This is the twentieth 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 20 -- The assumption of time
When he came to dinner with his colleague from al-Qatim, Mustafa ben-Mustafa, the slave-dealer and owner of the centre at al-Mera, had given me a beautiful Russian slave named Sasha Zhankhov. The slave was twenty eight years old and had been a printer and then a lorry driver in the army before being sold along with some others by his colonel, who, tired of not being paid by his army bosses, had started to sell off the local barrack's assets, including the human ones. This much I had learned from the slave's tan folder.
What I did not know from the folder and had subsequently learned was that Sasha considered himself unlucky. Well, one might have agreed with him up to a point. He had been conscripted into the Russian army at eighteen, had been inveigled by a colleague to sign up for a further term, when there was nothing doing back home but unemployment.
No sooner had he signed up again, than he saw himself having to give service in one of the internal republics, invariably trying to break away from Moscow and then, last but not least, he had been sold down the Volga by his commanding officer. Not quite a yellow-brick road of good fortune in anyone's book!
I felt it my duty as Master to bed him as quickly as possible because I knew that sooner rather than later I would bump into his former owner, Mustafa. Dahra after all is not a large country--large tracts of desert and all that it is.
Sasha's bad luck had continued so to speak when prospective owners noted his need for double biscuit rations due to his size, which apparently they were too stingy to provide -- some Masters have strange priorities! -- and he had ended up for over a month at the dealership at al-Mera. Now, Sasha had been given as a present to me, the Retrainer of Dahra. Was it any wonder that he considered himself unlucky?
All of this I gleaned, when I went up to my bedroom suite one evening, after the dinner with the two slave-dealers. James and Terry, my body slaves, look after me in the bedroom, looking to my wardrobe and laundry, and organising whoever is to share my bed. I had told them to put Sasha down in the diary early on, and so they had done.
Now, Sasha was standing at rest' in the middle of the bedroom, while James and Terry busied themselves around the place and with me. I had not expected to see Vitali Belov, my former masseur and now joint-director of the slaves' sex techniques programme, standing there as well, also at rest' and quite literally elbow-to-elbow with Sasha.
Though Vitali would be some years younger than Sasha's twenty eight, he was just five inches taller, than the small, former army driver. It would, however, be a mistake to think that, at five feet six inches in height, Sasha Zhankhov was anything other than a perfect hunk of Russian manhood.
Sasha had that typical Russian to Slavic look about him, mouse-brown hair closely cropped, high cheekbones and grey eyes, widely spaced apart. His fair skin was unblemished. He had previously a small tattoo on his shoulder, which I had had removed, as is my habit with all my slaves. Why ruin natural beauty or, as they used say, why gild the lily?
His body was hairless, like I keep all my slaves, and his fair complexion was slightly bronzed, being the type of skin which goes golden brown without burning. From a deep and wide chest, ridge after ridge of abdominal muscles crept down his torso, skirting a curiously shaped navel with a small extra little fold of skin, and down to a perfect v-shaped wedge of lower stomach muscles and his trimmed pubic hair.
His cock was at half-mast, its singularly pointed rose-coloured, neatly circumcised, fresh and pink glans at the top of the shaft gave way to a deeper colour of flesh which was ridged with the criss-crossing of veins, still clearly visible in its half-tumescent state.
I was shedding the last of my clothes, which James was taking away, when Vitali came over and relieved me of my shirt.
`Allow me, Master.'
Vitali was being very formal. Normally, as my masseur, he would have addressed me as `Boss' as did his lover, Ross Wells, who had started the popularity of the now readily accepted sobriquet and who had introduced it into the lives of my Palaces' slaves.
I trust Vitali and I knew that he would not be in my bedroom, unless he thought it was absolutely necessary. I walked into the bathroom and relieved my bladder. As it had been quite hot that day, it is my custom when it is so hot, to step into the shower before retiring for the night and I motioned Vitali in as well.
`Not the best place to give a massage, Vitali, is it?
`No, Master.'
I looked at him as the water splashed down and whirlpooled down the drain. He could see the half-formed question in my expression and he answered it.
`It's Sasha, Master. He is terribly nervous. He thinks he is unlucky and that he is going to be unlucky tonight with the Retrainer of Dahra.'
I looked at Vitali and I must have grimaced because he continued.
`Master, he thinks he is unlucky and nothing will convince him otherwise.'
`And what does he think will happen to him, if he is unlucky tonight with me?'
`That you'll sell him, Master, or put him on a water-wheel with no one to talk to him, or that you'll cut off his left ball, which he has heard has been done to those that displease you at the Lemon Palace.'
I definitely must have raised an eyebrow, because Vitali ploughed on.
`Master, I am only repeating what he says and thinks. So, when he heard my name spoken and realised I was Russian, he spoke to me and begged me to help him.'
`And you're here to help him.'
`Yes, Master, if you let me and want me to.'
Drop the Master' bit, Vitali, you know me better than to try the old flattery route.'
Vitali smiled, and said, Okay, Boss. Ross just said to say Master' at least four or five times.'
`You've discussed this strategy with Ross?'
Vitali nodded.
Well, Ross was right,' I said, with a laugh. So, you're going to stick around while I fuck the living nightlights out of Sasha?'
`Yes, Boss, as soon as you let me rub down your back and you finish your shower.'
I turned around and let Vitali's massaging fingers work their magic. And why not?
Having dismissed James and Terry to the adjoining bedroom, where they now slept when I did not want to be interrupted at night, I went over to Sasha and put my arms around his neck. He was some six inches shorter than I, but his powerful build, which would have graced any weight-lifter in his class, gave the impression of greater height and presence.
`Sasha, you are a beautiful man and a most welcome addition to my Palace,' I said directly into my slave's eyes.
I waited for Vitali to translate.
`I will treat you like all my other slaves in public and in private, as tonight, I am going to make love to you and you to me.'
Vitali again translated. Sasha had not said a word, nor should he have, as I had not instructed him to, and he did not know me well enough to interject.
`This act would normally be private to you and to me, and perhaps to one other. Tonight, Vitali will be here only to tell you what I am saying and if necessary to tell you what to do.'
I nodded to Vitali, who spoke again.
`Soon, you will speak both English and Arabic, so in the future, there will be no need for anyone to see how you are going to please your Master.'
I led Sasha to the bed and had him lie in its centre, with Vitali on the outside. For over twenty minutes, I went on a voyage of discovery on Sasha's virgin body, untouched by any male lover in all of its twenty eight years. Twice he cried out in pleasure, once he gasped a little in the pain of a nip of teeth on a tender nipple, too firmly bitten.
As his body relaxed under my touches and caresses, his penis did not and dripped its precum relentlessly, after the first stroking of his balls.
When I sucked his now deep red cock head, I knew I was the first man ever to do it. His reactions were too unrehearsed, his groans too genuine and spontaneous, to be anything other than those of a virgin, who is finding that a new chapter in his sexuality is being written, not just read, but proclaimed for the inner hearing of his senses and the inner perception of a greater knowledge of his own sexuality.
When I knelt Sasha up on his knees, with his face firmly on the bed, his knees were widely set apart and his butt hole was a delight to behold, its striated pink lines to a moist centre. Its outer reaches went from pink through various shades of flesh colours, which met the outer golden colour of his buns. The butt hole was moist from a previously applied cream, as Terry or James would have ensured.
Not to keep a nervous slave anymore nervous any longer than necessary, I positioned my hard penis at the entrance of Sasha's most private of orifices and pressed in firmly with one fluid motion, which arose like a river in the mountains of my hips and flowed uninterrupted, into the unclaimed cavern of lurking unaccessed darkness of the virginal orifice between his beautiful buttocks.
Sasha tried to grasp with the muscles of his anal entrance my invading member. It was lubricated naturally and lubrication on lubrication ensured a perfect coupling on the first thrust.
`Now, Sasha, let me feel you clench and relax your butt muscles, as best you can.'
Sasha obliged for five minutes and as it is not an exercise that one engages in frequently unless in sex technique training at my Palaces, he began to tire. I had him stop and I set up a quick pace of thrusts and pullouts, almost exiting fully his anus, but not quite; thrusting in fully, pubic hair to sphincter muscle, as I am wont to say.
It brought me off quickly. The sex was not great for me and I am sure it was less for Sasha, but on that score, it was early days for him and he would learn well.
It would have been unfair and uncaring to leave the new slave with a hard-on, so in less than ten quick and powerfully grasped jerks, I had him spurting and flowing like Niagara on a good day.
As we lay beside each other in the afterglow of sex, not great sex for either as far as I was concerned, but sex nevertheless, Vitali was relaxing, his head resting on an upturned forearm, lying as he was to Sasha's back.
`Sasha, I have enjoyed being with you tonight. You will learn a lot more about sex here at the Palace and how to please me even better. But, of two things I can assure you here and now, both your balls are safe and your luck has definitely changed for the better.'
Vitali was laughing, as he interpreted for me and he said something extra and gave Sasha a playful smack on the rump. For the first time that evening, Sasha actually smiled.
`I told him, Boss, that you said as well, he was a great fuck and a credit to Russia!'
That night was the first, but not the last that I had an interpreter in bed with me while making love to a slave.
It was just as well that I had Sasha in bed that night, because just a week later I met Mustafa ben-Mustafa, at a trade show, and told him of the great pleasure his gift had given me. Mustafa seemed suitably chuffed.
That March was the first time after over four years of business dealings that I actually met my lawyer face to face. I am talking of Josh Green, who had been acting for me out of Georgetown in the Grand Cayman, and with whom I had spoken almost monthly on the phone. In one sense, he was a minimalist in that he did not like to do anything until he had to or to travel halfway round the world unless it was really required of him. Finally, I had prevailed on him to come to Dahra for all of three days as I wanted to finalise some matters regarding the Buddy Foundation.
To make him feel at home, for the three days he was with me, I assigned him James and Terry as both he and they were American. Also, I am always slightly nervous at how people will react to nudity, when not accustomed to it on a regular basis, and nudity is what my Palaces prescribe for slaves, who are not assistant overseers or higher. My slaves are there not just for the jobs they have to do, they are to be pleasing to me and I always think there is nothing more pleasing that a well-toned and fit naked slave.
Josh Green arrived at the Lime Palace in the Rolls having been collected by Faisal at the airport, his jacket over his arm and, as one would expect of any self-respecting lawyer, a briefcase in his hand.
I came down the steps of the veranda to greet him and saw a well bronzed and fit man in his early fifties, of average build, with hair that was once black, but now peppered grey.
He took my hand and his grip was firm and dry. I was looking at him and he beat me to the punch with a `Sir Jonathan, I presume.'
`Josh, welcome. The name here is Jonathan. You are younger than I expected. Your voice on the phone is older.'
`The worries of the world make it sound older.'
`Come in out of the heat and let me get you something to drink. Here, liquids are the one essential for freeman and slave -- plenty of liquids in this heat.'
As if on cue, Bob Conrad came out of the Palace. He was the first slave to be seen naked by Josh Green.
`Welcome, Mr. Green, allow me to take your coat and briefcase.'
`Josh, this is Bob Conrad. Bob, Josh Green.'
My pleasure, Bob,' Josh said as he handed over his items. I could see that he was inspecting Bob, as clothed people tend to do the naked. Turning to me he said, Sir Jonathan, er, Jonathan, this is going to take getting used to. Handling the concept at thousands of miles is one thing. Handling it face to face is another.'
I led the way inside.
Some dinner parties have taken more organising than the principal meeting which I had with Josh Green. Also present were Aziz al-Aziz - my Head of Household, my nephew Jack Tuttle and David Tuttle who was building the Lemon Palace for me, he being the latest addition. The five of us now made up the board of Directors of the Buddy Foundation which operated out of the Cayman Islands and of which Josh was the effective CEO. David was present for a purpose.
I had set up the Foundation to do things for me at arm's length from my own name, and over the previous four years, it had attended to various matters; principally, looking after the families of the slaves who now served me, and where they had no families, as was an extraordinary fifty percent of the case, to do something in their names for the primary or junior schools where they had attended, if they even still existed.
The Foundation had also allowed me to buy the Hobart Gangers, my very own Aussie football team, which my slave, Roge Harte, effectively ran at over nine thousand miles distance, and which gave me such personal pleasure.
Apart from doing what I wanted it to do in the here and now, I wanted the Foundation to be a protection for my assets and for the slaves in the future after my death.
Jack Tuttle had been reluctant to come on board as a Director, claiming youth and inexperience. Recently, he had been bringing up the old arguments yet again, and more than that he was suggesting that his cousin David Tuttle who was building the Lemon Palace for me should be a Director in his place.
`Uncle Jonathan, I love the whole lifestyle here in Dahra, and I love my own slaves, but to do what you want is something I feel I cannot provide permanently. You want a commitment to your own slaves by me for the future. I don't know that I can give that and I would be a liar if I were to say that I could.'
`Jack, I want you to be a Director, for the precise reasons you give. You are objective. You are detached. If at some stage in the future you can't perform, I know you will find a replacement. What would you say, if I asked David to come onto the Board as well?'
`Now, Uncle Jonathan, there is a good idea. Have you seen how he loves his two acolytes, Jan and Zoran, and they think the sun rises when he gets up in the morning? Have you seen how they kneel down beside him, when they're all at work?'
I could not but help smiling to myself, because Jack was right as usual. David's slaves, though merely assigned to him for the building project, loved him beyond all human understanding.
Other than giving David a chequebook to handle the expenses of building the Lemon Palace, I had never really discussed my finances with him, nor had I any reason to, other than to ensure there were always sufficient funds in the Lemon Palace account.
Josh Green had handed my secretary, Ben Trant, a small floppy disk and asked for a copy, plus one, of each of the documents on it to be made for those sitting down at our meeting.
The five of us sat down in the study to determine the future of the Foundation and its purpose. Ben Trant had previously set out the table. Bob Conrad had left iced water and juices. It was the most formal meeting that had ever been held in the Lime Palace.
Ben Trant, having ensured that all was correct on the table, as we sat down, made for the double-doors.
`Ben, close the doors from the inside and then come here,' and I pointed to a spot between myself and Aziz to my right.
Having closed the doors, Ben knelt down on the floor beside my chair. I laid my hand on his neck and ran my fingers up and down his nape, a noogie, as our American cousins say.
`Gentlemen, the purpose of today's meeting is to ensure the future of the Buddy Foundation, and to secure that future, to ensure the future of these Palaces and my present and future slaves. Josh, if you would be so good to take us through what has to be decided.'
Josh Green did the needful and went over eight closely typed pages of agreements. Over the previous four years, I had put into the Foundation almost forty million dollars. Josh even managed to surprise me, when he gave me the present value of my portfolio of investments, at just under nine hundred million euro and no liabilities outstanding.
The EU had coughed up a considerable amount for taking the prisoners out of its jails.
We assume that time is on our side. It is not. It is neither for us nor against. We are in its flow, pushing forward. We remember the riverbanks of time we have passed, but can do nothing about them once they have disappeared from our sight. We look with amazement and wonder at what passes before our eyes in the present, and we can only plan for the surprises around the bends of time's river, and make some provision for the definite event which, with the cutting of the thread of life, determines our mortal stay.
I saw David Tuttle's eyes widen, when the summary of the portfolio investments was handed round the table. His glance caught mine. I gave him a smile and half a wink. His eyes went back to the text. The extra copy of each document I had handed down to Ben Trant, and I could see him blinking away the tears of joy, at the trust I was placing in him.
I transferred balance funds into the Foundation to bring its own investment portfolio up to half a billion euro, and when we agreed continuing Director's fees of quarter of a million euro per year, David Tuttle started coughing and splutteringly had to down a glass of water.
The changes meant that Tommy Saunders and Geoff Masters, who handled the buddy program for the slaves, would now have around twenty million a year to work with.
Josh Green looked pleasantly surprised when it was agreed that he would be paid a flat retainer of two million dollars a year for legal fees against the simple presentation of an invoice, apart from the expenses of the various weekly reports, `that is assuming there is no real court case to be defended, Josh,' I quipped.
The meeting ended quietly as efficient meetings tend to do, on a good note. Josh Green said he would like to see the Palace grounds and Jack offered to walk him round through the gardens.
When Josh and Jack had departed, I asked David Tuttle was he okay with being a director.
`No problem at all, Jonathan, now that I have seen the bottom line as our American cousins say, and I have no compunction now in arranging a shopping expedition for some art for the Lemon Palace.
`Art? Why do I need art?'
Jonathan, the new Lemon Palace is a backdrop. It has to be set off with some select objets dart in painting and sculpture. I have not built it as an austere monastery. It is to be your home in less than six months' time. The Aloe Palace and this Lime Palace, while tastefully decorated, are not really finished off, if you give them any thought on the subject.'
In one sense, David did make sense, and I agreed that he could collect me at the Bank on a couple of afternoons to go shopping.
The other person waiting for me, after I had finished with David, was Ben Trant. There are only so many papers you can file in an office, or tidy up in a study and I had seen that he was deliberately hanging about to speak with me. But when the moment came, as he stood before me, the tears started to course down his face and he lurched forward and putting his arms around me, he hugged me with all his strength.
`Master, I'm sorry. Master, I'm sorry.'
It was a mantra he repeated half a dozen times. I let the outpouring continue. My shirt was half-ruined after the heat of the day. A few tears would do it no harm. I was not too sure where Ben Trant's sorrow lay -- but he himself was there to give the answer, when the outpouring ceased.
`Master, I now know very clearly that you love me.'
It was all about love. As a slave, he seemed insecure so frequently. I just let the fingers of my hand run through his short hair, and down the back of his head.
`I always have, Ben. In my own way, I have always loved you, since that very first time in al-Qatim with your erection that wouldn't go down. If I have been hard on you as a secretary, it is because I expect that much more from you and always will. And talking of love, how are you getting on with Gianni?'
`Master, he is the love of my life. He completes me in a hundred ways. I just know that I love him and I always will. It is not just the physical sex. That is great, every night and every morning. There is a link between our souls. I just want to live and please him, when I am not living for and pleasing you, Master.'
I thought to myself that was as good a definition of a slave as I was likely to get in all of Dahra and in any of my Palaces.
End of Chapter 20
To be continued . . .