Dahran

The Dahran Sands by Gerry Taylor

This is the nineteenth 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 19 -- The sandstorm

He who is unable to dance says the yard is stony.

(Kenyan proverb)

To this day, I attribute our safety on that early January morning of the New Year to Aziz al-Aziz, the Head of my Household at the Lime Palace. For two weeks over the New Year, he had been on edge. We had all been on edge. The weather was bad, not the normal warm and dry weather of the Gulf, but sort of clammy one moment, close the next moment, and downright uncomfortable at night.

Now, the one thing you do not look up in the morning newspaper at the Bank is the Dahran weather forecast. It is difficult to find in its unimportance, stuck as it is in between world meteorological readings and incoming shipping.

However, when for a second morning at breakfast I saw Aziz arrive on a sand-buggy driven by his personal aide, the giant Bulgarian, Yedo Petrov, I did feel ill at ease. Aziz is no one's fool. He is too wise in the ways of Dahra and I respect him too much. Yedo's massive bulk towered over his slightly built Master, who strode up the steps of the veranda and announced with uncharacteristic directness, `Jonathan, we are definitely going to have a sandstorm.'

I looked at him and said trying not to show my unease, `Indeed, Aziz, if you say so. And good morning to you as well. You look, how shall I put it, a little excited?'

`I am sorry, Jonathan. Yes, I am. Good morning to you, too. We are going to have a sandstorm.'

`Yes, Aziz, you have said that already. Can I invite you to join me for breakfast?'

Bob Conrad, my head of serving staff, was in hover mode, and I waved him off when Aziz declined.

`You do not understand its danger, Jonathan. I mean a real and dangerous sandstorm that can kill and suffocate anyone unfortunate enough to be caught outside in it.'

I indicated a seat and Aziz sat down. I looked at him and waited.

`The only logical conclusion for this appalling weather we are having is, Jonathan, that a sandstorm is overdue. The last one I remember as a child blew for almost two days and killed many. The skeletons of bodies were never recovered in the deserts until years afterwards.'

`A two-day sandstorm, Aziz, surely not? We would have heard of its approach by now on the weather forecasts.'

`Bah! Jonathan, I am not talking about black-devils or sand- dervishes as they are sometimes called, pulled up into the air for a couple of minutes. None of these weather forecasters is old enough to remember the last sandstorm which was a frightening haboob, a fully blown deadly mass of sand and dust that just goes on and on.'

I have always held that it is good advice if you are blind, to accept a word of wisdom born of the experience of those who have actually seen what they are talking of. I felt that such was the case here.

`What would you suggest, Aziz? I have seen in Egypt the damage that a shimoom, one of their dust storms, can do.'

He levelled his look at me and said, `Jonathan, you have given the order that the farm slaves should not be more than a minute away from any of the outbuildings. That order must stay in place and when the alarm sounds the slaves should run immediately for the nearest building. I have checked with each of the Overseers that we should store two days' biscuits and water in each outbuilding or sleeping area.'

`You are taking this whole matter very seriously, Aziz.'

`Never more so! Jonathan, never more so!'

I did not want to be late leaving for the bank that morning, and as Pete Downings, my Head of Household at the Lemon Palace, walked me to the Rolls, I said to him, 'See that everything that Aziz even suggests gets done immediately and put Luke at his orders today.'

'You can take it as done, Boss.'

Young Luke Peoples was developing into something of a modern day Mercury, running round the Palaces when messages had to be sent, just as his brothers Jake and Mattie were the official messengers at each of the other two Palaces.

At the Bank that day, I let my immediate staff know that I was going to take a couple of days off to work at home at the Palace. If Aziz was to be taken seriously, I certainly did not want to be caught in a sandstorm on the Western Road on the way going to or back from work.

This was the day of my second warning from Aziz; and its muggy heat unfolded layer by layer by layer. Gustav's promotion had been leaked from London and messages of congratulations had started to pour in from all over the world, and that was the only thing which relieved the weather-caused tension at the Bank.

`The Board has still to approve it formally,' he was heard to murmur the first few times, but then he confided in me, he no longer made the effort.

Gus Jennings stopped by with the end of year results for the Aloe sunscreen business and surprised me with the solidness of the results. It was not the only surprise, he gave me and I thought that I had misheard when he said that he was planning to marry another wife.

'Another wife, Gus? You have just married Alia.'

He was blushing.

'It sort of just happened that Alia's family suggested I convert to the local religion and that would allow me to take up to four wives as long as I have the financial capacity to look after the needs of each of them and conduct myself equally toward them. They suggested one of their neighbour's daughters as my second wife.'

If Gus Jennings were not the serious guy he was, and a former Master Sergeant in the US military, I would have taken it that he was pulling my leg. But he was not laughing, rather smiling to himself at the incongruity of it from the Western viewpoint.

'What does Alia say about all of this?'

'She is over the moon,' he said with a grin. 'She says I have enough sex appetite for more than one woman. Fatima is the girl's name and she is one of Alia's best friends. They have known each other since childhood. Actually if Alia had been against my marrying anyone else, she could have put it down as a condition in our marriage contract. As it is, I think we will get along well. Each of them is a lovely woman in her own way.'

'Does that mean another wedding?'

'For the family, yes. A contract is signed by the bride and the groom and our two respective witnesses, and the civil authorities are notified. In line with local custom, we'll have a marriage feast afterwards. I'll let you know of course as soon as we have fixed the date.'

'So, you might have children with both your wives?'

He blushed again and smiled.

'We shall see. If I am going to divide my time equally among them....'

'Then congratulations must be in order, Gus. What would you like as a wedding present?'

'Absolutely nothing, Jonathan. On this I am serious. Your generosity really shocked me last time. Two million was far too much, but really appreciated. It may actually have caused this second wedding -- me being able to financially support a further wife, and being able to offer each of them her own living accommodation and all that.'

'Gus, all I can say is that it takes all sorts to make a world. Dahra is Dahra. My best wishes to you and Alia and Fatima.'

Faisal, my driver, got me back to the Lemon Palace spot of the dot of five o'clock and I immediately headed for a shower as my clothes were stuck to my back.

Pete Downings met me as I came through the Palace doors and headed for the stairs with me.

`Boss, I have taken the liberty of changing your body slaves. I have created a rota, as there is a certain demand to look after you in your bedroom.'

`A rota?'

`Yes, Boss. One week on, three weeks off. Eight on the rota in all. The two Jakes are on this evening. Jake Carter and Jake Peoples, if that pleases you.'

`Sort of confusing, eh, Pete?'

`No, Boss, you don't have to say a thing and just see how they get on with you. I have left a camel cane in one of the amphorae in the bedroom suite if either of them leave anything to be desired.'

I did not think that anything would and could already feel a tightening of my underwear at the thought of Jake Carter's long legs, and at Jake Peoples' perfect colouring and physique.

`What did the other body slaves say?'

I was thinking of Terry Peoples and his marvellous mouth and James Scott, the former missionary, with his totally subservient attitude with his well-trained anus whose muscles could clench and relax for hours on end.

`Nothing, Boss, they are well-trained slaves. I have them down for next week.'

`And then who?'

`Sevil and Vidor, with Dmitri Solidiuk and a vacant spot for the final two weeks.'

`Make sure that Abdul is not forgotten.'

`No, Boss, of course not.'

Abdul was gifted to me by his dying father and for all his mental handicap is truly beautiful both in and out of bed. I smiled at Pete's choices - my insecure sommelier Sevil, and Vidor, the slave who had doused me in fruit cocktail, not to forget Dmitri, the slave who combed his pubic hair so as not to be forgotten by those in authority. Clearly, his investment had paid off and he had not been.

`Let's see how they all get on, Pete. And I shall keep that camel cane close to hand.'

My two selected body slaves who had been standing `at rest' as I came into the bedroom suite sprang into action to relieve me of my clothes.

`Jake and Jake, what I am I going to call you two so that you know to whom I am talking?'

`Anything you like, Master,' Jake Carter said.

It surprised me he would have requested this duty. I certainly had not asked for him and Pete Downings would hardly have known him. But then again, the both Pete and he were Australian, so you could never know when or what they had spoken to each other.

`Carter and Peoples, our surnames, Master, if you like,' Jake Peoples ventured.

`You don't sound very sure.'

`Master, I have never been asked to make that sort of decision before,' the slave said as he undid the buckle of my trouser belt.

`But then, Master, a good slave should not have to be called at all. He should know what the Master wants before the Master knows he even wants it,' the slave commented.

`This Master needs a shower. So come along.'

I noticed that it was Jake Carter who came with me into the shower immediately, while out of the side of my eye, I could see Jake Peoples putting my soiled clothes into a cane basket for washing.

Jake Carter stood under the water spray and then said, `Master' to indicate that the temperature was right for me.

I really only wanted a shower to freshen up and the two slaves were clearly well-primed as to what to do, particularly Jake Peoples, who used a sponge and liquid soap with great dexterity.

I closed my eyes as Jake Carter did my hair and massaged some oil into my dry scalp before washing it with shampoo. When it was safe to do so, I opened my eyes and found myself looking down at a sizeable boner on Jake Carter who was blushing at the fact.

`Has Carter here a thing for his Master with that woodie he's sprouting, would you not say, Peoples?' I asked of the other Jake who had come into the shower.

`Master, he is not the only slave who has a thing for his Master. Because I have a thing, as you say, for you as well, Master, but I do not need a boner to express it.'

I laughed at the quickness of comment, and Jake Carter's boner continued hard as they dried me down.

`Why did you ask for his duty, Jake,' I asked Carter.

`Because Master, I think I am beginning to love you,' the former fire-fighter said.

`That's a bit of a jump for someone who had his fair share of girlfriends, Jake.'

`It's not only the sex bit. Master, it's also everything you let me do with Roge helping out with the Hobart Gangers and the junior clubs. I love every second of it. You're the person doing it but through me. I just love every moment it.'

I looked at the other Jake, who had raised his eyes to the ceiling.

`What?' I said.

`A slave, Master, should not be about himself and what he loves but about what his Master is about and what the Master loves.'

`Right, Jake, one day I'll let you write the slave manual, but right now you and I have a job to do,' and I beckoned Jake Carter over to me.

`Turn around.'

When he did, from behind I put my left arm around his chest to support him up against me, and I circled his hip with my right hand and grasped his straining member, all its substantial number of inches.

Peoples,' I said to the other Jake, on your knees and start licking this slave's balls.'

I started pumping his cock from behind, my cock jammed into the Australian's golden crack, Jake Peoples in front of his colleague laving his heavy balls.

On my second full outward jerk, I felt the precum moisture on Jake Carter's glans. He gave a groan that bounced off the walls of the shower. I wanted to think that it was my pumping ability, but maybe it was Jake People's licking ability.

`You're not to come until I allow you to, Jake,' and with my teeth I started to bite and nip his neck and right shoulder.

`Master, Master, oooh....'

I find it amazing how a negative command can make people want to do precisely the contrary. In the case of sex, it is like asking the Niagara Falls to flow upwards. At the sixth jacking stroke, Jake Carter was trembling pressed up against me as he was by my left arm.

`Master, I am so close...Oh Master, please...'

My constant nip, nip, nipping of the flesh on his neck was in harmony with the strokes of my hand.

His cries became pleading and incoherent, urgent and ragged by stroke nine and ten.

`You're to hold on, Jake, until I say....'

I didn't get to finish the sentence as Jake Carter's cock began to erupt and splatter the wall of the shower with strand after strand of cum. Such was the force of his ejaculations that he missed Jake Peoples' upturned face and licking tongue entirely.

I continued to jerk him off until I had mentally reached twenty, and then I released his cock from my hand and his chest from my arm. Jake Carter almost collapsed on top of the other Jake.

`Thank you, Master, that was fantastic. No one has ever licked my balls at the same time. Not ever.'

I gave him a smack on the butt in mock annoyance, `I told you not to come until I told you. I must think of a punishment for that disobedience. Now a quick shower both of you while I dress and then come out.'

Jake Peoples said `you're going to dress yourself, Master,' looking at the other Jake in annoyance.

I have been known to do it before and I can do it again,' I said with a smile. Shower and dry yourselves with my towel'.

I was feel benevolent towards the slaves as a Master may on rare occasions.

I was fixing my cuffs when the two came out of the shower.

`Obedience is important, is it not?' I said to Jake Carter.

`Yes, Master.'

`Then kneel up on that table, knees wide apart, head on the table,' I said indicating the small black leather training table I keep in the suite for such moments of minor punishment of the slaves who serve me.

I pointed at the camel cane to the other Jake, who ran across to fetch it from the large jar where Pete Downings had stuck it.

Jake Carter's splendid globe buttocks were a sight to behold with their glorious golden contours. The tightness of his anus was confirmed by its clenched status between his buttocks.

`Count off each stroke.'

Without giving the slave time to acknowledge the command, I brought the camel cane straight down the left buttock in a parallel line with his knobbed spine.

`One, Master.'

I landed two further strokes side by side with the first, as the slave counted them off, and then moved a pace to my right and brought the cane flashing down on the right cheek.

The resulting marks were three weals on each cheek. The slave was still on the table breathing hard, not knowing if more was coming his way.

`Get down.'

I looked at him. His eyes were red.

`Do you still say you love me?'

`Yes, Master, I do,' he whispered and a hardening erection attested to that fact.

We'll see. And you,' I said looking at Jake Peoples, you have done very well.'

He looked embarrassed at being acknowledged at all.

As I was speaking I became aware of what I thought was the noise of a very low diesel generator out in the courtyard. It was a rumbling growling throbbing noise. I went over to the bedroom windows to look out. There was certainly nothing of the kind in the courtyard, but on the western horizon there was a dirty grey smudge under the skyline and hugging the land. The dark grey smudge was moving!

At that very moment, the Palace sirens went off and I heard the first of the automatic shutters coming down.

`Master, it's the sandstorm. We had two practices today,' Jake Carter almost shouted.

There were slaves running into buildings and towards the Palace. Within thirty seconds, the courtyard was clear. Looking between the outbuildings not a slave was to be seen and then the final shutters over the principal doors of the slave quarters and the outbuildings started coming down.

`We have to activate the shutters,' Jake Carter said with a finger over the red security button on the wall.

I nodded, and all the shutters began to fall, I saw that the dark smudge was now inches taller on the horizon, which seemed impossible as it must have been at least twenty miles away. But what was most ominous of all was the rumble was much, much louder.

It is strange to be in an enclosed space. There is a tomb-like quality about the feeling and the inner silence.

`Come,' I said to the two slaves and started to go downstairs.

Pete Downings and Flavio were at the bottom of the stairs.

`Everyone who should be here is here, Boss,' Pete said.

`The same in the kitchens, Boss, plus a couple who were making a delivery of vegetables. Dinner will be ready in half an hour. I can have Sevil serve some aperitifs to your guests now if you wish, Boss.'

`What about the outbuildings and slave quarters? How can we be sure that everyone is in, Flavio?'

`There were two practice runs, Boss. Each building, whether slave quarters or outbuilding has water and biscuits for two days. As work for the day was over, all the slaves, Boss, would have been near or in buildings at this hour. When we had the two practices today, the slowest slave was just over a minute, and he had sprained his ankle as he ran,' Pete said.

I nodded understanding and went to see to the three medical staff who fortunately had arrived extra early from the Lime Palace facilities.

I found that we had an extra visitor that evening in Dr. Hal Thiecke, the first dentist I had used at the Palaces and who subs for Cal Thorson, our regular dentist, when he goes on holidays, as he usually does for some days each January to his various conferences and seminars.

Our resident surgeon, Yves Fournier, uncorked some red in preparation for the meal and left it to breathe. Sevil came in from the kitchen and I noticed that he was wearing his chiton, thus implying a more formal dinner than the usual. Bob Conrad and he manned the side-bar and prepared pre-dinner drinks.

Although the shutters were down, the low rumble was getting noticeably louder.

Miraldo Coelho, our doctor, said I have been looking this sandstorm thing up, and it is very rare to last over an hour. It comes out of the Rub al-Khali, the so-called empty quarter', and the sand blown in the wind has been known to cut and abrade the skin, such is its force.'

`Let's just hope that no one has been caught outside,' Yves Fournier commented.

With that there was an almighty bang as something hit the shutters causing them to rattle loudly, the sandstorm had arrived.

When dinner was served, and I found that the six of us sitting down each had our own serving slave, it was a strain to talk over the noise of the storm outside, sufficiently loud as it was to penetrate inside the Palace. Twice during the meal, the lights dimmed slightly, and Bob Conrad murmured in my ear, `the solar panels have been covered and closed down, Boss, and we are running off the backup generators. Enough power for a week.'

I thought to myself how fortunate I was in having such good Palace staff who had foreseen the various needs caused by this natural phenomenon.

As the medical staff would stay in the Lemon Palace during this emergency, rooms had been prepared for each, and I noted that Miraldo's serving slave was none other than his own surgery assistant, the Brazilian Sergio. I found myself wondering where his lover, Tony Sert, was.

I would like to say that the thirty nine hours spent inside the Lemon Palace during the sandstorm were pleasant and agreeable. They were not. With four guests and myself in residence, a number of bedrooms were still free, and on enquiring from Pete Downings, he informed me that temporary bedding had been put in all the pantries for up to thirty slaves.

`Tell Flavio and Marko to take one bedroom, yourself and Randy, whom I spotted helping in the kitchens, another. I see Ben and Gianni are here. Give them another. Let the rest sleep on the temporary bedding.'

`Yes, Boss.'

The first night I found it difficult to sleep despite being sandwiched between the two Jakes. I slumbered and then woke in the middle in the night with a headache. I had had a nightmare of being raped all over again and locked in the sauna. For some reason, I could not find the handle of the door and my head was hitting off the glass panel in the door. It was surreal. A figure swooped down on me, naked, yet clothed, dark and threatening. The perspiration was running off me in the sauna and I was lying on the floor trying to sit up. I thrashed out at something up again me and sat up....to find myself bathed in sweat sitting up in bed.

The storm raged outside with continuing force. It was like a drumming engine, its decibels moving slightly up, slightly down.

I saw Jake Carter asleep beside me, a hard-on twitching in reaction perhaps to some dream of his own. I played with his hard-on until I thought he might awaken. When I stopped, I found Jake Peoples awake in the dim glow of the bedside light. He reached for me but I took his hand and draped it over the cheek of my left bum and kissed him from forehead to sternum and back again until he fell asleep.

I tossed and turned until it said six o'clock on the digital timepiece and I got up scooting down the bed between the two Jakes, the throb of the storm in the background. I felt as if I were getting a second version of the earlier headache and thought that it must surely just be the barometric pressure.

I was running the shower when Jake Carter walked in rubbing his eyes and sporting his massive erection. He came over to regulate the water, but I pointed to his erection and the toilet indicating that he take his first piss of the morning.

He let fly over the toilet bowl and I could not believe the strength of his piss as it went on for nigh a good minute.

`Sorry, Master, I'm always like that in the morning. A good piss makes you feel great,' he said as he reached for my shaving cream and razor.

At that, Jake Peoples came in to the bathroom.

Master, I did not hear you get up,' and he cast a glance at Jake Carter as if to say you did not waken me'.

I pointed to his half-hard prick and the toilet bowl, and he got the message. His golden spray was full and consistent, but with nothing of the stormy force of his fellow slave. I wondered to myself, had I not told both of the them to take a piss, what would they have done?'

When I asked Jake Peoples the question, he merely replied, `first and foremost, Master, I should have been up and ready to serve you. This would mean having pissed and given myself an enema in case you wanted to use me this morning,' and he looked over at Jake Carter, as if half-guessing that Jake had not given himself a cleansing enema.

On coming down to breakfast in a dining room with lights on and shutters drawn was a bit forbidding. I was not hungry at breakfast at all and merely took some juice and toast, and went in to the study to find that Ben and Gianni were already there at work.

`We thought, Master, that we might use this time to give your files a general spring clean.'

`Okay. Let's spring clean.'

`Not you, Master, us.'

`Well, as you arrange, tell me at least what you are doing so that I can find things in the future. Remember, Ben, this is my study and I file things my way, not as in your office, and find out if anyone knows about that slave who was being punished on the waterwheel.'

`Yes, Master, we know that and that is why we want to do a spring clean. Perhaps, we can find a thing or two that we mislaid in the past. And I'll ask around about that slave. It would be Nick Willet, wouldn't it?'

I half-smiled at the diplomatic euphemism and let them get on with their work, and also smiled at the fact that Ben knew my business as well as myself and the name of the slave who was being punished.

The sandstorm continued to rage and my headache felt worse. By now, it was definitely a fully blown headache. I could not decide whether it was the enclosed environment of the Palace without a single window open or the lack of circulating air which I always insist on or some form of claustrophobia. I retired back up to my bedroom and lay down on the bed clothed and closed my eyes.

I was not five minutes in that position until I felt a light blanket being put over me and Jake Peoples was at my side tucking it in. He did not say a word. In my peripheral vision, I could see the other Jake just standing there `at rest' not knowing what to do. I closed my eyes again and then there was a slight tugging at the feet as sandals were removed.

The throbbing in my head continued until I felt a cold compress on my head and a voice saying `Shhhh...Sleep, Master.' Even the suggestion was enough to make me fall asleep.

When I awoke on my side some hours later, I felt warm and comfortable and realised I was the `ham in the middle'. Jake Peoples was spooned up to my front, while glancing over my shoulder Jake Carter was to my rear and I could feel his hard-on up against my back. His eyes were rolling under his eyelids as he dreamed of something down under and Australian. His cock twitched suggestively at the level of my coccyx. I wondered what had happened to my pants.

As I began to wake up fully, I realised that the sound of the sandstorm had lessened to a lower rumble. Jake Peoples must have sensed my change of breathing, because he turned on his elbow to face me, and whispered `How do you feel now, Master?'

Better,' and I put my hand to the back of his neck and drew his lips to mine. Thank you,' I said as I kissed him lightly.

He half-smiled.

`Master, you are different to the Master I had expected.'

`How?'

`You demand less in some things, and more in others. You know each of your slaves.'

I let that erroneous statement pass.

`Yes and what else?'

`You do not object when a slave speaks first to you.'

`Inside the Palaces, no. Outside, yes, with a couple of exceptions. What else?'

`You have not let me please you yet. It is what I am good at.'

`All things in their own good time. We don't want to frighten the other Jake do we?'

And he smiled as the other Jake gave a half-snort in his dream.

`He would not wake, I think, Master, if I were to pleasure you with my mouth now.'

I looked at this serious slave who just wanted to pleasure me and nodded to him. His head disappeared under the light blanket and I felt his body wiggle down mine, until his hand cupped my balls and I felt the touch of a silken tongue on my hardening cock. A rhapsody of feelings ran through my entire body as his expertise came into play and his tongue played arpeggios up and down the keyboard of my shaft, and then started to suck the tip of my glans.

I felt the bubbles of the desire for release rising too quickly, and I threw back the blanket, surprising my cocksucker. Jake Carter woke up with a start at my tossing back of the blanket.

Face down, legs apart,' I ordered him urgently, and flipping over on top of him, with one fell swoop of thrusting and impaling, I ran my hard shaft into his well lubricated and warm anus, and in a mere three plunges, exploded inside him, before he could utter no more than Master' a couple of times in surprised groans.

I let my body collapse on top of the Australian, and looking back at me over his right shoulder, he said, `does this mean your headache is gone, Master.'

He is as bad as Roge Harte for talking.

Improved, but not entirely gone,' and as I rolled off him, I said now, down you go and lick the last of the juices out of my balls.'

Without hesitation, he was sucking my cock like a spring lamb its mother, cleansing it of my own and his lubricated ass juices. I pulled Jake Peoples close and kissed him gently on the lips to signal my approval of his cock-sucking.

The sandstorm dropped in audible intensity after midday, and by three o'clock it had stopped entirely. I had risen from my bed for a second time in one day and as the main shutters went up, I walked out to survey the effects and any damage.

The entire courtyard was covered in the finest sand which rose to almost the first step of the veranda. Sand was piled up on each window sill and trickling still down to the ground. According to what I had heard at table during our confinement up to five tons of sand could be blown over each acre which is up to three pounds per square meter.

As I surveyed the courtyard, the shutters started to go up on the various outbuildings and slave quarters. Stan Mercer appeared with his property team, two of whom disappeared in the direction of the Lime and Aloe Palaces

`We're going to do a full check here, Boss, and we'll soon know of any damage at the other Palaces,' Stan said. Slaves were appearing with barrows, shovels and brushes. Kofilas were forming to get rid of the sand.

I walked towards the Aloe groves and saw Georgi and Dieter head for the al-Kadir farm, closely followed by Igor and Basili who veered off towards the cactus gardens. Each would be checking up on their own areas, just as each of the other Supervisors would be on theirs.

Dumi Bod, my Head of Stables at the Lime Palace, fell into step beside me with quite a jaunt in his step.

`Ready for work, Dumi?'

`After almost twenty four hours in the sack with Rolf most definitely, Boss. You have no idea how fit Rolf is. He is inexhaustible.'

I smiled at the tough little Moldavian who had once played on his national soccer team.

`You're no slouch yourself, Dumi. Is Rolf able to walk?'

Dumi roared laughing, `Boss, if I didn't have so much to do now, I would tell you every which way I took him and every way he took me.'

The laughter stopped as we came to the first of the Long Mile Road trees which flank the long avenue and which had been uprooted, lying forlornly, half-buried in sand.

We went into the Aloe plantations and there was not a single plant, line after line as we checked, that had been damaged to a significant degree. Some of the larger leaves had broken as might have been expected. Sand had covered the lower stems of some, but nothing more serious than that. The Aloe plant as a species had survived for millennia everything that the Dahran climate had been able to hurl at it and more.

Al Vine came running up followed by his aide and buddy, Yasser. They stood `at rest' some ten paces ahead of us and waited until we drew near.

`Al?'

`The sewage plant is fine, Boss, a lot of sand in the pits, but we can clear this out. We have lost four of the surrounding poplars. They were just uprooted.'

I smiled to myself at the use of the `we have lost'. It implied association with me and the Palace and his job.

`See if they can be re-planted, Al. Have a word with Stan. How is Yasser here as a buddy?'

`As a buddy, great, Boss. As a worker even better.'

I saw that Yasser was embarrassed at the unaccustomed praise.

`Get to work then both of you.'

`Yes, Boss.'

`Yes, Master.'

As we were speaking, Yuriy Obov, my Head of Stables at the Lemon Palace came up looking grave.

`We're a slave missing, Boss.'

`Missing?'

`One did not get into the slave quarters or the outbuildings before they shutters went down.'

`Who is it?'

`Nick Willet. He is the slave on a water-wheel.'

`Then he is not missing. He is chained to the water-wheel.'

`Yes, Boss.'

`Then get someone out to the water-wheel and confirm that he is still there.'

`Yes, Boss,' and he disappeared at a trot.

Though I am sure that Dumi had other more pressing matters to attend to, he walked with me around the grounds of the three Palaces for just under three hours. I was struck by his command of matters and how Supervisor after Supervisor came up to him to report and then be dispatched with clear succinct orders. I just stood on the sidelines each time and observed.

The damage from the sandstorm was not as bad as I had feared. From reports coming in, we had lost about two hundred poplar and birch. Three solar panels had simply disappeared according to Juan Luis Serrano who reported the matter to Dumi as if he had lost them personally, and he asked for two kofilas to get the sand off the roof and the remaining solar panels uncovered and up and working again.

Marko arrived with a message from Flavio in the kitchens who wanted extra help to prepare a vegetable soup for all the slaves, apart from the slaves' biscuits of the evening meal. It does require some logistics to prepare even the simplest of once-off dishes for over seven hundred. I agreed and also gave Marko another instruction at which he smiled.

Yuriy Obov sent a messenger that the slave on the water-wheel was now on his way to the infirmary. Nick Willet had taken refuge in the huts to be found beside every water-wheel. The only trouble is that while solid, they are by and large open to the elements. He had covered himself with some fertiliser bags, but the sand had managed to lash different parts of his skin for over thirty hours and was covered with tiny cuts. According to Dr. Fournier, he had lost through abrasion almost an entire layer of body skin. He would recover, the doctor had said to the messenger. I agreed with that assessment. Kofila slaves are tough, if nothing else, and Nick Willet was strong as I could personally attest to my cost. Nature had lashed him where I had not.

I did not comment on Yuriy's initiative in breaking the slave's punishment schedule. He had exercised his own judgement as a Head of Stables, and that was that.

It is amazing how survival brings out the best in people once the cause or threat of disaster is past. Kofila after kofila going round the place seemed happy, chatting and smiling, whether at the fact of being out and about again in the fresh air or that disaster had been averted, I could not say.

When Dumi and I got back to the courtyard of the Lemon Palace, the last of the sand which had blown in had disappeared. Looking up at the roof, I could see teams of slaves still working there as they brought the solar panels back on-line under Juan Luis's supervision.

There was an extraordinary clarity and purity in the evening air. The sky was totally free of cloud as if the abrasion of the sand had not just affected the land but also the heavens. The sandstorm which had headed towards the sea and the coastline was nowhere to be seen not even a retreating horizon smudge.

It was ironic that it was Aziz's water-garden that was the one thing which the sandstorm damaged most. His gardens are surrounded by a continuous wall and one entire section, almost a hundred metres long, had simply been blown down, and thus had allowed the full force of the sandstorm to hit the gardens where the low-flying sand had no where else to go.

Aziz had warned me of the sandstorm and had the emergency trial runs done. His water-garden received considerable damage to his design and plants. To soften the blow of his losses, I sent Yedo Petrov who acts as his Head of Household some thirty slaves to help Aziz's few slaves who would have been overwhelmed by the task.

The air in the courtyard was utterly still during our evening meal on the veranda. The evening was warm, yet cool. As I looked out at four hundred flickering candles around the outskirts of the courtyard, the entire body of seven hundred plus slaves were sitting in groups having their own meal. I had told the Heads of Household and Stables that this was a celebration. We had faced difficulty, and we had come through. Flavio and a team of twenty in the kitchens had prepared vegetable soup for all, and Marko and a team of fifteen slaves had prepared two flavours of ice-cream, which went down a treat and saw the small bowls not only being emptied of their cold contents but being licked clean of the very last taste of ice-cream.

I enquired from Dr. Coelho how the slave from the water-wheel was doing.

`His back is now covered with a thick coat of Aloe sap and he's lying face down on a bed in surgery. He'll survive. The strange thing is that he actually tried to leave the surgery to get back towards the water-wheel. Randy has handcuffed him to the bed.'

I made no comment.

Although the partners at Deckhams can attend the London board meetings by video link, and this I had done on a couple of occasions over the years, I am old-fashioned enough to prefer the personal touch and the personal presence. For the January board meeting, I felt it incumbent on me to be physically present, as Gustav, my former junior partner in Dahra was being formally promoted to being the Frankfurt partner, and I felt that the very least that I could do for Gustav Ahlson was to propose that motion. John Tunnor, Personnel partner, had sent me an e-mail memo that he would be a willing seconder.

I had also a little shopping to do, so I flew up on the Sunday, a day early. Some fifty slaves needed gold necklaces being in my service for at least thirty days after appropriately passed training, and I had placed an order with Aspreys. Although the House of Gems in Dahra could undoubted produce the goods, there is something to be said of a present being brought from afar.

Also, my scholarship holder down at Bristol, Jeremy Burrows, had written to me over the Christmas saying that he would like to travel up to London to see me in January. We agreed a time for dinner appointment that Sunday evening, and it ended up a foursome with his spin bowler pal Jason Smithers and Budd Chavez from the Bank. It made for interesting conversation when we all sat down, and the dinner flew. I was still on Dahran time so I retired early.

The following day, Gustav Ahlson was made full partner in Frankfurt and seemed very pleased. Charlie Deckam was full of cordiality and said that it was an appointment `at least, twenty years late in its coming'. At the same meeting, I got his son Georgie as my new junior partner. The lunch which followed the meeting was one I could not, and did not want to avoid. It was really a celebration for Gustav by and of his new peers, and for once, I thought that his natural Swedish reserve was being breached.

I took in Aspreys on the way back to my regular hotel just off The Strand, and found a white envelope waiting for me at reception, with Ryan Smith's card in it. I called him from my room and he said he would be around in two hours.

When Ryan Smith arrived, he stood before me framed in the doorway of the hotel suite, dressed in a grey wool jacket and dark slacks. On the one hand, he looked confident and at ease, and on the other, there was the tension of uncertainly, as with one who is out of his normal social milieu. His carefully brushed and combed short hair, the close shave, a collar that was too tight, cuffs that did not extend beyond the jacket sleeve and a faint odour of inexpensive cologne, all made him appear the working class lad he was; fashionably dressed, but definitely working class.

`Jonathan,' was all he said as I motioned him in.

I went across to a seat and sat down, looking at him. He stood still for a couple of seconds under my glance and then started to undress slowly and carefully, under my scrutinising gaze, as if reading my mind. When all his clothes were in a neat pile on the floor beside his shoes and socks, he stood up straight. He looked well and fit, and his cock was hard and straight out from his body. Its tip was moist with the precum of anticipated sex. With two fingers of my right hand, I beckoned him forward and extended my upturned palm at the height of his balls. He let his heavy balls rest in the palm of my hand, and said `Jonathan' again.

`Go into the bathroom and draw a bath for me--for both of us, Ryan.'

`Yes, sir.'

I undressed calmly, as I listened to the splashing of the water from two taps into the double tub in the bathroom. I kept the thought of Ryan Smith's firm buttocks going in to the bathroom in my mind's eye as I pulled down my pants and boxers. The thought alone was enough to get me hard. Mists of steams were coming into the bedroom through the half-open bathroom door.

As I went in, Ryan was standing beside the bath tub, his hands wet from testing the water whose steam created a misty cloud which condensed against my skin and marble walls of the bathroom.

I stepped up on the ledge surrounding the tub and down into the perfectly heated water. I held out my hand to Ryan and he stepped in after me. As I sank into the warmth of the water, I kept him facing me and sat him on a little seat on the other side of the tub. He was leaking profusely.

I took up a natural sponge from the basket of bath oils and soaked it in the warm water. Reaching across the tub, I started to wash the inside of Ryan's thighs and moved up to his balls. His cock bounced.

`Apart from one night with the wife, I haven't come in a week just thinking that you might be in London. I'm right on the edge.'

I stopped my sponging and pulled Ryan down into the tub.

Enjoy the hot water then,' and handing him the sponge, I said your turn now and tell me how is life.'

`Jonathan, my life is just not my own. It revolves around Chris. He had his second operation ten days ago. Another hole in the heart sealed. We cried when we saw that his face was no longer blue two days after the operation. His blood is now circulating better. The next operation will be in three or four months, when he is strong enough.'

I spilled some bath oil into the water and disturbed the surface of the water until it was foaming.

`But how are you, Ryan.'

`I am strong. I don't mean in body, in mind. There is nothing I cannot and will not do to get Chris healthy. The agency thinks I am playing difficult and actually put up my fee to clients. I can now get five hundred pounds a night; cash into my hand. I've told the agency one client a week, two at the max. I also got a New Year increase at the firm. The wife is also now working minding a baby five days a week. It all helps.'

`Is this evening agency work for you?

`No, this is just me saying thank you for the last time from the very bottom of my heart. If I knew how to please you any more than this, just say the word, Jonathan. Please.'

The salt of the earth from Beckton was washing my head and shoulders with the sponge. He was close enough for me to scoop up some foam from the surface of the bath water and to smooth it on his chest. I pulled Ryan closer.

`You please me, Ryan, just the way you are. No pretences, just as you are.'

I slipped my hand down his chest and down his belly, until the hardness and warmth of his cock was in my hand. With my thumb, I worked a circle around the knob of his cock, slipping back the foreskin. My thumb was now rubbing the fraenulum under his piss slip and I could feel the throb of his approaching excitement.

I pulled his head close to mine with my left hand, and let my tongue touch his lips. He groaned and I felt the first trembling spurt of his seed pass through the shaft of his cock, and he shuddered again, and again, again and again. The sponge was pressed firmly by his hand to the back of my neck, he holding me to him, and I holding him to me with my hand.

When his shuddering has subsided, he looked at the bathwater and said with a laugh, `don't drink the water, Boss. There's so much sperm in it, you'll get pregnant.'

I smiled at his simple and embarrassed humour.

`I've done nothing for you, Boss.'

`Yes, you have. You've updated me on young Chris's health. You have given me the pleasure of feeling how much you trust me. You have shown me the intensity of your sexual release. You have shown me you are caring father and husband. All of these are not nothing. They are important in the greater scheme of life. They show as well that you are alive in the best sense of the word. Now let's get dressed.'

`You don't want to fuck me? I owe you a fuck since last time, remember? Have I done something wrong?'

`No, Ryan, absolutely not, and yes, you still owe me one. As a matter of interest, have you ever thought of working for yourself?'

`As an electrician? A business of my own? My own boss sort of you mean?'

`Yes, being your own boss.'

`Many a time, Jonathan, but between doing courses to qualify and buying a house once I married, there was never any time to save.'

`Would you like to be your own boss? If so, I am quite willing to be a silent partner. I have been one in the past. I have no qualms about being one again.'

`Jonathan, you know my circumstances. Whatever will help Chris.'

I was dressing casually as I was intending to go to a West End musical later on. I saw how quickly and economically Ryan dressed, and zipping up his pants, with a single flick of the wrist, not even looking for the zip. In half my time. But then, I thought to myself, usually I have assistance.

I took out my chequebook and sitting at a small table to the side of the bedroom, I wrote a cheque out to Ryan Smith, Esq. for fifteen thousand. He had started to say something when he had seen me pull out the chequebook. But I silenced him with a finger to my lips.

When I handed him the cheque, he said Boss, I didn't come here this evening for this,' and he held the cheque up in the air. I still have four thousand in Chris's account -- that's what we are calling it. Something left over from the last cheque, the agency's fees, the wife's childminding....'

I stopped him from itemising matters further by kissing him on the lips. He was beginning to hyperventilate anyway. Those who are not accustomed to money tend to try and justify every item of income and expenditure.

`Boss, as for my own firm, I've always worked for others, never for myself.'

`Think big, Ryan. If you do want to start your own firm, put together a three-year business plan. Get some help to do that, if necessary from an accountant, and leave a copy of it at the Bank to be forwarded to me. Think big, Ryan, like that glorious cock of yours - big and full of the juices of life. '

He smiled at my attempt at humour and I smiled back at him.

`I just want you to keep me informed of how you and your family are getting on. If you go for your own start-up, I am there for you.'

He was going to give me a handshake but seemed to think twice.

`Jonathan, can I give you a hug? Just shaking your hand does not seem enough after all you have done for me.'

I opened my arms and he laid his head on my shoulder.

`Thanks again' was all he said and I knew that he meant much, much more than the two words. In his closeness, I could feel the growing bulge in his crotch and I thought to myself that some men like to be in the presence of power, of men in suits, of men in authority and of the older man. I wondered how many of these were turning on Ryan Smith at that moment. I let my hand drop and touch the outline of his cock trapped in the crotch and upper leg of his slacks. He stayed in my arms and sighed like a lost soul that no longer had a need to wander.

I took in the West End musical. It was good but not half as good as my half an hour or so with Ryan Smith, and my mind kept returning back to the event of earlier in the evening as cast and chorus swung their way through the musical comedy hit that had run and run very successfully on Broadway. For some reason, the Fates stroll into and out of the duration of our lives touching them with their ethereal frottage, and I had felt this afternoon dalliance with Ryan Smith and been one such contact.

End of Chapter 19

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