen my cock like that before.'

I rubbed the wet fraenulum behind the cock head until he became semi-erect again.

Not to lose the sensuality of the moment, I had Ben Trant kneel on the bed, legs up beside Gianni, head pressed down onto the softness of the sheet and while I got my second wind, though I myself had not come, I had Gianni start to rim Ben, something, which he must indeed have done before, because Ben and he swung into a well-rehearsed act.

Soon, Ben's anus was a gaping hole of almost a half an inch wide and into that hole, I plunged my now aching cock, aching for release, aching for the touch of tight flesh around its shaft, aching for the touch of soft flesh around its head.

Ben's anal resistance was merely his natural tightness and as I was already close to cumming, I think he deliberately tried to hold off ejaculating until I had deep with his bowels. When he started to come, I said, `Now, Ben, let me hear you shout as I ride you.'

If the ride had started with the me in the saddle as Boss, the cries of Ben Trant, my secretary soon changed from oh, Boss, oh, Boss' to the cries of Ben Trant, my slave, as he whimpered oh, Master, oh, Master,' in the final throes of my pounding of his arse and there was not doubt in either of our minds as to, who it was in the saddle.

Ben obliged with a final four shouts, which strangely echoed round the rooftop of the Palace, before collapsing flat on his belly underneath me and between my legs.

The first streaks of wine-purple darkness were hitting the sky. Gianni slipped across to the torches and lit them and as he lit the last the edge of the descending sun hit the horizon where desert land touches the sky. The fading rays reached upwards like the fingers of a drowning man seeking the surface of the sea. Slashes of silver, pink and orange coalesced and combined.

Ben pulled down the quilts, which were on the bed and we jumped under them. I lay sandwiched between the two slaves.

Ben looked over at Gianni and said `Don't.'

`Don't what?' I asked.

`Don't fall asleep, Master. He always falls asleep after coming for about ten to fifteen minutes.'

`Between the two of you, I am between a right pair. One, who can't tell a lie and another, who laughs during sex and falls asleep after it.'

I turned to look at Gianni and could not believe my eyes that he was already asleep. Ben made, as if to attempt to wake him, but I shook my head.

`It will give me a chance to say thank you to the best secretary a boss could ever have and the best slave a Master has ever had.'

For over fifteen minutes, Ben and I kissed and he held me tight. The softness of his eyelids and the sensuality of his youthful eye-lashes made him look and feel even younger than his mature years. He kissed, as if it were his first and were to be his last time. He kissed tenderly and hard. He kissed with full lips and with his tongue. He opened his mouth wide and let me enter. He closed his mouth and launched a flight of kisses over my face.

`Master, thank you,' he finally said.

`Thank you, Ben, for a beautiful birthday, card, feast, present and all.'

`No, Master, I was saying thank you for me. For giving me a role in life and making me feel safe for the first time in such a long time and for making me feel important in your life' and his arms went around my chest and again he held me tight.

`Oh, Master, I'm so sorry,' a voice said.

Gianni had woken up.

`Gianni Centini get down under the quilt and start licking my balls and those of your lover before I get annoyed with you.'

`Yes, Master,' he said with a big smile.

It was the start of a beautiful night of starry skies with a million points of clear light, a warm bed, a position between two lovers, who spent hours in showering me with their love and touches of uninhibited sex.

A perfect birthday!

End of chapter 9. To be continued...