Dahran

This is the second chapter ex twenty two of a novel -- The Dahran Rebuttals - about present day slavery and gay sex.

The Dahran trilogies are composed to date of 6 novels:

Trilogy one:

The Changed Life

The Reluctant Retrainer

The Market Offer

Trilogy two:

The Special Memories

The Dahran Way

The Dahran Rebuttals (this novel)

Keywords:

authority, control, loyalty, slavery, punishment, retraining, 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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Chapter 2--The assumption of flight

Once when speaking to the Sheik of Dahra at a banquet, he asked me if any of my slaves ever tried to escape. I had told him no and he seemed to be surprised at that statement.

When the first two batches of prisoner-slaves had fully completed their training at the Lemon Palace which took just over seven weeks, I had the ten slaves assembled under the side porticos of the courtyard of the Lemon Palace on a Friday morning. One of the original farm buildings, the warehouse, provided this shaded area next to the sunlit courtyard. It was around and next to the core of original edifices that I planned to have my newest construction project take shape. It was around eleven and they had been working on the farm since around seven o'clock.

I think they were a little surprised at being assembled when they should have been going in to a language class and seeing me there with a stranger to them--David Tuttle and his two body-slaves Jan Korda and Zoran Stepkov.

I inspected them at my leisure, commenting on their physiques, the improvement in muscle tone, weight loss and general attitude. Not one pulled back on being touched or examined, not even when I had each mount a table and gave each a prolonged prostate examination.

As each ejaculated, I would taste their semen and have Ben Trant, my secretary, note its qualities for the record and then the one small final little test, each would lick up the remains of their own semen from the table. They complied with the order quite naturally without any perceptible reaction or delay.

David Tuttle was observing me and the slaves being put through their paces with a half-opened mouth.

The last of the slaves, a small, thin, specimen with a five o'clock shadow, Fausto Lopes, a Portuguese, had had a curved boner during the prostate examination and had groaned and groaned in pleasure as I had massaged his prostate. I actually think he was humping my two fingers, rather than me giving him a double-fingered examination! However, when he shot his load, his entire body jerked and spasmed. I do not mean a small jump, but rather an entire jerking of all limbs and head.

I am not one to cause pain to any slave by pressing on a deflated prostate, but on withdrawing my fingers from his anus, my hand accidentally touched his sole ball, scrunched tight up against his body. He jerked again. I touched his penis. He jerked and spasmed again.

`Ben, put Fausto here down for further training in sex techniques. I am sure that Frank Kovacs will find him far more useful as an assistant when teaching sex here at the Lemon Palace, than Komil will out on the farm here.'

Fausto continued to jerk when I touched more of his sensitive points such as his armpits and nipples and even down the flat of his belly.

`Fausto, is it always like this?'

`Yes, Master. Thank you.'

For a double murderer, he was polite if anything, but his past was history and his life in Dahra in my service lay ahead of him.

I had Bob Conrad prepare earlier some two gallons of his thirst quenching limejuice and as they were placed on a table, I nodded to Zoran to start pouring out plastic glasses of the limejuice for the slaves present and myself. The first gallon disappeared very quickly.

I sat down on a bench with David Tuttle and told the slaves to sit on the ground. They seemed to understand simple English at least.

I cast my mind back to my first twenty, even thirty slaves and how well they were now totally incorporated into the running of the Palaces. Each was known to me, as Ben Trant had once so pointedly stated. Each in their own way was loved by me for the quality of loyalty they gave me, for their unstinting service, for their untiring work. I very rarely if ever had to correct and certainly not chastise them for any lack of attention or endeavour. Looking at the bunch of slaves sitting at my feet, I wondered would I be so lucky again.

`I want to talk to you about life here at the Lemon Palace, about working for me, about trying to escape from Dahra. You have all seen the video about escaping when you first arrived here.'

There was some low comment murmured between a number of them.

`How many of you have homes and families to go to in Europe, if you were free to do so?'

Six of the ten put up their hands.

`You six. You do know that you are dead according to the jail records in your own countries. Would your families welcome you back, if you arrived back from the dead?'

Three of the hands stayed up.

`Was the work you did here this morning hard?'

I pointed to one of the three.

`No, Master. Hot work, not hard work.'

`Are you hungry at the moment?'

Several of the slaves looked at each other. One slave put up his hand.

`You're hungry?'

`Yes, Master, I am always hungry.'

He was a rather large slave. The other slaves laughed at the honest statement.

`How many of you think this slave should be given another half-biscuit each morning?'

There was some confusion in their eyes as they looked at each other, at the slave in question and at me.

One of the slaves put up a hand and asked, `You ask us or you want us to decide?'

There was a touch of belligerence in the question and it was wrongly worded, but the slave was not a native English speaker so a lot can be forgiven in the proper use of that language which not even all its native speakers handle well.

I quietly said, Always begin your question respectfully, with the word Master.' Now ask your question again.'

The slave repeated the question respectfully.

`Master, you ask us or you want us to decide?'

`Yes, I want you to decide.'

All ten hands went up including the slave in question.

`Jan, go get me some biscuits.'

Looking at the slaves I said pointing to one, `what is bad about here?'

`I am a slave, Master.'

`Do you want to go back to your jail?'

The slave shook his head.

`Does anyone want to go back to their jail in Europe?'

Various of the slaves looked at the ground, but all replied `No, Master,' though without immense enthusiasm. Perhaps some of them were imagining themselves in the communal showers, displaying one ball.

So, Bozo,' I said looking across at the Serbian slave, who had been most difficult to train, why are you unhappy here?'

He hesitated but replied, `I am not free.... Master.'

The Master was added as an afterthought.

`In the German jail where you were, you were not free there. I think you had no exercise to speak of, cameras all over the place.'

`Yes, Master,' he answered.

`Since your training has finished, has any overseer mistreated you? I am not saying punished you, but mistreated you.'

Jan arrived back with a plate of biscuits as I was speaking. I broke them in half myself before asking the next question and took one of the smaller portions for myself. I indicated to Jan to hand the plate around and to Zoran to dole out more limejuice.

`I want you to give a chance to your new life here at the Lemon Palace. After some months, you will have a great all-over body tan; you will be very fit and healthy; all your medical problems will have been attended to; you will have a job to do each day; you will be learning new things and two languages every day; and you will have had more sex than ever before in your lives.'

Some the slaves were now smiling.

`So, a new life here?'

There were nods, but I noticed that Bozo Kalik did not look very happy. His happiness really was not my concern as his Master, but it was my concern if his unhappiness impacted on the others.

`What should I do with you, Bozo? What is the best thing you do?'

The questions were rhetorical more than anything else.

One of the slaves piped up and said, `he no give good head,' and all the rest laughed. Bozo's face flushed in annoyance. He had difficulty with man-to-man sex. It then dawned on me that Bozo Kalik had no great talent at any one thing. His life and actions had been one long list of criminal activities since his teens. It was time to train him to do something which would be his specialisation.

`How would you like, Bozo, to be trained for a special job?

For the first time since I had met him, or had interacted with him, there was a spark of interest in his eyes. I knew there and then what his underlying problem was.

Another of the slaves feeling brave said, `To suck cock, Master.'

`No, something, so that when he is trained each of you will say that in the Lemon Palace, Bozo is the best at that.'

There was a definite spark of interest now in his eyes. Bozo Kalik had never been the best at anything before.

I beckoned him over and took his hand and put it on my crotch.

`Bozo, I trust you. If you trust me, we will get on fine.'

David Tuttle was looking at me having been quiet during the interface with the slaves.

I pointed to a spot on the ground between David Tuttle and myself and Bozo Kalik squatted down on it. I let my hand run over his tight haircut and over his neck. His face was typically Slavic with strong cheekbones. The blackness of his eyebrows complimented the darkness of his eyes. As my fingers massaged the back of his neck, he did not move a whit.

This is David Tuttle,' I said introducing David to the slaves. He is building a new Palace here for me and new buildings which will be homes for you, where each of you and your buddy will live. You will obey him as you obey my overseers and me. He will need various assistants and will choose the hardest working from among you.'

I was massaging Bozo's scalp and noticed that he was getting an erection from my touching of the erogenous spots on his skin and head.

`As you can see, Bozo is interested in being his assistant,' and I looked down at the burgeoning erection to the great amusement of the slaves.

Bozo did not say anything, but I could see the beginnings of a smile on his normally unsmiling face. It was a small crack in his resistance to me, but as they say a drop of honey attracts more insects than a barrel of vinegar.

I asked David Tuttle to tell the slaves what he was going to build for me and for them and he spoke in his cultured accent to them, as if they were au fait with all forms of building and architectural techniques and terminology. I could not follow a lot of it, so I presumed that those with a lesser grasp of the language would follow even less of it.

There is something about a professional speaking on a subject, even a twenty-one year old specialist in civil engineering. People do listen as the technical is given out as mundane.

When he had finished after about fifteen minutes, he said, `Any questions?'

`Master, you put big beds in house for me?'

The slave was tall and thin and all of six foot three if an inch.

`For you and your buddy, yes,' David put his two hands out about six inches apart and then pulled them apart to about twelve inches, as he cocked his head to one side and looked at the slave's penis.

All the other slaves, even Bozo, laughed at that one. I thought to myself, `well done, David.' He was getting the hang of fielding questions and dealing with slaves.

Although many assume that slaves want to escape to any place other than where they are enslaved, the truth when analysed is that half have nowhere to go.

Many would be less than welcomed from wherever they had come and, for the balance with their GPS bracelets, they knew the fate that befalls eight, or so slaves a year in the Sheikdom. These would-be escapers try as a last resort to flee much more difficult Masters than I, for very good reasons, ranging from near-starvation to depraved abuse, though such abuses are not regarded in Dahra as valid reasons at all. The life of a slave continues in the service of the Master or Mistress until sale or death.

I cannot speak for other Masters' slaves but for my own I can say with a reasonable sense of security that my slaves are happy in the long term.

The assumption of flight is also there when slaves do not like their Master or where the Master is cruel, bastardly or uncaring. I will accept the first two descriptions in my own case, but once a slave is mine I am caring of him. I believe it is my duty as a Master, whether I like the slave or not. Whether the slave likes me or not is irrelevant.

In one sense, as a Master, I am cruel in that I facilitate the continuance of a lifestyle which most of the slaves, in the first place, would never have chosen and with the lifestyle of my Palaces, I impose my will. At times, that imposition is fair, at times, it is cruelly not so and the slave simply obeys.

Bastardly I am in that I have no hang-up about inflicting corporal punishment on my slaves who challenge or flagrantly disregard my will.

However, little by little, the slave comes to appreciate the regular sex, the contact with a buddy, even the general lack of ill treatment once they start thinking of my pleasure and service as slaves and cease to think of themselves as freemen, albeit freeman in high security jails.

I do not ill treat my slaves anymore than I mistreat my furniture. They are there to serve me. I take care of them. The fact that they are live animate persons, though technically here in Dahra they are regarded as properties not persons, is a secondary consideration.

I surmise, for I have no statistics on it and Dr. Yves Fournier, my medical doctor, has never wished to research the matter, that the vast majority of the slaves are heterosexual. Their twice daily sexual contact with each other does not change that orientation. In some cases, it does reveal the homosexual within; in some other cases, it shows a bisexuality. In both cases, the average slave enjoys sex more than he would ever have thought possible, even those who might have had a lot of joyful previous sexual practice.

In the case of the truly straight heterosexual slaves at the Palaces, their sexual life settles down as they choose a buddy of their own according to their own social, not sexual likes, or according to the work interface which the Palaces offer. The sexual occurrence between two straight slaves is often no more than that they jerk each other off, morning and evening and that is that, but not only that. They establish over time a sexual bonding at a variety of levels.

Though if the truth be told, there is a degree of acquired touch and sensitivity which each slave develops as they develop their own technique with a partner who, for example, likes a long gentle session leading to a climax, or with a partner who likes his cock held really tight and a pumping action set in motion to match that of an oil well.

However, whenever I think of two straight slaves having sex, I always bring to mind two Ukrainian types whom I watched many a time in the slave quarters, who would just lie beside each other jerking each other off.

Neither was in love with the other, or so they told me, but when the first came, as he always did quite quickly, he suffered from after-tremors as I call them, in that just touching his cock head, the shaft of the cock, his anus, his nipples, or an entire list of other erogenous spots, he would shudder. He would, very much like Fausto Lopes, dry-orgasm, if that is the expression, whispering to his buddy to touch him and the buddy in tune with the sensitivity of his partner would just touch yet another spot, nothing more and ensure again and again shuddering dry-orgasm.

When the partner's turn came to be jerked off, the second slave would just shoot twice and that was that. As they say, different strokes for different folks.

One thing is for certain. The overseers as a rule discourage all negative and destructive comment either about individual slaves or attitudes. It becomes clear after some weeks, not even months, that any dislike disappeared that might have been harboured against those who were gay or bisexual or even against those who had a very active same sex partner. The toleration of opposites was the vogue.

End of Chapter 2

To be continued ...