Dahran

This is the seventeenth chapter ex twenty two of a novel 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 17 The assumption of mentality

We frequently make mistakes. It is part of the human condition. We assume that people know what we are talking about. We also make the mistake in thinking that what we have said has not been understood, when at times, people are streets ahead of us and our way of thinking.

Mentality takes on three shapes, which are important for those who are slaves and for those who are their owners. The first aspect is the mind-set of the slave who must realise that he is there to please his Master. Nothing more, nothing less.

The Master, who makes the mistake of believing the slaves are there for other purposes than his pleasure, is in serious trouble without even realising it. The Master takes pleasure in the state of ownership of slaves. He does not desire or want to own slaves. He actually owns them here and now. He takes pleasure in that ownership. If he does not, he would simply sell the lot of them.

If the slave does not realise that he is there to please his Master and that alone, then the slave's mind is not `broken' to the will of the Master. There are those who would make the mistake of breaking the slave's body into a physical submission and thinking erroneously that the slave will then be mentally owned as well.

The mental state of ownership is more complex than the physical ownership or a GPS bracelet on the ankle and a folder giving the owner his rights in black and white and photos in glorious colour.

The correct mental state of the slave is reached when, on the one hand, the slave sees all avenues of freedom cut off and on the other hand, the personal advantages to the slave of having the right mental disposition are made irrefutably, if painfully, clear. Examples abound.

The second aspect with regards to mentality is for the slave to understand, however imperfectly, that he has a mind and a mind which can be used for his own benefit--we do naturally love ourselves first of all--and for the benefit of their Masters.

I have never ceased in all my training and retraining of slaves, to emphasise the intelligence of slaves, even of the criminal element. Many slaves are more intelligent and knowledgeable than their Masters. In my own case, I just have to think of some of my overseers such as Yuriy Obov and military strategy, Pete Downings and interior decor, Jens Johanssen and computers. The list could go on and on.

It is important that the Master recognise this intelligence, and not to do so is like ignoring a fruit-producing orchard, admitting to owning the trees, but ignoring the fruit of each year. Many a Master is wasteful in this regard.

The third aspect of mentality, which is important for the slave, and no less so for the Master, is the focus of the mind on the status of being a slave or being a slave-owner. The slave must live happily day-by-day serving the Master, or the Master's wishes. That sounds easier than, in fact, it is to do. To achieve this, the obstacles to this realisation in the slave's way must be taken out of the way. Slaves do not need a variety of things such as newspapers, television and other distractions. However, they do need to be entertained sensibly which is best achieved through sensible sport and gym-work.

The Master also must be focused on his slaves. Absentee Masters do not work, as a concept, and the best example on my own doorstep was the late Mohamed al-Shaad, who left his extensive farm--now renamed the Lemon Palace by me--during his illness to be run by two Turk overseers with quite disastrous results for all concerned.

Mentality in all its principal aspects is of the highest importance for both the slave and the Master and this can never be underlined enough.

By extension, that mentality includes to those who serve both the Master and the slave and this brings me to the case of Dr. Miraldo Coelho, whom Yves Fournier was thinking of hiring as his assistant.

After my initial quasi-debacle some years back in recruiting our eye-surgeon, Dr. Nacho Cuesta, which I now attribute more to fate than to skill on my part, I always sidestep the issue of recruitment whenever possible, either at the Bank, or at the Palaces. Yves Fournier therefore had Miraldo Coelho fly into Dahra and booked him into the Bilton International, where he was to conduct the first interview on his own--more to go over the medical background and get a first impression.

If the interview were a failure, Miraldo Coelho was to be given, there and then, an envelope with ten thousand US dollars and to be dispatched back to Sao Paulo with thanks, but no thanks. If the interview were however a success, Miraldo was to be brought to the Lime Palace for a second interview panel which would include not only Yves Fournier, but also his two medical colleagues, Nacho Cuesta and Cal Thorson.

The first interview must have been a success, because I was in the gardens when I saw the Rolls arrive with Jess Tollman hopping out quickly and opening the door for a small compact figure to alight, followed by Yves.

Miraldo Coelho was small, about five foot eight and of slim to medium build. His thick dark hair fell in a quaff over his left eye and as he alighted from the car, a flick of his fingers sent the quaff back up, over his head. He was dressed for the climate, an open-necked pale cream shirt and fawn slacks with a belt and sockless sandals on his feet.

I was not far enough away inside the water-gardens to ignore the arrival. Jess had taken a medium sized suitcase and an attache case out of the boot and these were taken from him, by a clad Food and Drink who took them inside the Palace. I came out of the garden and across toward Yves and the new arrival.

`Sir Jonathan, let me introduce Dr. Miraldo Coelho. Miraldo, Sir Jonathan Martin, the owner of this Palace.'

We shook hands and firmly so. Miraldo Coelho had a good steady grip and his dark brown eyes met mine and held them in his gaze.

`I am delighted to meet you, Sir Jonathan. Yves has told me something of his needs here and your requirements.'

Miraldo Coelho was a poised individual and in the warmth of the Dahran afternoon, he looked cool and comfortable.

Let us walk in the cool of the gardens, Doctor,' I said to Miraldo Coelho. Perhaps, Yves, you can see if Cal and Nacho are free,' and Yves went off to find his two colleagues.

The gardens looked splendid and the various fountains set the tone with the coolness of their cascading waters and the odd drop of spray would fly on the breeze and be felt on the skin.

`What has Dr. Fournier explained to you of our needs here, Dr. Coelho.'

`I understand you have some seven hundred workers and you provide them with medical and surgical care.'

`Yes, indeed. Yves has a surgery here and a small hospital ward.'

`You have a lot of accidents?'

`No, not at all. The last accident was almost a year ago. Someone fell down a stairway and broke a leg. We have a couple of appendectomies from year to year and the odd hernia case, I am told. But, usually Yves uses the beds for observation. His work is mainly as a physician, though I am hoping that he may do some research.'

`Research?'

`Yves, has various work and location related projects which I am sure he will tell you about. Do you have any non-medical questions you wish to ask me? I can't really answer the medical ones.'

`The most obvious one, Sir Jonathan, why such medical care?'

`Why not? I can afford it. I want those who work for me to have the best care. Put it down to good business. If someone is sick they cannot work; if they are well they can.'

`Dr. Fournier was a little coy on the remuneration package.'

`Was he? And may I compliment you on your English. It is perfect.'

`Thank you, I spent an internship in Pittsburgh, for a year when doing my degree in surgery and I started some post-grad work in New York, but had to return to Sao Paulo, when my mother became sick and needed care. She died. But I never went back to complete the post-grad work.'

I am not quite sure what the package is precisely, Dr. Coelho. There is a salary of a hundred and fifty thousand euro per annum, a month's holiday, which can't be July or August because that is when Yves and Dr. Thorson are away. There is a fully furnished apartment here in that building'--and I pointed out one of the outbuildings--there is an assistant in the office whom admittedly you will have to train to your own ways and there is a houseboy, if you want one at your apartment.'

There was silence for a moment and Dr. Coelho said, `Did you say there is a salary of one hundred and fifty thousand euro per year? Not for the duration of the contract.'

`Yes. From what I understand from the medical staff, they usually have the full amount intact, or near enough, at the end of the year, as there are no real expenses here. Salaries are subject to the new 2% income tax and by the way, when not eating at the Palace with the medical staff, you can just have your houseboy get you a tray from the kitchens.'

`It is a very generous package, Sir Jonathan, for what appears to be a general practice situation with some small amount of surgery.'

`It is, Dr. Coelho. For the simple reason, that I always want the person to be fully concentrated on the work here with no financial problems. I have two questions therefore to ask you, which you may consider impertinent, but they are not. First, what is the state of your finances? How much do you owe, bank, credit cards, mortgage, etc.?'

Miraldo Coelho looked at me rather surprised.

`What?' he stuttered.

`A ball park figure, Doctor?'

`I would...I would owe perhaps forty thousand US dollars. I have a small mortgage...'

`The detail is not necessary, Doctor. Had I had more time I would have got a full financial report on you. But if that is the amount you say you owe, I accept that. Whether you interview with Dr. Fournier's colleagues is successful or not, I will have my secretary give you a cheque for that amount, when you leave tomorrow. If you are successful, it will be a pre-bonus. If not successful, it will cover any inconvenience you may have suffered in your schedules this week. Had you not gotten past the first interview with Dr. Fournier, you would have been given some expenses with our thanks.'

Again, Miraldo Coelho was looking at me quite astounded.

`My second question, Dr. Coelho is this. Are you gay?'

The question could not be asked in many jurisdictions. Here is Dahra there is no such restriction.

I saw Miraldo Coelho swallow.

`Yes, I am. I am Brazilian and therefore I would say that I am more bisexual, but in a classification of straight or gay, I am gay.'

`Thank you.'

`Now, can I ask you the reason for this last question?'

`Yves Fournier said, he contacted you through a gay e-mail list. You might have been there for a professional reason, or out of curiosity, or as a contact list for like with like. Do you have a boyfriend, or a partner?'

`No boyfriend. No partner.'

`Thank you for your honesty.'

`It seems a little strange, Sir Jonathan, that my sexual orientation should be of any interest to you. I do not get the impression that you are anti-gay?'

I had to laugh out loud.

`No, quite the contrary.'

As if on cue, a number of slaves came into the garden to do some work, hoes over their shoulder and on seeing me, dropped to the ground and made an obeisance. The slaves were as normal totally naked. I saw the shocked expression of surprise on Miraldo Coelho's face.

Up you get,' I said in Arabic to the slaves. What are you going to do?'

One of the slaves replied, `Master, we are going to check the irrigation on some of the beds and there is some weeding to be done. We did not know that you were here.'

`Excellent, we are only walking in the gardens and I hope we won't disturb you.'

The slaves laughed and two said, almost in unison with grins, `We won't disturb you either, Master,' or words to that effect.

`Miraldo, may I call you that? The arrival of these gardeners allows me to tell you now that my workers here in Dahra are actually slaves. We speak in English in the mornings and we speak in Arabic in the afternoons and evenings. Have you any questions?'

`Slaves? I did not know that real slavery existed.'

`Here in Dahra, yes, since the Middle Ages and beyond. You do not see slaves visibly in the capital city, but in the hinterlands, yes. Would you have a difficulty in knowing that your patients were slaves?'

`Slaves, no, I don't think so. This is too much to grasp. How many slaves do you have, Sir Jonathan?'

`Over seven hundred, I am told, give or take.'

I was saved from further questions by the return of Yves, followed by Cal and Nacho. Cal Thorson greeted Miraldo in what sounded to me like fluent Portuguese and I remembered that his assistant Sergio Goncalves was Brazilian. He had obviously been learning the language, because if memory served me, there had been none listed on his own original resume.

`Yves, Miraldo has just seen and met some of our workers. So that is one less item to explain. I have outlined the financial package though you may wish to say what expenses you and your colleagues encounter here. Are you going to show Miraldo round? If so, give him sufficient time to change, as we will have dinner at eight, if that is okay?'

It was, so I left them to their own devices and strolled over to see how the gardeners were getting on with their weeding.

As long as Flavio, my chef, is well warned, he can cater for any number and to avoid problems the evening meal is usually for eight in number. Aziz, my Head of Household, rarely dines with us though he did on that evening. The us' referred to is usually the medical staff and David Tuttle, who is building the Lemon Palace for me. That evening Hal Thiecke, my original Palace dentist had dropped by to say hello', as he put it. I had gotten the impression from time to time that he was lonely in Dahra, or maybe just married to his profession.

Aziz was back a week from his holiday and we had not really spoken. He had made a point of going back to his residence quickly every evening, when the work of the day was done and Yedo, his giant body slave, was always there for him, perched on top of the sand-buggy, with the happy smile of contentment at seeing his Master approach.

However, this evening Aziz was dining with us and as he came in, he handed me a small package, which weighed heavily in my hand.

`A small souvenir from my holiday,' he said with a smile.

As I have loved presents ever since a child, no matter how insignificant or grandiose they are, I looked at Aziz's eyes burning bright.

`You should not have done this, Aziz. I have to open it now.'

The wrapping came off easily and sitting in white tissue paper was the most beautiful of dolphins on a plinth, as if jumping out of the sea. It was in solid gold and glinted in the evening lights casting a thousand reflections.

`Aziz, I am lost for words. It is beautiful, beautiful. I shall treasure it,' and I walked into my study and placed it centre-point on my desk beside a writing set. Aziz was looking at me from the doorway positioning it, a look of pleasure in his dark eyes.

`Aziz, I am dumbfounded. Thank you.'

As we sat down to dinner, Yves said, `I think, Jonathan, that we have a new member of staff,' and we all looked at a blushing Miraldo Coelho and gave him a small round of applause.

`So, meeting the naked gardeners did not upset you, Miraldo?' I asked.

`No, Sir Jonathan, I have seen a naked body before, but never a slave. I am astonished at Yves' surgery and the hospital ward. I have never seen anything like it, outside of a top clinic or hospital and as for Cal's dental surgery and Nacho's ruby laser equipment, I am simply speechless.'

Talking of equipment, Jonathan,' Cal said, Hal here tells me of ....'

Cal,' I cut him off, this sounds like a purchase order request. If so, get it. I know you. You won't be happy until you have the latest.'

There was a sprinkling of laughter at that and we settled down to enjoy the meal.

I was interested to see how Miraldo would react to the naked waiters--one to a guest--but I could get no appreciable reaction.

Yves said during the meal that he wanted Miraldo to join him in his surgery the following day, so that he could see the normal type of work that had to be done.

`I think that is an excellent idea, Yves. Are you okay with that Miraldo?'

What Yves had not said was that he had Randy jig the surgery list, so that only the most handsome slaves, with imaginary aliments, were now to see Miraldo. Each would then report back to Yves, as to how their `medical ailment' had been treated.

Insomnia, stomach upset, migraine, anal itch, a genuine broken finger, which added a touch of extra realism, among other ailments contributed to the surgery list which Randy Tait had streaming in and out. Those who came out were sent directly to Cal Thorson's surgery, where they were `debriefed' on the new doctor. Without exception, all the slaves gave fulsome praise to Miraldo Coelho and clinched his appointment to our staff.

Before we went into dinner after Miraldo's day in the surgery, Yves gave me the positive thumbs-up on the Brazilian doctor and asked me to confirm it, which I did with pleasure.

That day turned out to be Saturday and the day the two slave-dealers were having dinner with us. I had been there in the courtyard to greet both of them as they swept up in Mercedes limousines, each with his own driver. Clearly, the slave business was going well for them.

As we sat down to dinner, which out of courtesy to our Dahran guests, had a distinctive Arab sense to it, with a lime sorbet to start to clear the palate, a number of small vol-au-vents aux herbs delicats et pate de volaille as a starter, with carre d'agneau au romarin a ris, as the main course. I took great pains to explain that all the vegetables, the courgettes, petits-pois, mange-tous and the haricots verts were from our farms.

I think the two dealers were surprised at the eccentricity of the English, in growing their own vegetables. But the English are mad anyway and this their Englishman was a good client to boot.

We ended the meal with almond marzipan sweets, in the shape of various fruits, with very sweet coffee.

Again, for Flavio and Marko it was a tour de force as a dinner.

Addressing our newest professional recruit, I said, `well, Miraldo, has the work of today put you off accepting work here at the Palace.'

`No, Sir Jonathan, if the offer stands I would be delighted to accept it.'

`Excellent, Miraldo. I mention, just in case it was not mentioned, you have to learn Arabic as well as treating your patients. Gentlemen, let us raise our glasses to our new assistant surgeon and physician here at the Lime Palace. I give you Miraldo Coelho.'

The new Doctor looked a little bemused and returned the toast raising his glass.

We were at the coffee when I saw Mustafa look at this colleague, Ahmed, and they jointly caught Bob Conrad's eye, who had been acting in his usual maitre d'hotel capacity. Ahmed had a whispered conversation with him and he departed with a bit of a smile and a half glance at me.

As I had my back to the dining-room entrance, I could not readily turn round to see what Bob was up to, but some minutes later there were smiles around the table and Mustafa gently tapped the glass in front of him.

`You may remember, Sir Jonathan, a comment my nephew, Mustafa, made to you on one occasion, when you purchased a slave from our humble establishment, whom we had not been able to sell.'

Yes, indeed, Mustafa. I purchased an excellent slave from you, Georgi Gridov, who is now in charge of my cactus gardens. It was Mustafa's first sale that day and I asked him how was he going to explain the sale of a slave not in the catalogue. I think he said that was he going to tell you, the House of Mustafa no longer had a two month backlog' or words similar.'

Both Mustafa and Ahmed were now smiling.

`Well, today, Sir Jonathan, neither the House of Ahmed, nor the House of Mustafa, has two month backlogs. Ahmed....' and he ceded the word to his colleague.

`Sir Jonathan, please accept this small token of my appreciation for your custom over the years' and he beckoned someone forward from the direction of the dining-room door.

I realised at that moment from Bob Conrad's grin that this was the reason why I had been seated where I was.

From the direction of the door, a six-foot four, curly blond headed slave came forward. His torso was beautifully sculptured, the beginning of some abs over his belly button on a totally flat stomach and with a treasure trail leading down to a respectable flaccid uncut penis.

The slave's face was unlined and his eyes were cornflower blue.

`This is Dmitri, Sir Jonathan. I hope he serves you well and for a long time.'

The slave knelt down beside my chair and as I had my legs under the table, he just knelt there. When I put out my hand in surprise, he took it. His hands were warm and he kissed the back of it, stood up, took some paces back and went to `display' and an awesome display of his physique it was.

Mustafa beckoned also in the direction of the door. I really should have moved my chair back, but I had been taken by surprise.

A second slave materialised beside me, but if the first was blond and fair and tall, this slave was dark and sultry and squat. If the first was all of six foot four, this was no more than five foot six, but he was almost three feet wide. His built was like one of those Sumo wrestlers. That was the word that came into my mind. There was a thatch of black hair from his throat to his lower belly and his genitals were large, in that each of his balls was like a small mandarin orange and his penis, no more than five inches long, was at right angles to his body and was as thick as my upper forearm.

`This is Sasha Zhankhov. Long may he serve you, Sir Jonathan,' Mustafa said.

The tank beside me knelt on the floor and a massive hand took mine--which looked like a child's in his--and only as very large people can do, he brought it to his lips, as if it were a petalled rose and I was grateful to get my hand back in one piece. I am sure that had he squeezed my fingers every bone would have been broken. Sasha Zhankhov went to display beside the other Russian.

`Ahmed, Mustafa, I am speechless. I can only say thank you, but I must enquire. Surely these two were not left waiting to be sold for two months on your premises.'

`In fact, they were, Sir Jonathan. That is why both are so well trained. They have only Russian and the usual basic commands in English and Arabic. But they are very well trained, I can assure you,' Mustafa said and he indicated a flick of the wrist.

`Dmitri was sold, but returned by his owner within two days. This happened on two occasions. The wives of the owners said, he was too beautiful.'

I looked across at the blue eyed blond whose appendage was beginning to rise in the heat. I caught Miraldo's face at one point, which registered as if he were in a mad house, instead of a safe Palace and now he was doing his best to suppress a smile at the burgeoning erection.

`Sasha, I was not able to sell, Sir Jonathan, when each prospective buyer noted that he takes four slave biscuits each morning and each evening. He has a great appetite and a great mouth,' Mustafa said and joined in the table's laughter.

As if on cue, one of the slave's stomachs rumbled loudly and the laughter hit the roof.

`Bob, take these two splendid gifts to the kitchen and get them some biscuits and water, before we hear any more rumblings.'

The dealers left soon afterwards, as they had to head back to their respective towns. It had been a good evening for them, if the genuineness of their smiles was anything to go by.

As we left the dining-room at the end of the meal, I gave Miraldo an envelope with a cheque to clear his debts. He said he did not know how to thank me.

`It is I who has to thank you, Miraldo. I think your career will blossom here at the Palaces.'

When the medical personnel had withdrawn and David gone to his bedroom, I went into the kitchens to thank Flavio and Marko as is my custom. Efim and Viktor, the sorbet makers were still hanging about there. I gave Flavio my usual hug and said, `How can I say thank you for a great meal?'

`Boss, you already have by just coming through the door.'

`And Marko, what have I to do to get the secret of those marzipan sweets,' I said as I draped my arms crosswise over his shoulders and across his young chest and started to tickle his armpits.

`No secret, Master, aaah, Master, no secret,' and he laughed his protested denial, as my fingertips tickled him.

The two sorbet-makers were looking on, half-glancing at Marko and me. I looked at them from over Marko's shoulders and said, `Well done, Efim, Viktor. The sorbets were great. Do you speak Russian?

Both nodded and said twice `Yes, Master.'

I looked at Flavio and said, `Have these two eaten?'

`Yes, Boss. Two bowls of soup each. The blond one took two biscuits and the dark one four,' and he held up his fingers in case I had not understood.

`Their names are Dmitri and Sasha. They're Russian.'

`So I have gathered, Boss.'

`Dmitri was sold because he is too beautiful, Sasha, because he eats too much.'

The two slaves hearing their names mentioned were looking at me. Having been sitting on the floor, they were now kneeling in the proper fashion, knees wide apart and hands behind their backs.

`Efim, tell them what I say.'

`Yes, Master.'

`Stand at rest.'

The two quickly got to their feet and assumed the `at rest' position.

`I am the Master of the Lime Palace. You are now my slaves. You are welcome here.'

I waited until Efim had stopped interpreting.

`Tomorrow, you will see our doctor, dentist and optician. You will be shown the Palace grounds and for the next fifteen days, you will be shown the ways of the Palace. You will have classes of English and Arabic and you will be both given work to do around the Palace, or the farms according to your skills.'

I waited again for Efim to finish.

`You will be given a buddy to look after you, who will be your companion and he will answer all the questions you have. Efim and Viktor here will get you a place to sleep tonight. Have you understood all of this?'

Both nodded and said in passable Arabic, `Yes, Master.'

`Are you still hungry?'

Dmitri said something in Russian and Efim quickly said, `No, Master, but the soup was delicious.'

I made a gesture with one hand to compliment the chef.

And you,' I said to Sasha, are you still hungry?'

`No, Master. This was the first food I had today, but it was fine.'

`Have you any questions? You can ask one question each as it is too late.'

It was Sasha who said, `Master, are you the Retrainer?'

`Yes, they call me that. Do you need retraining?'

`No, Master. I am a good slave.'

`What did you do before being a slave?'

`I was a printer, Master.'

`Do you have a question, Dmitri?'

`Master, can I take a piss?'

When Efim interpreted the reply, the kitchen dissolved in laughter.

`Yes, you can. But before you do, tell me what you did before you were a slave.'

`I drove a tour bus, Master.'

The two sorbet-makers led the two new slaves to their new home in the slave quarters at the Lime Palace.

Miraldo Coelho took up his duties three weeks after the night of the dinner. Yves asked him, who did he want to run his surgery.

`Do I have to choose someone now? Can Randy here not run it for both of us?'

`I was hoping that you would say that, Miraldo. You will not find a better administrator around here than Randy. I actually regard him like a son.'

Miraldo told me later on that Randy was beetroot red at the public praise, but when he saw how his day was being organised, he knew that Yves was right.

Shortly afterwards, I heard that Miraldo had taken to having a double Arabic class each day, one before midday and one just before work resumed at four. He just sat in on the existing classes, and asked for no special treatment which went down a treat with the slaves, who loved having a professional sitting down with them and they laughed just as much at his mistakes as they did at their own.

What Miraldo also did was to swim for an hour after the first class. He saw the slaves swimming naked and asked Rolf Hanzer, the gym Master, if he could do likewise and stripped off his very small Brazilian bathing slip when told he could. According to Rolf, he was a fine swimmer, and soon was being paced in relays by several of the slaves.

The Italians say it is il fulmine--the bolt of lightning which hits lovers. Miraldo saw Tony Sert instructing various slaves in the gym and asked if he could join in during his second hour.

Tony was hardly in a position to refuse, even if he had wanted to, but Miraldo told me that when he saw Tony and Tony saw him, something passed between them.

I was not surprised when a week later Tony Sert was in a line-up to speak to me and shyly and blushingly asked if he could be assigned to someone for the night. He had never chosen a buddy up to that time.

'What does this buddy say, Tony? You're not forcing yourself on him are you, with all those muscles of yours?'

`Oh, no, Boss. It is not... it is not a buddy I am asking for, Master. It is if I could be assigned to serve someone in bed? It's not just my own idea. Miraldo says yes...' and he stopped realising he had blurted out the name and those around like good slave gossips were all ears.

I motioned Tony a bit closer and whispered in his ear.

'Dr. Miraldo Coelho, Tony?'

'Yes, Boss,' he whispered back.

`And he does not mind if you call him by his first name?'

`I am sorry, Boss. I did not mean to be disrespectful.'

`If Miraldo told you to call him that, you may.'

`Truly, Boss, you do not mind?'

Not if you keep it between the two of you, Tony. Or when you are talking to me. But when you mention him to the other slaves, you must show proper respect. You don't want everyone here to call him Miraldo', do you?'

`No, Boss, not at all.'

`Yes, Boss,' he whispered back.

`You do realise that these Brazilians are quite a bit active in bed. Do you think you can handle that, Tony? You know you being such a boy-scout?'

`Me, a boy-scout, Boss? No way. As for handling Miraldo, I can only try, Boss and I want to give him the chance to show me what it is to be loved. He says that he will be very gentle. I don't worry about that. It's just that I don't want to disappoint him in bed.' he said very quietly.

`Well, Tony, I somehow doubt that you will. Now go find Miraldo.'

`Yes, Boss. Thank you, Boss.'

I could only admire the taut buttocks of Tony Sert, as he walked away and I breathed deeply. I thought that he now had the right mentality for success. Some Brazilians have all the luck!

End of Chapter 17

To be continued . . .