Dahran

This is the eighteenth 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 18--The assumption of opposites

A week after his arrival, I bedded Dmitri Soliduk for the first time. His bloods had come back clean and apart from the removal of a small sebaceous cyst on his head, his medicals were fine. He had also spent a full day in the dentist's chair under general anaesthetic, being given a new set of capped and even teeth under Cal's latest procedure. His body now matched his teeth and vice versa.

My two body slaves, the former missionary James and his new colleague Terry, were working out quite well. Terry now kept a calendar a week in advance of who was to pleasure me each night and he and James were scrupulous in ensuring the perfect preparation inside and out of whomever it might be. Even Abu al-Shaad on his once monthly visit found that he was now being given an enema--very politely but very firmly.

When I arrived that night in my bedroom, Dmitri was already there at `display.' I went over and sniffed his armpits. There was no artificial scent or spray there, only a manly odour of perspiration and definitely the pheromones of his masculinity, and I already felt heady sexual reaction to his exuding sexuality.

His nipples were standing proud, perfect pink nubs of tender flesh against rose coloured aureoles. I touched one of them with the side of the nail of my thumb and I could see the goose pimples rising on the aureole as the nub hardened.

While Dmitri had been standing there with a lightly worried look on his face--it was to be his first night with me and that was understandable--I put my fingers on his lips and opened his mouth to look at his teeth. This was all in silence and when he understood, he opened wide, revealing the dental perfection within--managing to give a big smile as well.

I pulled his head forward, as he was various inches taller than I, and looked to the left of the scalp where there were still the signs of two butterfly stitches, where he had been operated on for his cyst. I touched them lightly.

`Okay Dmitri?' I said in international Russian.

Yes, Masterrh, okay,' he replied in international English with a polished smile on having learnt the word Master' meticulously well.

I ran my hands over his biceps for good measure and noted the translucency of his Russian skin and the way the veins stood out on his arms.

I signalled Terry and James over and they undressed me. Terry had now gotten into the habit of going on his knees and first kissing each of my shoes before slipping them off. I had asked him why he did that.

`Master, you are now my Master and I kiss your feet,' was his reply and, with that, I could not argue.

James had suggested soon after taking up his duties that my hair needed attention.

`What's wrong with it?'

`It is dry, Master. Your scalp is quite dry and soon you are going to have trouble in this dry climate.'

`What would you suggest, James?'

`If the Master could get some almond oil and some jojoba oil, I would make up an unscented oil to massage into your hair and scalp.'

`How do you know about this?'

`My...Master, all our family had this problem. This is what we used.'

I looked at him. His face was in neutral.

`Write it down for me and I shall have Faisal get them.' Faisal is my driver at the Bank and general factotum for messages around the capital city.

So now I sat on a seat as James worked a very soothing oil into my scalp and hair.

It had started with James just doing my head, but the second evening of the scalp massage, Terry took one of my feet and kneeling in front of me, put it on his lap and started to use the same oil on my feet. It was quite a sensuous massage being given at both ends of the body. I noticed that Terry massaged the contours of my feet and toes and toes, and heels as if they were made of tissue paper so light were his touches.

`You like feet, Terry?'

He blushed.

Big feet and boots, Master,' he blurted out before, he had realised he had said it. I mean, Master, I mean...I don't mean that your feet are big. Sorry, Master, I don't know what I want to say,' he had finally said and blushed again.

`Do you know what he means, James? Is he saying that some other part of me is big?' I said, half looking up at my head masseur with a smile.

`No, Master, I definitely do not know what he means and neither does he. I stick to heads. They're a lot safer.'

The long and the short of it was that James gave a great head massage and I did think my hair was the better for it, while Terry, with his foot and boot fetish, left my feet spoiled with attention, and usually left himself, I noted, with a half-erection.

That evening when Dmitri stood there, I admired the perfection of his body, the rise and fall of his chest, the small trickle of nervous perspiration from his right axilla, the clean cut of his chin, his curly pubes, the soft blond hair of his head, which had unfortunately been cut to a close crew cut, before I had remembered to order otherwise.

`I think Dmitri has big feet, would you not say, Terry?'

`Yes, Master, he has beautiful, big feet,' Terry replied with half a sigh as he massaged my own.

`What do you think, James?''

`Master, I think Terry should keep his thoughts to himself and concentrate on your feet.'

`Ah, James, but you must know by now that, in this Palace, we always speak the truth and say what is on our mind.'

`Yes, Master. That is what is precisely on my mind. Terry should concentrate on your feet.'

I looked up at James and he was serious.

`You don't give much leash to Terry, do you James?'

`Not when we are serving you, Master. First things first.'

Both James and Terry's ministration ensured that I too now had a half-boner by the time they had finished. I told them that was enough massage and Terry came up from my feet and took my member into his mouth, sucking it four or five times until there was a nice erection.

I lay back on the bed and signalled Dmitri over. I held my erection perpendicular and motioned Dmitri to position himself over it and to sit down on it. Once he was in position with a knee on either side of my hips, he lowered himself slowly and easily onto my hardness. He had been well lubed and I slid into to him without any problem. I felt his thighs on my pubes. The warmth of his anal passage permeated my cock. He put his hands behind his head and settled into a clenching and relaxing sequence with his anal muscles.

The two body slaves had finished disposing of my clothes and laying out fresh ones for the morrow.

`Good night, Master.'

`Good night, James.'

`Good night, Master.'

`Good night, Terry, pleasant dreams of lots of feet.'

The two body slaves settled down on the futon, which was for the moment their night couch, beside my bed when not with their own partner buddies.

`Will you be warm enough tonight?'

`Yes, Master. There are two blankets here.'

I picked up a book from my bedside table.

`Are you comfortable, Dmitri?'

`Yes, Master.'

He had not broken his pace of squeezing and relaxing.

`Good,' and I started to read, which I did for about an hour.

At one time I looked at Dmitri; he had raised himself up and lowered himself again to continue with a better grip. His eyes were closed in concentration. I left him at it.

When the hour was up according to the bedside clock, I put my hand on Dmitri's stomach. His eyes had been following my closing of the book and its placing on the bedside table.

`Tired?'

`No, Master...No problem.'

I motioned him off me. I noticed a pool of precum had gathered on and around my navel. I tasted it and gave him my finger to lick. His precum was tangy, but sweet. When I put my finger in his mouth, the ultimate test of trust of a slave, Dmitri Soliduk sucked it gently.

I pulled Dmitri down beside me and covered both of us with the type of light quilt we use in Dahra. I could now feel the warmth of his body invading mine. His penis had hardened between us and I looked into his palest of blue eyes. What I saw there was trust and the fear that he had not yet lost of me. There was no deceit or holding back. I kissed him deeply and as I did he sighed and half-closed his eyes.

I took Dmitri's hardened cock in my hand, pulled back the foreskin entirely and moved my hand up and down the entire shaft, pulling the foreskin completely back and then up again fully.

On the third stroke, he groaned down my throat, as we kissed and he trembled beside me and, on the fourth stroke, he shot a load of cum over my hand and up my belly. I did not have to look to know that he had come, I could feel it running off my body. Dmitri shuddered his way to a final climax and opened his eyes as we stopped kissing.

I kissed him on the nose.

`Go to sleep.'

`Master?'

His Arabic was not great, nor indeed his English.

`Go to sleep,' and I mimed the closing of his eyes.

This time he got the message of my mime. Two minutes later eyelids had closed those beautiful corn-blue eyes of his and, with his chin on my shoulder blade, Dmitri Soliduk slept solidly the whole night through.

We awoke half-stuck together. Rather I awoke first, as I normally do with the first rays of the gold and purple dawn washing over the desert. Whether I had moved or not, I am not sure, but Dmitri's eyes flickered open. I smiled at him. He positively grinned back.

I put my hand on his head and brought it down to my morning erection. Within seconds, his soft mouth was in action, and two minutes later I had shot the first of three loads down his throat.

I had James put Dmitri down on my bedroom list for every Sunday evening.

Some countries' folklore suggests that we spend our lives looking for our other half, the other side that complements us--the media naranja, our other half orange as our Spanish cousins say. It does so happen. Colleagues at work marry colleagues at work; athletes marry athletes, and so on. But, there also occurs what I call the Jack Spratt syndrome--the refuting of the assumption of opposites.

The children's rhyme has it that Jack Spratt could eat no fat and his wife could eat no lean and between them ate the platter clean. Opposites complementing each other!

I saw it time and time again at the Palaces. Aziz and Yedo--a child-now-man and a giant of a servant-protector; Georgi and Dieter--a spindly slave no matter how well fed you kept him, and a solid well-built, countryside man; the same with Flavio and Marko who were inseparable--one large, the other small, or even Niko Ziel and Frank Kovacs, one a superbly built former lifeguard, the other a middle aged out-of-shape teacher but whose sexual touch and technique excelled.

But for me, the most special of the opposites on the intellectual and social scales were Jens Johanssen and Abdul ben-Azri, the computer genius and the innocent, mentally handicapped slave.

There is no doubt that opposites can repel--the lover of art and the iconoclast intent on its destruction; the violent and the meek, and so on. But what is clear is that opposites need not repel. They certainly can attract like the opposite poles of a magnet.

However, if the assumption of opposites does not hold fast in all circumstances, at the physical or behavioural level, then too it may not hold fast at the level of the mind. In simple terms, we can change our mind. Today, we hold one view; the following day, the opposite. Why? For the simple reason, that life will have given us another experience, more information, a new outlook. At the religious level, we see it in the conversion or born-again situation; at the social level, we see it in levels of tolerance and we see it as well at levels of new understanding.

However, all of this was again brought home to me, when I came across Abdul in the doctor's surgery me late one afternoon. His buddy Jens was not with him. Jens anyway operates a schedule all of his own. I am not too sure when he sleeps. I am sure he must, though as a computer nerd--a nice computer nerd who has mellowed in his anarchist approach to governments--no longer targeting them with systems-wide, mind-boggling viruses, he has our Palace computer systems interlinked to the nth degree and backed up so much, that he now has three fully interconnected offices just for himself alone, and Abdul­, of course.

Various good reports from Dr. Fournier and the medical facility staff stated how well the computer programmes were running without ever breaking down. I had needed to visit the hospital ward to see one of the newly arrived Arab language teachers who had just been operated on for a small inguinal hernia.

Abdul was also there, his hand lying open on a white cloth, being treated by Randy, Dr. Fournier assistant.

Just a deeply imbedded cactus thorn, Master,' Randy said. Now close your eyes, Abdul. He doesn't like blood, Master. Hold still, Abdul. Now you can open your eyes.'

And Randy held up a sharp thorn in a pair of tweezers before Abdul's eyes. Abdul bent forward and kissed Randy on the forehead.

Abdul, his beautiful tanned body, with his forearm-sized endowment, was all excited seeing me there.

`Master, Master, Jens is going to talk to you later. He has a surprise for you. A big surprise!'

Abdul was the most beautiful of all my slaves, not just for the beauty of his body, but also for the beautiful simplicity of his mind. His skin was like pale to cream brown alabaster. His dark brown eyes were pools of simplicity in which a soul could drown. His upper body showed the development of a late teenager, being filled out with the regular work of the Lime Palace and its gym exercise programmes.

I took his manhood in my hand and let its warmth rest there. It was all of thirteen inches this morning and my fingers would not have gone round its girth.

`Abdul, you are looking very well and healthy this morning. Is Jens treating you well?'

`Oh, yes, Master. After you, I love him most of all and now we make love every night and in the morning he licks me until my seed fills his mouth and he cannot swallow it all.'

In his simplicity, Abdul was beautifully transparent. Making love every night with Abdul? Certainly not with his mammoth member!

One February evening, as I was strolling before dinner along the paths of the water-garden, I noticed that one of the slaves was standing at the entrance, as if waiting for me. It was Mike Plummer, the English teacher. I signalled him to come in.

I thought he looked well. He had lost the gauntness of a month previously. His skin was taking on a healthy glow and as he rose out of an obeisance, I noticed the tightness of his scrotum holding two fine, egg-sized balls tight up against his body. I placed my hand gently under them and felt their consistency. His six inch penis was half lying on my hand and as my fingers closed around its shaft, I felt its warmth and how it strengthened and firmed up in my hand.

`Do I have to ask you, Mike, how you are? Or can I just take note of how you look and that nicely hardened penis?'

`Master, I was going to speak to you tonight, but I saw you now and decided to try and wait and see you now.'

`And?'

`I just want to say thank you, Master, for everything. The surgery, the physiotherapy, the job, everything...'

I thought that he was going to become emotional, but he managed to control himself.

`You are now my slave, Mike and I take care of my slaves, I think you can see that. How has your induction into the ways of the Palace gone? Any trouble with the English classes?'

`Everything is very well, Master. I just can't believe that I am here. I am just unsure of various things still.'

`Such as?'

`Are you going to retrain me, Master?'

`As a slave? Do you need retraining?'

`No, Master. I don't think so. I will do whatever you tell me.'

`There you have your answer. No retraining. Next question?'

`Master, how do you know I have a next question?'

`Just an experienced guess, Mike.'

`Do I have to take a buddy?'

`Yes. Your buddy is not for sex primarily, but for companionship. Then your buddy is for sex, as in these Palaces no one jerks himself off. A slave's buddy does that, or sucks him off. Twice a day. It is a small service to your buddy and it has other side effects as well. Have you found a buddy you want?'

`No, Master,' Mike answered a bit too quickly.

`Afraid of your own sexuality, or what you might find?'

`No, Master. Yes, Master. I don't want to become gay.'

`You won't, Mike, trust me. But you may end up liking one or two guys for what they really are--good buddies and friends. I could give you twenty examples of buddies here at the Lime Palace who are straight, but who have a close sexual relationship with their companion. It is the nature of the closed society in which we live here. There are others who are bisexual and who would never have admitted it to themselves or to others. And there are a very small number of gay slaves here, who are also very happy. It's a mixed bunch, Mike.'

`Thank you, Master.'

`Mike?'

`Yes, Master?'

`Normally you get a buddy from me at thirty days, if you have not found one already. I'll give you another week to find someone you would like to have, as a friend and companion and who would want you to be the same.'

`Yes, Master.'

It was five days later that Mike Plummer was back to see me, this time in the after-dinner line. I don't know what I actually expected of him by way of choice. I half expected to have to give him the first slave on the list and have the two of them put up with each other for a month, until one or other of them finally got down to searching for and choosing a buddy.

`Now that your special physiotherapy is over, what do you do with your spare time at midday, Mike?

`I swim, Master and do an hour's work in the gym.'

`What do you want to see me about this evening?'

`Master, I would like to choose a buddy.'

`Well done, Mike. Who is it?'

`Sasha Zhankhov, Master. If you will allow it.'

I took the list of unassigned slaves from Ben Trant, my secretary who is always sitting on the ground beside me, while I speak to the slaves. Both Mike's and Sasha's names were unassigned among some twenty or so others.

`Why is Sasha not with you?'

`Master, he only speaks Russian and his English is basic. He is afraid you will ask him a question.'

`And how did you meet him?'

`He is in one of my English classes?'

`A pupil-teacher relationship?'

Mike blushed quite red.

`Yes, Master.'

Mike looked over to one side of the courtyard and I espied Sasha Zhankhov looking over at us, but attempting not to look conspicuous at it. With my hand, I waved him to come over.

Sasha had lost all his body hair thatch, which had covered his torso and a lot of his back. The depilatory cream had again worked its magic, but after a month, his skin had acquired a beautiful golden tan, which his dark features set off very well.

Talk about opposites! Mike Plummer looked puny beside Sasha; tall versus short; weak versus strong; educated versus uneducated; teacher versus pupil.

`What do you see in him, Mike? It is your choice.'

`Master, he is very quiet. He only talks when he knows something for certain. He is very gentle despite his size.'

`For your sake, Mike, I hope he is gentle in bed with you. You have seen the girth of his equipment.'

`No one could miss it, Master. But I think we might get on together.'

`In class? In bed? As buddies?'

`Yes, to all, Master.'

I was looking at Sasha who was listening, but obviously not understanding.

I reached out and touched each side of Sasha's lips. He got the message and smiled at me, but then he really smiled at Mike and I thought to myself that there is no accounting for taste in the attraction of opposites.

End of Chapter 18

To be continued . . .