Dahran

The Time Line by Gerry Taylor

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

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

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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 2 -- Enthusiasm

Anger can only last so long. It has a short fuse no matter now annoyed you can be with its cause. I had served my revenge cold on Nick Willet for having raped me in the sauna. Rape is what he had done to half a dozen others of whom I had but some idea, or indeed to his partners who had then needed medical attention because of his vigour. This was quite secondary. The others were slaves and mere property. The important thing in their regard was that they were my slaves and Nick Willet's vigorous sex had damaged, usually anally, my property. That sort of thing could not be let go unpunished and even less his attack on me, thinking as he had obviously done that I was yet another slave.

However, that was now over nine months ago and apart from a week in the hospital recovering after the sandstorm, Nick Willet had pumped water on his water-wheel into the Palace gardens for over eight hours a day, or whatever it took him to produce his quota. In those months, on the three occasions that I had actually visited him, he had on each occasion run to the side of the structure where he slept and bringing out a camel-cane, he had put it at my feet as he made his obeisance to me on his hands and knees.

I had originally come across the water-wheel when visiting my neighbour Musab al-Atti, but he used his as a punishment wheel and the slave I had seen chained to it was filthy and unkempt.

Nick Willet on the other hand was always perfectly turned out. His hair was almost trimmed in the Palace style, his pubes as well and the rest of his body totally devoid of hair, which spoke of an application of depilatory cream at least every three or four months. His former partners of whom he had quite a few were clearly looking after him.

Now at my feet, awaiting my command to rise, Nick's body was as fit as any slave who took regular gym exercise after a day's work. I noticed his shoulders were very well muscled as indeed his arms. This was not sort of musculature that a water-wheel gave.

`At display.'

The slave jumped to his feet, placed them two feet apart from each other and put his hands behind his head, pushing out his chest and sucking in his gut, so as to show his body at its best before his Master. There was still a slight sheen of perspiration on his torso from his previous working on the water-wheel.

I picked up the camel-cane that he had left at my feet, and let its tip run over his left arm and bicep and across his chest and up this right arm.

`You have been exercising.'

The muted slave nodded his head, and his lips synced the word `Yes, Master'.

`How?'

The slave ran over to the structure, which was at some feet from the water-wheel and which is little more than narrow latticed doorless shelter on a steel frame, and jumping up to take a hold of thin steel beam of the door area, started to do chin-ups effortlessly.

His body was a symphony of muscled action, his chin rising to the level of the beam, his legs stretched out in front of him like one of those gymnasts on the rings.

Nick Willet's body rose and fell in one continuous and uninterrupted movement on fifty occasions, and with the sweat running off him, the thin steel chain tinkling on his ankle, he ran back in front of me less than two minutes later and stood `at display'. It had been an awesome show of body strength and control. If the body of this former Michigan security guard had done me damage before, now in its perfectly sculpted form, I dreaded to think what its strength could do if misdirected against me.

He was one of those slaves whose circumcised penis shows a pinkish colour from the suculus of the glans back down the shaft for almost two inches. His full length showed that he had not come off yet today.

I slipped my hand under his shaft and grasped his left ball, his remaining one, in my fingers. The slave rose instinctively on his toes as I touched what remained of his procreating manhood.

`I see that one ball is still sufficient to give strength and size to your penis.'

The slave nodded and a flash of fear crossed his face as he remembered his half-gelding at my orders those nine months before.

`The loss of your other ball has not affected your body's strength.'

The slave shook his head.

As I was talking to the slave, I saw two other slaves approaching and they stopped some twenty or so paces away from us. I recognised them as former buddies of Nick Willet, and with a wave of the camel-cane, I indicated to them to come closer. One was holding a rag and a bottle of Aloe sap, the other slave two slave biscuits. It was the slave's evening meal. Neither slave had been in my presence that day and both made a full obeisance to me.

`Has this slave reached his quota each day on the water-wheel?'

The slave with the two biscuits replied, `Yes, Master. Every day and usually something more than the quota.'

`Has he given any problem?'

`Oh, no, Master. He does his work and then even looks after the area within the radius of his chain as you can see.'

I had noticed before the weeded nature of the beds around the water-wheel.

`Get Overseer Yuriy to come and take the slave's chain off.'

The slave looked confused at my order and going over to Nick Willet bent down and snapped off the thin steel chain. It was not welded on to the ankle bracelet at all, as I had thought, but merely clipped on. The slave came back to me with the end of the chain in his hand with its snap eyelet which he held up for me to see.

Nick Willet could have left water-wheel at any time he had liked. The chain had been a symbol to him. The Master's command to be on the water-wheel had been everything!

I stepped close to the slave and said, `I am taking the chain off you. Let me see how you work over the next two months and if your work is satisfactory, I will put to work on my new farm' and I pointed towards the nearby al-Kadir property.

The slave's penis had risen to full erection, its mushroom glans turning up slightly. He was excited to be in his Master's favour again. He was nodding his understanding and dropping to his knees, he took my right hand and kissed it. He tried to mouth something with his lips and seeing my lack of understanding, he pointed a finger to me and to himself and then wrote the single word `Sorry' in the sand, as he had done some months previously. He clearly knew who his last victim had been.

I just looked at the abject slave and nodded. The past was over and done with. Anger and resentment would not heal me from the memories of the forced violation. Any further act of mine would be fruitless revenge.

`Consider yourself lucky that I, and no other, am your Master.'

It is very difficult to work up enthusiasm for something you do not like such as the spring-cleaning which was going on full-swing all that week at both the Lime and Lemon Palaces, my homes on the Western Road. I had been forced to do some unforeseen spring-cleaning during a recent sandstorm and that was quite enough for me. Now as slaves fetched and carried and went in and out the Palaces like yo-yo's, I tried to avoid all such organised commotion.

I was pleasantly surprised then to find two of my Supervisors from the fifth and last training compound looking for me with their most recent trainee in tow. I took the excuse immediately to get out of the Lemon Palace and walked across the courtyard with them to the slave quarters on the other side of the courtyard.

Jake, my new Palace messenger, was as usual some paces behind me, within immediate calling and dispatch distance, should I have a message for any part of the Palaces or their grounds.

The most recent slave to have been sent for training in the compounds had been given to me by the Courts of Dahra -- one Ray Toepher who had invaded my property looking for a lost US mercenary who, in fact, was already one of my slaves. For such an intrusion and damage to my property, he had been enslaved for life and handed over to me in retribution for the damage caused to my property, namely the digging of a trench in which he had been hiding.

The fact that the slave was standing now in the slave quarters before me was a confirmation that ten Supervisors, two in each of the five compounds, had approved of his progress over the previous six weeks. Well, slightly over six weeks, since it was in early February that I had received him from the Courts with his sentence duly handed down.

The slave looked well at a first glance. He had been a marine according to his file having joined the corps at seventeen with his mother's written consent. That was seventeen years ago, half his life time, and of those years he had served fifteen in the corps and risen to the rank of Master Sergeant. His specialty had been search and rescue -- skills which had deserted him on a hired operation when by sheer bad luck one of my slaves had stepped on him in his concealed trench and when sand had jammed the mechanism of his US embassy-provided Kalashnikov, of non-US manufacture to provide suitable deniability should it ever have come to that, which in fact, it had. The jamming of the mechanism was unfortunate for him, but fortunate for the two kofilas of slaves who had surrounded him. They had come to no harm.

The slave was lean and rangy with well built legs and a sturdy torso where good pectoral and abdominal muscles were very much in evidence. Clearly, a former marine who had kept in shape.

The Supervisors had not just trained him, but had that morning had sent him to the barbers. His mouse-brown hair was high and tight. I went up to him and ran a finger over his jaw-bone as he stood `at display' with his arms firmly clasped behind his neck. Various applications of the depilation cream had been applied to his body which had now lost its body hair, except for two beautiful pits of light mouse-brown hair which matched a trimmed set of pubes. I had not been told of the visit to the barbers, but I surmised this from the manner that the pubes had been cut and styled in the manner of the Palaces. It was an extra brownie point for the Supervisors that they wanted the slave looking his best for me.

I looked at the slave's eyes which were clear. He had had no need of any treatment from the Palace's resident ophthalmic surgeon. I put my finger on his lower lip and pulled it down, at the same time making a grimace of my own lips to reveal my own teeth. He did likewise and a perfect set of teeth shone out of his mouth. Dr. Hal Thorsen had done his one-day job of perfect implants and corrective dentistry.

I sniffed the slave's pits and they smelled now of clean perspiration after what would have been a shower some time earlier. His nipples were standing proud, perfectly formed nubs in the centre of their lightly brown aureolae. I let my hand pass over them and the slave's skin trembled slightly in galvanic response. His chest muscles were firm and his stomach muscles felt firm. The slave had very good clear soft skin, the natural gift of his genes.

If the slave had had a treasure trail, it was now gone after the applications of depilatory cream, and as I let my hand cup the slave's genitals, he raised himself fractionally on the balls of his feet, an autonomic reaction, but he held his position. His small penis was totally flaccid before I had touched his privates. If anything, it was on the small side, barely over three inches, but as my hand let his testicles rest in its palm, the penis stiffened and out from under its covering foreskin, the head of the penis appeared as if to say `hello' to the light of day. As I continued to weigh the slave's balls in my hand, his penis emerged and grew hard. The slave did not move a muscle.

`What problems have been encountered?' I said ignoring the slave and addressing the two Supervisors, one of whom had the slave's folder in his hand.

`Master, the slave initially objected to the removal of a marine tattoo.'

I took down the slave's arms from behind his neck and looked at both upper and lower arms. There was no sign of a tattoo at all. Our new Ruby laser works a treat, and does something to the tattoo inks to mask them under the skin and effectively make a tattoo invisible without burning the skin.

Addressing the slave, I said `There are no tattoos allowed here. Slaves do not have tattoos in my Palaces. The human body is beautiful as it is and does not need to be ornamented with tattoos. Your former life and all memories of it must be over, if you are to be really happy here.'

`Yes, si...Yes, Master.'

I noted that his old training had not entirely disappeared which was not great, but okay. The good thing however about properly trained military is that they know how to take orders.

`Family?' I said over to the Supervisor with the file.

`None mentioned in the file, Master.'

`So, no one to miss you, slave?'

`No, Master. I never knew my father and my mother died some years back. I have no other relations.'

`You will find a fulfilling life in my service, if you let me guide you. If you fight me, and by me, I mean the systems in my Palaces or my Supervisors, you will find the last six weeks in the compounds were a walk in the park compared to what I can devise. Do you understand?'

`Yes, Master.'

`What else?' I asked the Supervisor.

I could keep the softness of the slave's skin on his arms which surprised me. His hands were carefully manicured and I smiled to myself at this extra service being provided by the two Russian barbers.

`Master, the slave has a problem in his mind with having butt-plugs being inserted.'

I thought I saw a flicker in the eyes of the slave. I did see a flicker in his eyes. He blushed slightly. Something had hit home there.

`Then apart from his interrogation at the hands of the Police Captain, he was previously an anal virgin?'

`Yes, Master.'

The slave indeed now was blushing a little, or else the blood was in his upper cheeks for some other reason. There was no need to mention that his virginity was not that of the `girl meets boy, boy has sex with the girl' kind.

`And in the fifth compound?'

`Yes, Master, a lot of difficulty, as the slave is quite heterosexual in his own mind. However, with a variety of butt plugs and dildos he has now been trained to think only of his Master's needs and not of his own sexual orientation.'

I looked at the slave's backside and buttocks. There were only a couple of old lines where welts had been raised, but under my fingers I could feel no ridges.

`Not much punishment in the last while, eh?'

`No, Master, he has been trying very hard. Being constantly fucked was with dildos the hardest part for him without a shadow of a doubt.'

The slave's colour had definitely risen now on hearing himself spoken of in such open terms. But so we speak of slaves, because that is simply what they are for Masters such as myself. They are our slaves, our property for daily use, and no Master anywhere in the world, let alone in Dahra where that property may be human, cares a whit for what his property thinks! Such would be an unheard of nonsense!

In the fifth compound, it is when the slave being trained is seriously butt-fucked by the better endowed slaves of the Palaces as a prelude to whatever I, the Master, or my guests might require of the slave. While the butt-plugs and dildos of the first four compounds are progressively increased in size and width, there is nothing to compare with the real thing of being taken by another male.

`Recommendations?'

`In due course, Master, the slave should be given some advanced course in sex techniques....'

The slave was now definitely blushing.

`....and he needs classes in Arabic.'

`See that he is put down for both, and also for mention at thirty days.'

I looked at the slave who was now blinking a lot as some slaves do when they are being spoken of. I have always been amazed at how expert in sexual relations slaves have thought themselves to be, and how not in need of sex technique training. The interesting thing is that after one session of sex training, I have never heard of a slave not wanting to go back for another.

`Were you shown again the video of those slaves who try to escape?'

`Yes, Master.'

`It is not an idle threat I can assure you. Slaves are beheaded for attacking their Masters, I have seen an execution myself, or they are beheaded for merely attempting to escape from Dahra or from their Masters. '

I was looking directly into the slave's eyes.

`Have you thought of trying to escape?'

The slave blinked at the unexpected question and was caught off guard. He replied after some seconds which implied thought process instead of an automatic response, `yes, Master.'

`Thank you for telling the truth, but I would have been disappointed in anything else from a former Master Sergeant in the Marines. I say this because it is true. No slave has escaped from Dahra in the past hundred years since SIN records began. So, please do me a favour and yourself an even greater one. Do not even think of escaping and much, much less of trying to escape or to contact the outside world. Do you understand?'

`Yes, Master.'

I pointed to a table nearby `Kneel up on that table and spread your legs wide.'

The slave was on the table in a flash, and with his ankles over the edge, separated his knees a good two feet to reveal from the rear well muscles thighs and a perfectly smooth perineum from totally smooth balls up to the coccyx of his lower spine.

Nestled in the centre, his anus was a nice dark red colour. The surrounding sphincter muscles looked a little puffed and swollen, clearly from extensive prior insertion of the butt plugs and dildos, to say nothing of a week, at least, of penises being thrust in and out of it.

I sniffed the slave's anus and could only smell the Aloe cream with which he would have been lubricated. I looked sideways at his balls hanging down in their scrotal sack and had them sway gently under my touch. The slave's penis had continued to firm up.

I beckoned over Jake, my messenger, and pointing to the slave's back passage, said `Let me see what you can do in this situation.'

Jake smiled and said, `Yes, Master.'

I pulled up a chair and sat myself down on the other side of the slave some inches from the slave's head and face. I put my hand under the slave's chin and raised it so that he was looking directly into my eyes. There was slight apprehension in the slave's eyes due to his vulnerable bodily situation.

They say that the eyes are the windows the soul. Well, the windows of Ray Toepher's soul flew wide open as Jake's tongue went to work on his back passage and perineum. There was utter astonishment and surprise registered as he caught his breath and his eyes opened wide. Whatever had happened previously in his sex life or in the five compounds had never included being rimmed. Any apprehension there might have been evaporated in the warm air of the slave quarters. Every storyteller tells his tale in filter, but the eyes are indeed the windows of the soul, and through those windows I witness surprise and wonderment take up residence where none had lived before.

The slave uttered an `oh' of utter incredulity as some anus-related spot was touched and pleasure overtook his countenance like the rays of sun rising over a morning horizon.

`You are not to come, until I tell you.'

`Yes, Master,' the slave said with a gasp. The mid-West accent was more pronounced when other parts of his body were less under his control. He closed his eyes a fraction as another wave of pleasure ran through his body.

`A first time for this type of sex.'

`Yes, Master,' he uttered followed by another gasp, as the enjoyment of Jake's tongue raised his knowledge of his own sexuality another notch.

Jake's head was now rising up and down as he licked the slave's perineum, obviously touching every sensitive spot from coccyx to the back of the slave's balls.

`Aaagh...'

The slave was groaning more and more, his gasps becoming more incoherent and continuous.

I had put my hand at some point on the edge of the table, and suddenly I found that the slave's left hand had covered mine and was squeezing it unknowingly as the throes of passion washed over his body.

`You are not to come until I tell you.'

`Aaagh...aaagh...aaagh...aaagh...'

My hand was now in a vice of a grip. The slave was shaking so uncontrollably in the vortex of sexual pleasure originating at his anus that the table itself was moving and rattling on its legs.

`Now!' I ordered and before the syllable had ended the slave had let fly his first rope of semen onto the table from his straining penis. Totally uncontrolled in the hold of his sexual passion, the slave's body jerked and jerked time and time again as stream after stream of sperm left the tip of his urethra to splatter beneath him.

`Are you always this enthusiastic when you come?' I said.

I did not expect an answer as the slave gasped his pleasure inches from my face, unable to control the sexual releases of his system.

`And while you are getting your breath back, may I have my hand back?'

The slave looked down at his hand gripping mine and let me go as if my hand were a scorpion.

`Ma...Master, sorry.'

Jake had raised his head from the back end of the slave.

`Master, he has plenty more left in his balls. Do you want me to start again?'

Again the slave's eyes widened.

`Are you sure?'

`Oh, yes, Master. If you want to take a break, I can keep this slave on the edge for an hour or two before he comes again.'

I smiled at Jake's enthusiasm for his marvellous skill.

I looked at the two Supervisors and said, `I think that is enough for one day. I have things to do.'

Yes, Master,' one of the Supervisors answered. We had heard of Jake but had never seen him in action. Quite something to achieve with only a tongue.'

The other Supervisor was nodding.

Get down,' I instructed the slave and pointing to the semen on the table, I said, lick that all up. You should never let good protein go to waste.'

Ray Toepher immediately set about licking up his own semen. We all looked at his instant obedience and, while he did it, I nodded my approval to the two Supervisors at their good work and training. I waited until the slave had finished the job and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, before going unbidden to the `at rest' position with his hands in the small of his back.

Looking at Jake Peoples, I commented Well done' on his rimming tour de force. Do you know the Overseer at the al-Kadir property?'

`Overseer Georgi, Master? Yes, indeed, and Supervisor Dieter as well.'

`Good, bring this slave down to Georgi and have him put the slave to work.'

I looked at the slave whose eyes were in the middle distance.

`Look at me.'

He did.

`Ray, I am pleased with your progress. More than you can even guess. You are going to work on my new farm for the next thirty days. Get settled in. Learn the ropes and the routines. Everyone here at my Palaces has a buddy. If you don't find one in thirty days, I assign you one.'

`A buddy, Master?'

`Yes, a buddy who will be as intimate with you as Jake has been if you so wish and with whom you will be just as willingly intimate, if he so wishes. Understood?'

`Yes, Master.'

And at the end of thirty days, if your report is good, you will get...' and I reached out and touched Jake's gold necklace, your own gold necklace as a sign of my approval and benevolence towards you.'

The slave looked at Jake's necklace and then quickly at those of the two Supervisors.

`Thank you, Master. Permission to speak, Master?'

At least, the slave had understood some part of his training.

`What?'

`Master, I am sorry for having entered your property. I am very sorry. It was just a job.'

I looked at the slave. He seemed sincere.

`I accept your apology, but you have paid the price for it in Dahran law being sentenced to slavery for life. You will never invade another's property.'

`No, Master. Thank you for listening to me.'

`And you never found whoever you were looking for?'

`No, Master, it was a wild goose chase.'

I did not correct the slave's error, for Al Vine, the so-called wild goose' whom he had been attempting to rescue was not half a mile away, happily in charge of my sewage treatment plant or fertiliser manufacturing unit' as Al so euphemistically called it.

At times, it is best not to say too much. Ray would find out about Al Vine in due course, the Palace grapevine being what it is, but it would filter down to him in the fullness of time and when he found out, perhaps Al Vine's permanent happiness might rub off a little on to him.

I nodded to Jake and he took the slave by the elbow and led him off to his new life. Just as Ray Toepher's life had gone through filters leaving him now effectively stranded in Dahra for life in my service, I thought how much we filter our own lives into the compartments of our choices.

End of Chapter 2

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The Dahran series -- a fictional adventure story about the life and times of Sir Jonathan Martin -- comprises the following novels to date:

1. The Changed Life

2. The Reluctant Retrainer

3. The Market Offer

4. The Special Memories

5. The Dahran Way

6. The Dahran Rebuttals

7. The Seventh Desert

8. The Dahran Sands

9. The Time Line

These novels are all serialised on Nifty (Gay -- Authoritarian) and on YahooGroups http://groups.yahoo.com/group/erotic_gay_stories