Dahran

The Dahran Sands by Gerry Taylor

This is the sixteenth chapter [ex twenty two] of a novel about gay sex and present-day slavery.

Keywords: authority, control, gay, loyalty, slavery, punishment, retraining, sex, submission

This novel, The Dahran Sands, is the eighth novel in the Dahran series

If you are underage to read this kind of material or if it is unlawful for you to read such material where you live, please leave this webpage now.

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The Prison Doctor and The Changed Life [the first novel of this series] are now available as full novels in Adobe Acrobat format on http://www.geocities.com/gerrytaylor_78/

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Chapter 16 -- The wise friends

Teach thy tongue to say, `I do not know.'

(Semitic saying)

Graham Hodson arrived from China having finished compiling the data I had requested of him. Collected at the airport by me, I gave him the scenic tour on the way back as he had not yet visited my home.

Jonathan, I am delighted for you. All I heard of you being a successful banker is true,' he commented as we passed through the Financial Services area and I pointed out the bank to him. The school was very proud of you.'

As we motored down the Western Road to the Palaces, I asked how China had gone.

`After I wrote the report to you from Italy, I was surprised that you had me go to China. Awfully expensive on you, Jonathan, but I think I have done a good second report for you. Several areas I saw have very sandy but well-manured soil for kiwifruit production. If you have water here in sufficient quantities, it will be no problem.'

I tried to change the conversation pointing out some of the sights but got the impression that my former geography teacher was concerned that he had overspent on his stay in China. I put him at his ease on that score assuring him that twice the amount it had cost would be money well-spent as well-focused research is rarely a waste of either time or money.

Graham Hodson had to be filled in on my operations at the Palaces and I thought that it was best to be upfront with him. It reminded me of the trip down to the Lemon Palace with Jock Tuttle.

`I told you Graham that I am the owner of about two thousand hectares of farmland most of which has been recovered from the desert, as I said to you about five thousand acres. I have abundant water and an abundant workforce and there, I have to tell you something.'

Graham was nursing a gin and tonic as we motored down.

`Well, if your workforce are as hard-working as the Chinese I have just seen in Shaanxi and you have water and a good warm climate, all you need are the seminal plants which are there for the buying.'

`Well, Graham, the best kept political and international secret of this region is the existence of modern day slavery. I own over seven hundred slaves on my farms and another three hundred in another business.'

He coughed slightly.

`Jonathan, you never struck me as a blood-thirsty pirate or buccaneer type. Neither do you strike me as a slave-owner type. You better tell me about this workforce of yours.'

When I had finished my account, Graham turned away and watched the desert landscape passing by. Almost casually, he asked `and the confidentiality clause?'

`Excuse me, the what?'

`The confidentiality clause and the penalty clause, I assume this political and international secret has not remained a secret without effort. What happens when I leave Dahra again? Or more precisely, what would happen if I tried to make your secret public?'

A cold hand seemed to lay itself over my heart. My former teacher still had his eyes on the dunes beside the road and the irrigated palm groves in the distance. Fiona Tuttle had once told me `I love this country, but Dahra is dangerous...' I knew I was playing with fire every time I introduced a guest to its secret realities. But nobody had ever directly asked me this question.

`Graham, I am only guessing here, because many of the Sheikdom's inner workings are unknown to me. I believe if you attempted anything of the kind you would very quickly disappear. But let me assure you, I would have no hand in it.'

He nodded.

`That is what I thought. Just as a matter of interest, Jonathan. The universal declaration of human rights was part of our curriculum at St. Timothy's. Do you by any chance recall, for example, Articles 3, 4, 6, 13, or 23?'

`One moment please.'

I pressed the intercom and said to Faisal `Stop at the next parking bay.'

Graham Hodson's expression was unreadable, neither friendly nor unfriendly. He did not even appear excited.

`Do you remember what I said about children when we met in London? The innumerable questions they ask? The way they observe their surroundings? The way they admire, absorb, reject and create? The process does not stop. It continues our entire life.'

The Rolls came to a standstill. On one side, the traffic on the Western Road sped by. On either side, dunes slowly shifted shape, a timeless sea of sand. Despite the air-conditioning, the car suddenly seemed close and stuffy. A sudden impulse came over me to open the windows. But I knew that the outside would bring no calming breeze, only the scorching heat of the Central Desert. I tried to gather my thoughts.

`I have invited you as a guest and friend, Graham, and only secondarily as a consultant. If you wish, we turn around here and drive back to the airport. We'll have something excellent to eat. You take back the next available flight, and forget everything I said about my workforce.'

`And if I don't forget?'

`It would not merely be a matter of my own affairs. You would be up against the Sheikdom of Dahra. I don't want anything to happen to you.'

`And as you invited me here, it would not look good for you either.'

`As I said, I prefer not to find out. Do you want us to drive back now?'

And I placed my finger on the intercom.

Graham Hodson put his hand over mine and shook his head.

`No. I just wanted to have an idea of what I am dealing with. Is your chauffeur a slave too?'

`Not this chauffeur. He is Dahran, a free employee. I have another who is a slave. He would not have been able to drive me to the airport though.'

I see. I have done a little research, Jonathan,' Graham pursued conversationally. From the scarce sources available, I know that Dahra does not maintain its own military. A comparatively large portion of government spending is allocated to the Ministry of the Interior. Somehow I don't think that everybody who works for Dahra's Ministry of the Interior actually works in Dahra. I assume that when you buy a slave, part of the price you pay is a tax imposed by the government to help ensure that he stays a slave?'

`Possibly; I don't know. It could very well be the case.'

`You are making me feel young again. Look at me, fifty five years old and still asking questions. Jonathan, don't be so alarmed. Think about it. If human rights were a decisive concern for me, would I spend my early retirement days studying agri-business in China?'

He looked at me with a slightly mocking expression, maybe expecting me to ask about his experiences in East Asia.

I have to answer your question with a question.' At this point I merely wanted to hear the outcome of our roadside discussion. Shall we drive back, or shall we drive on? Do you want to visit my home?'

`Yes. I am intrigued. And I cherish my life and personal freedom. I don't plan to provoke any governments into making me disappear. Please tell me more about your farms.'

I pressed the intercom button and told Faisal to continue.

The rest of our drive passed with a reassuring discussion of irrigation and crops suited for hot climates. I could not help studying my guest's deceivingly mild and pleasant exterior. Graham Hodson had spoken of `governments' - in the plural. My former teacher clearly was nobody's fool.

As we drove into the courtyard two slaves were walking across it, stark naked, as they should have been, engaged as they were in some task or other.

Pete Downings as an Overseer was wearing shorts as he came out to meet us, but I noticed that Graham's eyes immediately went to Pete's right ankle and the GPS bracelet.

`You are part of Jonathan's workforce here, I believe.'

`Yes, Mr. Hodson. I am a slave and an Overseer of other slaves in charge of this Palace.' He waved at his surroundings with his hand.

`You must give a tour of the Palace some time. What may I call you?'

Pete gave his name and looked quizzically at me.

Pete will have your luggage brought up to your suite,' I said, and any time you'd like a tour, he will be at your service. A good deal of the interior design is his.'

`Excellent. I am looking forward to it.'

`Welcome to the Lemon Palace, Graham.'

We stepped inside and into the cool of the Palace's interior.

For Khalila bint Omar's visit, my Head of Household Pete Downings was on tenterhooks for days prior to the visit. The entire third floor of the Lemon Palace was reserved for her and was effectively sealed off from the lower floors except for one lift. Pete also had a rota of slaves drawn up by Yuriy to act as twenty-four hour security on the stairs, elevator and on the Palace roof. One of the adjoining bedrooms had been converted into a lounge sitting room. A servant room was prepared in case of a comfort slave being needed any night. He said he wanted to leave nothing to chance. I smiled at this professionalism.

Drink, one of my first slaves, was the Supervisor for that floor, and the once frivolous and joking slave was a model of seriousness now in his task of getting the floor ready for `his' guest as he kept telling Food, his cousin and the Supervisor of the second floor.

This was followed up by a detailed daily listing of faults that the indoor slaves on the floor had failed to attend to and for which they each received a total number of strokes equalling the total number of daily faults. After the first two days, the faults dropped dramatically!

My special delivery arrived at the capital city's airport from New York. The air-freight firm's local office rang me at the Bank to confirm its arrival as agreed and wanted to know when and where I wanted it delivered. We agreed for the follow morning at the Lemon Palace and as it weighed just ten kilos short of a ton, did I have enough local people to lift and move it. I assured the freight forwarders that I had sufficient strong help.

There were only two further calls I needed to make at that stage, where it turned out to be no trouble at all, if I would cover the return air trip from Bahrain. The Bank's travel agents would arrange the delivery of the tickets that very afternoon in Bahrain.

It is very pleasant to live in a land where money talks all dialects.

The following morning on the dot of half-seven, my special delivery arrived punctually in the courtyard of the Lemon Palace and I had ten of the Palaces most muscled and strongest slaves in attendance all dressed in overalls so as not to mark the delivery and to take it from the cavernous back of the padded truck, and carefully and slowly lift it just inches from the ground and then through the main doors of the Palace into the large salon on the ground floor beyond the dining-room.

No sooner had I dismissed the slaves and was ushering them out of the salon, than Ben, my secretary, came looking for me.

`Master, there is a Mr. Florian Graz in the hallway. He says he's here to tune your piano. What piano, Master?'

This piano, Ben,' I said swivelling on my heel, and pointing to a the huge instrument inside the salon. A Steinway concert grand; a ton weight give or take a few pounds and all of nine feet long! The best marque of piano in the world and the greatest instrument of its type.'

Ben just opened his mouth and on one of the few occasions he has been caught off guard, said undiplomatically, `I didn't know you played, Master.'

`I don't but you never know I might learn.'

Ben again, looked at me questioningly, and said `Mr. Graz, Master?'

`Send him in, Ben. Send my piano tuner in!'

A dapper little man with a Panama hat in one hand and a black suitcase in the other was ushered in.

Sir Jonathan, a pleasure to meet you. Graz at you service' and continued on in the one breath Most unusual. Do none of your staff wear footwear?'

`What? Oh, no! It's a sort of a local habit around here.'

`And where is this new Steinway you have acquired, sir?'

I brought one of the Gulf's few piano tuners into the cool of the salon, and with my left hand indicated the concert grand.

`Oh my! Oh my! A series D! Oh, this will be a pleasure!'

I left the little man with his morning's work and went to find to find Pete Downings whom I found on the veranda giving the last of the morning instructions to the household slaves.

`Pete, get shorts for all the Lemon Palace slaves until gym is over in the afternoon. I don't want to answer anymore questions.'

`Yes, Boss.'

Jake Peoples, my Palace mercury was standing there.

`Find Faisal for me and then find Komil.'

`Yes, Boss, immediately.'

When Faisal arrived, I looked at the shoes on his feet, part his chauffeur's uniform.

`Did Mr. Graz ask any unusual questions on the way down from the airport?'

`No, sir. He commented on the scenery once or twice and I told him to help himself from the drinks cabinet, and seemed to enjoy the trip. Is there a problem, sir?'

For a piano tuner who had said he had at least thirty clients in Dahra, it could be possible that he did not know of any of Dahra darker secrets. It was best that I did not facilitate him on that score.

`No, just trying to avoid one. I think he will be finished about lunchtime. So have a snack or something early, and then you get him back to the airport.'

`Yes, sir.'

As Faisal is a Dahran, a freeman and an employee of the Bank, though living at the Palace, I always ensure that boundaries are never crossed.

As we were finishing talking, Komil arrived accompanied by a trotting Jake.

`Komil, have the outdoor slaves stay away from the Lemon Palace until lunch time.'

`Yes, Boss, no problem.'

`And you, Jake, get a pair of shorts from stores for the morning.'

Yes, Boss,' he said with that heart-melting smile of his, immediately'.

As the locals say `leave the flies alone on the camel dung'. No offence meant to Florian Graz, but the less he saw, the fewer questions he would have.

`Now, where is Bob?'

`Let me find him for you, Master,' the naked Jake said and started to head for the Palace.

`No, the shorts first; I'll find Bob,' whom I did find with Sevil polishing glasses in the kitchen. Both were already fitted with shorts as indeed the other kitchen staff. Pete Downings was certainly no slouch in carrying out my orders and that was what I loved in a slave and in Pete, in particular.

`Bob, find a sand buggy to drive me down to the first compound.'

`Yes, Boss.'

While I waited on the steps of the veranda as Bob got one of the sand buggies from the garages, I realised that I loved the obedience given to me by my slaves, the subservience of their response and their immediate regard for my authority. I felt in more ways than one that this had been achieved by a combination of the basic slave training they had first received at the slave centres of al-Mera or al-Qatim which ultimately had put the fear of beheading into them, and then at my own Palaces where the sequence of training, if I felt that it was required through up to five compounds, ensured perfect obedience for all matters related to work and sexual pleasure. This was complemented I believed by language education as needed and a balance of work and exercise through sport.

The slave I wanted to see at the first compound was Kent Kialka who upon his arrival at the Palace had to see Dr. Coelho for attention to his thumbs both of which had minor fractures from the use of the House of Khan thumbscrews. This was followed by a half-a-day session for eye laser treatment with Dr. Nacho Cuesta who discovered that the slave normally wore glasses for short-sightedness. The slave had not told me, but then I had not thought to ask. There was nothing on his file to say that he had worn glasses. This had been followed with another half-day in Dr. Cal Thorson's chair, as the Palace dentist removed some poorish teeth and replaced them with implants.

For the past week, he had been assigned to the none too tender mercies of my two South African trainers, Niko and Rob, in the first compound.

When I coded in my entrance number and the gate clicked open, I walked through. Bob Conrad did not follow but stood looking at the sand buggy as if it were going to run away by itself.

`Bob?'

`I'll stand guard here over the sand buggy, Boss, if you don't mind.'

`Bob, come in and stop wasting my time. Do you think I am going to leave you behind in here?'

Bob's widening eyes showed me I had hit the nail on the head. He sees worries of doom where only the worst of paranoids could.

Bob stepped through the gate as if he were stepping into a nest of scorpions, and we advanced to the centre of the compound where, in the morning air which was heating up, Niko was speaking to the slave I had come to see and from whose body steam was rising, clearly in the aftermath of some exercise or other, or a race around the perimeter of the compound.

As Niko went and stood `at rest' as a Supervisor should upon seeing me for the first time in a day, the slave dropped to the ground and put his forehead in the dust.

`Niko, good morning.'

`Morning, Boss.'

`How is this slave progressing?'

`We are getting there slowly but surely, Boss.'

`Slave, stand at display,' I ordered.

The slave jumped to his feet and put his arms behind his neck.

I went up close and looked into his eyes. They looked well, still very slightly bloodshot of the operation the previous week. I touched his lower lip and pulled it down with my middle finger. His teeth looked superb. Cal Thorson's handiwork always is and little wonder that his papers are so well received on implants, such is the level of practice he has.

`Are your eyes or teeth hurting?'

`No, Master,' was the quick reply and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bob Conrad start.

I walked round the slave and ran my hand down his still sweating back. The skin was smooth until I reached his backside, and there I could feel only slight ridges.

`Niko, I don't think you or Rob have beaten this slave very much in the past week. I can't feel very many weals. Are the bruises on the thighs from the compound or from previously?'

I had left my hand on Kent Kialka's backside and I could feel him tremble as I spoke as if in fear of a further beating.

`The slave has received what he was due to receive, Boss. The bruises were there before and are going away by the day.'

I was now facing the slave again.

`Thumbs.'

The slave was blinking hard as he held up his two thumbs around each of which there was still some form of very thin splint.

I touched both thumbs at the same time taking them between my index fingers and thumbs, and squeeze slightly.

`Any pain?'

`No, Master, not with the splints on. Thank you for asking, Master.'

He was blinking so fast it was like Morse code. The sweat caused by his previous exercises was running into his eyes. At least, I thought that was what was causing it. The sweat could hardly have been caused by the heat of the morning. But then again, it could have been caused by fear. Some slaves get hard-ons in the presence of authority, some even in the presence of a person dressed in a classy suit. Some slaves tremble before me, others sweat. Maybe this slave was a sweater.

`Let me see you run.'

The slave looked from me over to Niko.

`Once around the perimeter on the double,' was Niko's translation of my order.

I started to turn to talk to Niko as the slave took off, but his gait caught my eye. He was running with his two elbows tucked in to his body and his two thumbs stuck up in the air out in front of him.

`What the..?'

`That's the way he runs, Boss. You have to admit a bit odd. He is afraid to swing his arms while the thumbs are healing. That's where the caning on the backside occurred.'

`Is he ready to move on to the second compound?'

`Yes, he is if that is what you want. But if I can be frank, Boss?'

I nodded for Niko to go on.

`Boss, he is obedient and quick about it. But he is no athlete and body strength will never be any attribute of his. Even his running, look at him...he is not particularly well coordinated. Swinging from the bars in the second compound, I would not like to be there when he tries that. And he's gay.'

`How do you know? Did he tell you?'

No, Boss. I would just bet he is, if I had something to bet with,' Niko said with that quiet laugh of his. But I'll give him this, he's a trier.'

`Why do you say that?'

`Well, in the first compound, we push and push as you know, Boss, until the slave reacts and either faces the trainer or loses his rag with the trainer. In Kent's case, on the second day when I told him to repeat a run he had not done very fast, he looked me in the eye and shaking his fists by his sides he said "I'm doing my best. Can't you see? I'm doing my best not for you, but for the Master. You only have to tell me once." And in fact, Boss, he was. He will never be tops in running and physical exercises.'

As we finished speaking, Kent Kialka finished his run and came up to the three of us standing in centre of the compound, putting his arms `at display' and looking into the middle distance.

`Kent, your training in this compound is now over. I have another job for you to do with less exercise attached to it, perhaps.'

Turning to Niko, I said, `Do you have a spare pair of shorts for Kent here?'

`Not in the compound, Boss, but here he can have mine,' and in a flash, Niko had his off and was holding them out to the sweating slave.

That is what I love about Niko -- his rapid ability to take command of a situation and to understand my requirements.

Slightly confused, Kent Kialka slipped on the shorts.

`I would have liked to leave you here until you had a body like Niko, your Supervisor here, but I think that a year's training would not produce these,' and I ran my hand down the Supervisor's packed abs.

With Kent Kialka closely watching my every move, I took Niko's cock in the palm of my hand, almost thick as my wrist and long enough to reach the tip of my middle finger. I looked at Kent again, now standing `at display' wearing Niko's shorts. Yes, my new slave was definitely a sweater.

Dropping Niko's already hardening cock, because too much of a good thing can be bad even for a Master with a full morning's work ahead of himself and turning to the slave, I said to Kent `Thank your Supervisor for all the work he has put into you.'

The slave surprised both myself and Niko by saying immediately and very softly, `Thank you, Niko, and say thank you to Supervisor Rob for everything and for doing your best with me.'

Come, the sun is well over the compound wall,' I said to Bob and the slave. Well done, Niko. I hope you and Frank are still getting on well.'

Frank Kovacs who gives the sex classes is his lover.

`Better than you could ever imagine, Boss. What Frank sees in me, I still don't know.'

I had to smile at that one.

As we drove back to the Lemon Palace slowly on the sand buggy with Kent trotting behind us, I said to Bob, `He's Canadian, you know, Bob. I thought you would like him.'

The sand buggy swerved.

`Bob, watch what you're doing.'

`Boss, you mean to say you bought him for me.'

`For you, for me, and for many others. But I thought you would like him particularly as he is from Canada like yourself and Ben.'

Bob was silent for a second as he drove along.

`Has this, Boss, got anything to do with the piano that arrived?'

`You don't miss much, do you, Bob.'

`Boss, I could hardly fail to see ten slaves struggling into the Palace this morning with something that takes up a corner of the grand salon.'

`Yes, it has a lot to do with that and also to keep you calm as you serve dinner each evening,' I replied with a laugh.

`Boss, you don't tell lies very well.'

`Take Kent across to the slave quarters have someone clean him up, inside and out. Bring him to the medical facility and have them remove the splints on his thumbs and have me informed when he is ready.'

`Barbers, as well, Boss?'

Glancing backwards at the closely cropped and sweat matted hair on the panting slave, I replied, `Barbers, as well I suppose.'

Florian Graz left the Palace without causing any upset in his four hours of fine-tuning and Faisal had him speeding back to the airport just after twelve. He left three pages of printed instructions on the care and conditioning of the instrument, various passages underscored and recommended four tunings in the first year and three thereafter.

Where did he think the instrument was going to be played, I thought? The Concertgebouw in Amsterdam?

I worked my way through the morning keeping both Ben and Gianni, my secretaries, going at a cracking pace. They know my method and my thoughts on correspondence of which there is always a volume and bills of which there are always a pile.

I took two sandwiches on the veranda and a glass of Chablis, though water or lime-juice in the heat of the day would have been better. I gave Gianni who was kneeling at one side of me during the lunch a half-a-glass of the Chablis and when I caught Ben looking at me, from the other side, with that glance of his which was saying How am I ever going to keep Gianni in line if you keep giving him glasses of Chablis', I pushed the remaining half of the second sandwich over to him with a Help yourself', which had not to be repeated.

As Bob cleared the table, I said, `tell Marko to bring three servings of sorbet. These secretaries of mine have been working hard today.'

`Yes, Boss, immediately.'

As we finished the sorbets, I saw Kent Kialka make his way across the courtyard accompanied by one of the barbers. Lev, I think it was. I am never too sure which of the Russian cousins is Rurik and which Lev. The barber was naked and looked fit and trained. Kent was in the shorts that had been given to him and looked ill at ease.

The barber slave made a full obéisance and said in word perfect Arabic, it being after midday, `Master, the slave you ordered to be brought to you.'

I nodded and dismissed the barber, and beckoned the newly barbered slave up the steps of the veranda, as I put my lunch napkin on the table.

`Come with me.'

We walked into the cool of the house and down the corridor to the main salon. My sandals made little noise on the cool marble, the slave's bare feet none. When we entered the salon, I went over to the piano.

`You play, I believe. Let me hear you play.'

The slave appeared to be at a loss for words as he stood before the concert grand and then he said turning to look at me, his face a study in amazed expression.

`It is beautiful. It is so beautiful, Master.'

I went over to an armchair and made myself comfortable as the slave sat down on the piano stool and adjusted its height.

`What do want me to play, Master?'

`You said you played Bach, Beethoven and Mozart. Play something by Beethoven.'

Kent Kialka looked down towards his hands, then at me, the keyboard and the opening soft notes of the Moonlight Sonata rose in the air and started to fill the salon.

For all of fifteen minutes, its quiet, haunting and soul-filling phrases soared until its agitated final passages roused me from the music-induced enthralled state into which I had fallen. A silken silence fell on the salon and I opened my eyes to see the slave sitting at the piano, his head bent forward and tears falling down his cheek He was crying at the piano.

I was about to say something, when the slave got up, tears streaking his face, and prostrated himself on the carpet of the salon in front of me and shuffled forward on his belly until he reached my feet, whereupon he took my right foot and placed it more on the side of his neck than on its back, and with his hands grasping my sandal, he held it there while his body convulsed with his sobs.

There was no way I could hold any sort of conversation with such a prostrate figure and I left my foot there half on his neck, half on his right shoulder for some two or so minutes while his sobbing had come under control.

`Stand up and take off those shorts!'

The slave stood up and undid the metal button on the shorts, with his feet set wide apart, and having forgotten what to do with his hands in such a position, he placed them at the back of his neck, having first wiped the tears out of his eyes and off his cheeks, adding the ample use of his forearm to clean his nostrils.

`What was that display of uncontrolled emotion in aid of, Kent?'

He swallowed and said, `I thought.....I thought, Master, that I would never play again, and being able to play again just now....it was just too much. I am sorry, Master.'

I looked at the cut cock and his average sized balls. I slipped my right foot under his balls and raised them up. The entrance of his urethra showed a deeper pink inside its opening.

`If I give you the choice to play piano for me and to lose your balls, or to not to play piano and to keep your balls and what will you choose?'

My question sparked terror in his eyes. I thought for a second that he would faint there and then on me. He didn't answer in his terror and surprise.

`Well?'

He swallowed again and said very slowly, `Master, I am your slave. The choice is not for me to make, but for you to make, and I must and will live with your choice.'

While he was speaking he was looking at me in the eye, and having spoken he looked away, and another tear rolled down his left cheek. I sat forward on the sofa where I was sitting, until my face was inches from his.

`It took five days to buy that piano and have it freighted here for you to play your Beethoven today. It would take five minutes for you to walk across to the hospital surgery, and you yourself would walk on your own, and you would repeat my instructions to the doctor to castrate you there and then. That is my power and authority over you, Kent. Do not ever forget. And when it would all be over, you would walk back here and thank me for it, and then sit down and play for me again. I expect gratitude and good manners from my slaves.'

`Master, for taking me out of that terrible place and treating me like you have, I am your most willing servant. If you have really bought me, then I am also your most obedient slave.'

There was a lot of uncertainty in the kneeling slave's eyes. It was too much for him to grasp and understand all at once. All I wanted to impress on his soul was my control over his life and over his body or any parts of it.

`Please me, Kent, and you will not be asked to make the choice I have outlined, and I will not be forced to take it. Go and get those books on the cabinet beside the piano.'

`Thank you, Master. Thank you. I will please you. I will,' and the slave jumped up and ran to get the music-books I had purchased from London -- the six volumes of the entire piano works of Bach, Beethoven and Mozart -- my hundred euros' worth of some of the music's greatest masterpieces so rarely heard in the Middle East except on specialist channels or world broadcasts.

`Tell me what you know of these,' I said and for twenty minutes, Kent Kialka, my new slave pianist at my feet, went through the six volumes and indicated his familiarity with a lot of the pieces.

`From now on, you will play a piece from memory for my pleasure every Saturday evening, starting with the Beethoven. One full sonata, one full fantasy, whatever it is. For the first month, you can choose the piece while you get back into practice, but after that it will be in the sequence in which the pieces appear in the books. After Beethoven, you will do Mozart and then Bach.'

`One full piece a week, Master, but...'

But nothing.....' and I tapped his balls with my foot... or have I made a mistake in relenting on....' and I tapped his balls again.

`Master?'

`What?'

`Did you buy the piano for me or did you buy me for the piano?'

`You mean which came first? You came first. Even though you managed to sell me garden furniture, I think you would have been wasted as a salesman.'

The slave's eyes began to water as he said `Master, thank you. I promise I will do more than my very best for you. I promise you. I promise you with all my heart. That place was a horrible place to work. And....and, Master, if you ever want me to do anything for you, anything...' and he seemed a bit embarrassed by his statement that he cut off in mid-air.

`You mean like a blow-job or a night in bed with you?'

`Yes, Master,' he said with his eyes downcast.

`Kent, I have a hundred slaves I can choose for my bed because of their sexual skills. None of them play the piano, at least, not that I know of. I won't ask them to play, if you do it better. Do you understand me?'

`Yes, Master.'

There was some form of invisible wall between us. I was getting through to the slave but, at the same time I felt I was not.

`Any more questions?'

`Master, apart from playing what do you want me to do?'

`Speak with Pete Downings who is the Head of Household. You will take an hour of Arabic everyday. You know English, so instead of that you will take an hour of sex training.'

I saw the slave give a start.

`All slaves in my Palaces must be good in bed, if not for me, at least for their buddy. You can choose a buddy during the first month and if you don't, I choose one for you. You are required to really please him sexually, and he you. You will have an hour's exercise in the gym and an hour swimming, and for the rest of the day, between seven in the morning and seven at night, apart for breaks for meals, you will play, I estimate about seven hours a day, and improve your technique.'

`Thank you, Master. I just cannot get my head around all of this and I just cannot believe that you have bought that piano for me, I mean, for me to play it for you. Not even the conservatory where I trained could afford a Steinway series D. It is so beautiful to play.'

At that moment, Ben stuck his head inside the salon room as if looking for me and it was an opportune moment to get on to other things.

`Ben, have Gianni bring Kent to Pete Downings so that he can be told what's what around here.'

`Yes, Master, immediately,' and with a flick of his thumb, he indicated to the rising Kent to get a move on.

As Kent returned the music books to the top of the cabinet, Ben said to me in a low voice, `Thank you, Master.'

`For what?'

`A bit of music around here, and for ....' and he nodded in the direction of Kent's back.

`What do you think of him, Ben?'

`A gay sub, if ever I saw one. But I'll ask Gianni to be absolutely sure.'

`You don't think he is... No, I think I'd know... You think he might be?' I added in a whisper joining in Ben's attempt at sexual analysis.

`More than might, Boss. A definite might,' said Ben with all the assurance of one whose intra-personal insights rarely let him down.

`Well, keep me informed on that score. Now, why were you looking for me?'

`There are a number of things to be signed, Master -- a couple of folders full to be exact.'

`Okay, Mr. Secretary, Sir. Let's get started on these folders of yours.'

End of Chapter 16

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