The Time Line by Gerry Taylor
This is the fourteenth chapter [ex twenty two] of a novel about gay sex and present-day slavery. Keywords: authority, control, gay, loyalty, slavery, punishment, retraining, sex, submission 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.
============= 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/ ===========
Chapter 14--Authoritarianism
Jack Tuttle passed his review with colours flying and was being offered junior partner in Rio de Janeiro according to a memo from the Bank's HR department. It was a posting that he could not turn down as it is one of the plum South American jobs.
It would create a problem for him and Fiona and their ownership of the Scottish slaves. But in Dahra, I was sure that something would be worked out.
I asked Jack's cousin David who was living in the Lime Palace with me if he wanted to buy out Fiona's and Jack's Wisteria Palace, and he declined saying he was happy where he was--in every sense of the word. Personally, I think he has more than a soft spot for the two slaves, Jan and Zoran, who are at his side continually day and night. And who am I to disturb a good set of relationships? In the fullness of time, Jack would come to me with the problem.
In early August, there was I in the courtyard, with two lines of slaves, some eighteen in all, who were buddy-less, among whom I recognised Sabir Temirov. I beckoned him forward and turned him towards the line, and whispered in his ear `Choose one or I will choose one for you.'
`My own choice, Master?'
`Your own choice. Do it now.'
Sabir surprised me by walking down the line and chose Mikey Acton by putting his hand on the young slave's shoulder. He then walked back to me and said, `He is my choice.'
`Why did you choose him?'
`I have heard that he was once impudent to you. I will teach him respect for himself and for others so that one day, Master, he will be proud to be your slave. I hear that he is still proud, even though he is on rock duty. When we are dismissed I will teach him what it is really like to be fucked.'
`Well then, Sabir, I am not going to delay you that pleasure. Take him to the slave quarters you have been assigned and keep me informed of his training.'
With a flick of his fingers, Sabir Temirov indicated Mikey to follow him across the courtyard towards the slave quarters. While Mikey had been trained in the ways of the Palace in the compounds and in theory had his anal virginity taken by way of training, I thought to myself that now he would be well and truly broken, and that he would either survive his breaking and teaching with the cock and words of Sabir, or he would need a further and harder session in the compounds. Time would tell.
It is strange how the mind works but as the young Mikey Acton walked across the courtyard to meet his sexual fate and retraining at the hands of Sabir, the shape of his buttocks reminded me of that slave at the opal mine who had serviced my cock so well. What was his name? John, John something or other. Yes, a bird. John Finch! That was it.
I had intended bringing him up from the mine and had forgotten completely about him and my intention. I had forgotten him as easily as I might have forgotten to ask for some trivial item.
I snapped my fingers and Jake Peoples, the Palace messenger, was immediately at my side.
`Tell Ben to put the file of John Finch on my desk and to ask me about it tomorrow morning.'
`Yes, Master,' said a happy messenger, delighted to have a message to deliver to the Master's secretary.
My general manager at the mine could either buy the mine another pleasure slave or take a suitably tamed one out of the opal pit.
A frightened looking John Finch finally arrived at the Lemon Palace. He emerged from the back seat of the weekly helicopter up from the mine. I had ordered the former comfort slave brought up from the opal mine. When Greg brought him to me, the slave just uttered one word `Master', fell to his knees at my feet and started to cry, covering the nape of his neck with his hands. His body was racked with sobs. I looked at Greg in amazement. Greg shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows, not commenting.
After about thirty or so seconds, the sobbing subsided and the slave tried to put one of my feet on the back of his neck--not a very balanced thing for the person whose foot is being taken. Enough was enough and I told the slave to stand `at display', which he did.
`What's all of this in aid of?'
`Ma... Master, I am just so happy to be away from the mine. I thought I would finally die there. You remembered me! You remembered me! I will serve you any way you want. Any way, but don't send me back to the mine,' he said with force.
I let the words hang in the air. A grateful slave should always be kept on edge.
`Take this slave to the barbers and to the doctors, Greg.'
`Yes, Boss.'
Another matter happened around this time at the al-Kadir property which I only relate as it is half-amusing. Because my old mentor, Graham Hodson, is so keen on his kiwifruit planting, I do make it my business to visit the new al-Kadir project more than really necessary.
Late one afternoon, I arrived there with Kent, my pianist, driving the sandbuggy. I had not been able to talk to him much recently and he was filling me in on what he was rehearsing for the Saturday performance. His driving, let me say, is at the other end of scale to his piano playing ability and, at times, I thought that I would be quicker walking as we went down the Long Mile Road.
As we arrived, I saw the Overseer in charge, Georgi Gridov make his ungainly way over to me. My heart always warms to Georgi because he is the most faithful of slaves. I remember asking him once why he was so clearly happy in my service.
`Master, when you walked into my cell at the slave centre in al-Mera and said you were looking for a slave to look after your gardens or your farm, I knew that I would always be your slave, and I have never regretted a moment in your service. You, Master, have put me in charge here at al-Kadir when there are so many other better slaves. For that I will always be grateful.'
Now, Georgi stood before me, slightly flustered and looking back at a slave, he snapped his fingers and the slave came running and prostrated himself. The slave was the rock duty slave for al-Kadir, Mikey Acton.
`What is the matter, Georgi? You look... what?....concerned?'
`Master, I was punishing this slave because he needs encouragement to do his job, and he said he was appealing my punishment to a higher authority.'
What...?' I spluttered as words failed me momentarily. What was his punishment?'
`Two strokes of the cane, Master, just as I have given him every day for the past ten days. He works, but not hard. He barely sweats as he works. The pile of rocks at the end of the day is only half what other rock duty slaves have achieved.'
`Georgi, you do not have to explain anything. You are the Overseer. If you wish to give this slave five strokes a day until the end of the year, you can. You are the Overseer.'
`No, Master, five strokes would be too much every day for this slave. I do not want to break his spirit, only his lazy habits. But what is this thing of appealing to a higher authority. I have never heard of it in all my years as a slave.'
At display,' I said to Mikey Acton still on the ground, who sprang to attention as my toe nudged him. Are you becoming some sort of lawyer or what?'
Master....Master....' he stammered, I do work hard. I don't sweat simply because I don't sweat. My pile of rocks each day is as many as the other rock slaves ever did. The rocks are now just smaller from the fields.'
I could not help but laugh at the impudence of the slave with his London East End accent.
`Mikey, you have not learned anything here. If Overseer Georgi decides to flog you each day for no better reason than that, he can so order it. You get flogged and there is no appealing it or anything else to a higher authority.'
`But, Master, there is. You are the higher authority here. I could come to you, can I not any evening in the line-up and kiss your hand and speak to you. I should have done that instead of losing my patience with Overseer Georgi and saying that I was appealing his punishment.'
`Slave, we are going to settle this here and now. You do not challenge my Overseer.'
Georgi, get a camel-cane and double the punishment you were going to give this slave,' and I said to Mikey Acton, slave, get on your hands and knees now.'
One of Georgi's assistants handed him a three-foot cane. Georgi took up a position opposite me with the slave in the middle and landed not two, but four nice swipes of the cane across Mikey's nicely rounded buns. However, as I am more than skilled in the basic use of a camel-cane, I could see clearly that Georgi was not putting too much force into the swing or the blow itself. I also noticed that my buggy driver, Kent Kialka, took one step back and positioned himself behind me as the punishment was being administered.
`All okay, Kent?' I said over my shoulder.
`Yes, Master,' he replied a little shakily.
Up,' I said to Mikey Acton. Have you learned your lesson?'
`Yes, Master.'
`Are you learning anything in bed from Sabir?' whom I remembered had chosen Mikey as his buddy.
`Yes, Master, he fucks like a train once he gets in gear. He never seems to stop.'
`That's why they used to call him Ironman. Bend over, let me see your hole.'
The young slave bent over and spread his ass cheeks. His virginity had long disappeared and the tissue around the sphincter was clean, moist and soft.
`Up. You will be well trained when I call you to my bed sometime, Mikey. But it will not be for a while.'
The slave blinked at me at that bit of news.
`And no more of this appealing to higher authority. This is Dahra not Bow Street Magistrates' court.'
`Yes, Master. Sorry, Master.'
`Get on with whatever work Overseer Georgi has given you.'
The slave went off nursing his obviously still smarting backside, and a nice backside it was as well.
For the rest of my visit to al-Kadir, I walked around with my arm over Georgi's shoulder. There is nothing like letting slaves know who the Boss is and who is the Boss's trusted Overseer.
After dinner one evening, Aziz and I went for a walk in the gardens. As we admired the water gardens which had a range of white and pink water-lilies in full flower, Aziz suddenly asked me, `How is Master Gustav doing in his new position?'
`Gustav? Very well in fact. He likes Frankfurt and is working very well there. I shall tell him at our next board meeting that you were asking about him.'
`I miss his company and his conversation. He had many interests. I am so sorry for him that he had all these problems with his slaves. It was never right for him to treat them as countrymen and equals. It would never have worked and it never did.'
I looked at Aziz who continued to say, `I feel that I failed him as a friend. I should have told him how to handle his slaves better. That is what friends must do.'
`Aziz, would he have listened? I think not. Do not try to re-write the past. It is over and done with, and Gustav continues on with his life and a very successful banking career.'
`Which reminds me, Jonathan. I have made a simple will that after my death my slaves are not to be sold in the markets, but will revert to you. I also now have too much money. How many dishdashas can a person wear? My money is to go to pay for a school here at the Palaces so that all the slaves can learn to read and write.'
By now, we had stopped walking as we stood beside a small fountain, and I was looking at Aziz intently.
`What is this about death and a will? You are perfectly well and healthy, are you not?'
`Yes, Jonathan, I am, but it is always prudent to be prepared. You can never know when the sands finally run down the hour glass.'
I did not know what was at the back of Aziz's mind as most of the slaves at the Palaces can read and write. I would have to ask Ben, my secretary, to find out what the score was on that matter and I let it rest there.
The conversation with Aziz left me a little unsettled as I walked back towards the Lemon Palace. Aziz has a vision of things, founded in his past experience, but firmly placed in the present, and with that ability to always keep the future in focus. As I measured my steps down the road admiring the clarity of the Dahran night skies and the absolute desert clarity of the stars, I found that Misha had fallen into step some paces behind me.
`Finished?'
`Yes, Master. Thank you, Master, for allowing me a buddy.'
`You do not yet know who Konrad will assign to you.'
`It does not matter, Master. He will be my buddy and I will be his buddy, and no one else's. I am happy. Thank you.'
Against such logic little can be said.
It was during August that several of the Overseers came to me with their suggestions as to the promotion to Supervisor of a number of slaves who over the previous six months had excelled in their work. They included Jean-Pierre who was my doctor and surgeon Yves' son, Al Vine at the `fertiliser manufacturing unit' as he so happily calls it. Ironically Ray Toepher, the mercenary who had come to rescue him, and had been on trial as the supervisor of a kofila for the last couple of months was also included for confirmation of his promotion.
It had taken Jean-Pierre a long, long time to come to terms with his enslavement, four years, in fact. Now he was calm and settled and happy with his new task in life of serving me, his Master. The love of his father, Yves, for him had not waned the smallest flicker over the years, always hoping that his wildness could somehow be tamed, that this recklessness with drugs would somehow be seen to be just that and that his life prior to his enslavement had been well and truly wasted.
For almost a year, Jean-Pierre had been resentful and truculent. Maussade, sullen, was the word Yves had used to me. I had punished him on the water-wheel for a long time. The repetition of work on his own had given him a pattern and in time, Yves had been able to approach him without fear of rejection.
My `lifting' of Jean-Pierre might have been seen by some as altruistic. Not really so, his conduct had been a distraction to the work of his father in my employ, to the extent that Yves was about to give up working for me and to return to France to try and rescue an ungrateful brat and secure his release by whatever means from prison.
Jean-Pierre's lifting and his enslavement to me solved many a problem in the Fournier family and saved the French government a fortune in judicial and prison costs.
When his name then surfaced as a possible promotion to Supervisor, I had him brought to the slave quarters and for over a hour, I put him through his paces, at the end of which I could see that he was thoroughly exhausted and incapable of doing even a further press-up. Crouched down and in his face, I accused him of being worthless and incapable of even doing press-ups and unworthy of being my slave any longer.
`I am tired of you, Jean-Pierre, and of your attitudes of resistance and defiance. You are only good for being sold in the next market.'
No, Master! No, Master!' he gasped, I'll do anything you want. I'll do more press-ups,' and he tried unsuccessfully to raise his body from the floor with muscles which were too full of lactose after the hour long session.
His arms could not support him and his frame collapsed on the floor, his head and neck bathed in sweat. His sobs racked his body as he could do no more and between them I heard, `Master, this is my home. This is my home. I have nowhere else to go. I cannot do any more. Please do not sell me!'
His grovelling had made me hard and I took one of his sweaty arms and pulled him shakily to his feet and over to a training table, over which I let him collapse. I kicked his legs wide apart until I could see this dark purple anus, and unzipping myself in one fluid movement, I took out my hardness and took the slave. His exhaustion made him a useless sex companion, but the heat in his moist hole was quite incredible after his exertions and I felt the sap of life rising and spurting deep inside the slave.
It was over almost before it had begun and I pulled out of Jean-Pierre, who half-slid off the table into a pile on the floor. He crouched up on his hunkers and taking my flaccid penis in his hand still wet with his moistness and my juices, he brought it to his mouth as he would have been trained to do those years ago, and carefully licked it clean, to replace it within my boxers and then zip me up.
`Thank you, Master, for using me for sex. Thank you. I am yours to do with as you please,' and his eyes were looking down somewhere in the region of my knees.
Three days later I made Jean-Pierre Fournier a Supervisor, and he serves me well in that capacity. While he is biologically Yves' son and once-a-month dinner companion, it is I the Master who looks after him and cares for him more, as Yves has long ago given up any rights of paternity to him. It is however to Yves' credit as a caring doctor who does no harm that he keeps at arms length contact with his progeny in the Palace.
Al Vine had no idea who Ray Toepher really was and stood down the line of newly created Supervisors who had just received their opal fly-swishes from me as a sign of their authority and office.
When the smiles had finally broken out all around after the little ceremony and each of the newly appointed Supervisors was receiving the congratulations of the others in this management grade in my Palaces, I beckoned both Al and Ray to me.
Al always reminds me of the boy scout who never grew up, permanently happy, well-adjusted, hard-working and reliable.
`Al, have you met Ray before?'
`No, Master. I just know that he was the intruder who was captured,' and he looked at his newly appointed colleague.
`Ray, tell Al what he needs to know.'
`Now, Master?'
`Now. On your knees both of you,' and I sat down in a nearby chair.
For the next twenty minutes, Ray Toepher told Al Vine the story of his recruitment by Al's former lover and now the husband of Al's wife and father to his children. I kept my eyes glued on him as Ray spoke. Al glanced at me a couple of times, but for the most part kept his eyes on Ray. When Ray finally finished, Al looked at Ray and said, `Is Cathy happy? Are the boys happy?'
Ray looked at me before answering and when I nodded back to him, he replied, `I only saw them for a few minutes because I was speaking all the time to your former army buddy, Jim Stirling, but yes, they all seemed fine and happy. I think Jim really cared about you, Al.'
Al looked at me and said, `Boss, thank you for letting me know. That life for me is now over. Jim has made up for not having stood up for me before. He's looking after Cathy and the boys for me. I couldn't ask more of him,' and he reached forward from his kneeling position and taking my hand kissed it as a humble and grateful slave should.
In that moment, I think I realised that Al Vine was one of the most generous people I have ever met in my life. I do not know if I could ever have been that forgiving of a family life so cruelly taken from him, so accepting of his own slavedom, so permanently focussed on my service as his Master. I ruffled his short hair with my free hand.
Now that you're a Supervisor who do you recommend for the fertiliser manufacturing unit'? I asked with a smile.
`Yasser, of course, Master. I've spent a long time training him,' he said with his cheeky boy scout grin, as he mentioned his assistant and buddy.
A well-oiled operation in any field of endeavour allows you to cover a lot of ground quickly. Part of each operation is the flow of information which is essential for decision-making, and particularly in the running of my Palaces. Ben Trant, my secretary, is one such source of information and with his assistant and lover, Gianni.
After the departure of three Supervisors who had been reviewing with me the performance of some slaves up for promotion, there was still a small pile of files on a small side table.
`So, Ben, what have you for me now?'
`If you are not too tired, Master, the schedule of bed companions for the next fortnight, and some other files you asked to be reviewed at thirty days.'
I notice that on his knees, Ben had not moved a hand towards the waiting files, neutrally neither promoting nor influencing my decision to look at them.
As Gianni came back into the study, I said with a smile, `Let's take a look at them. Gianni would not be impressed with you, if you let me avoid work.'
Looking at the schedule of slaves to occupy my bed for the following fortnight, I said `Put down Björn and Olaf for this evening and Abdul some time next week, and Nesim also because he is so tight. You know, I seem to be seeing him more and more around the grounds when I am out and about.'
Indeed, Master,' Gianni volunteered in his quiet way, ever since you took his virginity, he's putting in an hour extra at the swimming pool to keep his backside tight for the Master. He keeps telling this to everyone who will listen to his few words in English, and then he gives his backside a little slap,' which Gianni imitated there and then.
I couldn't help but laugh aloud and Ben joined in the laughter.
`How do you know that for a fact, Gianni?'
`I have heard him say that myself when I have gone to the pool.'
`Well, all I will say is that he was a great and willing partner for his first sex with his Master. Now, what do those other files say that they need review?'
Olaf and his fellow Swede, Björn, had been waiting for me in my bedroom when I arrived. I let them stand `at display' for a full hour before I acknowledged their presence going in to have a leisurely shower with my slave attendants Terry and Dmitri, and then a long massage from Klaas. For a former bulb-grower, this Dutch slave has the most marvellous fingers and hands and touch.
`The oil, Master, is Aloe and musk. Aloe for the skin, musk for sexual prowess tonight,' Klaas whispered in my ear at one point.
I drifted in and out of bliss and he deposited my floating body on cloud after cloud and his fingers probed and massaged spots on back and front which I never knew could be so knotted.
When he finished, I pointed to the two slaves `at display'.
`Do you want either of them before you go?'
`Thank you, Master. My buddy Justin is waiting for me. That is if you don't mind.'
Klaas has this continental habit of sometimes saying `thank you' when he means no, while the English speaking world means the opposite.
I cupped Klaas's fine endowment and could feel it thicken under the slightest pressure of my fingers. Justin Toolin is one of the water-boys bringing water to the slaves working in the fields.
`He takes all of this?'
`Yes, Master, every night and then every morning, he takes me. He is a beautiful and tender lover. He took the sex classes twice.'
`Off you go then to your Justin.'
`Thank you, Master.'
Turning to the two Swedes who had not moved a muscle for over an hour while `at display', I pointed to a spot on the floor in front of me and ordered Olaf to his knees.
`You can be the fluffer for the night. Get me erect.'
`Yes, Master.'
I closed my eyes and let Olaf's lips touch my half-erect penis and then take it in his mouth. His tongue was working away around the circumference of my glans, darting to my piss-slit, and then underneath the tip of the penis itself. I was erect in less than two minutes. I opened my eyes and pointed to the low leather table and ordered Olaf to lie on it on his back.
Now, you,' I said to Björn, let me see how you sixty-nine each other.'
The low leather table is not more than five feet long and is perfect for intimate sexual acts. The crown of Olaf's head was almost over one end, as his ankles were over the other. Björn placed his knees on either side of Olaf's head and lowered himself down on his fellow Swede's rapidly extending and rising cock.
I let my hand run over Björn's deeply tanned back, over the firmness of his shoulders and I felt the slave tremble at my touch. I let my hand wander down the hollow of his back and his perfectly matched and hairless buns were a delight to behold. Nestled between them, in a little volcano shape, was the entrance to his body that I would invade. I could see where the anus had been lubricated and I let my fingers touch the trench of the slave's crack and again he trembled at that most sensitive perineum area being frottaged.
I noticed that Olaf was working hard on Björn's cock which was now fully erect, but Olaf was also coming off the cock every so often and up to Björn's fine hanging balls and flicking the tip of his tongue off the crinkled scrotum, which caused Björn both to rise and gasp each time it was done. There was need to bring the slave down off his sexual plateau or he would come too soon.
I positioned myself directly behind the sixty-nining slave, bent my knees between Björn's splayed legs, touched the tip of my cock to his back-passage and slid in without the slightest resistance. I felt myself engorge and pulled out with a little pop, only to thrust fully in this time to the hilt. The slave's shoulders went down further as his head went closer to Olaf's pubic area.
I thrust in and pulled out almost completely some twenty to twenty five times and then I felt Björn's prostate begin to harden under my cock-thrusts. He was gasping and croaking as he went down on his buddy, pulling air simultaneously into his mouth and uttering little sounds of pleasure. He was not going to last at this rate.
I continued my thrusting, all the time, aiming slightly down and to my left where I could feel the prostate located. I had expected Björn to come first from his reactions, but it was Olaf who shouted and spasmed. Björn did not miss a stroke and from the angle I was at, I could see that he did not release Olaf's penis from his mouth when his buddy shot his load. Finally, he let Olaf's half-deflated cock fall from his lips. The hardness of Björn's full prostate indicated a point of sexual no-return.
It was not a cry but a resounding bellow that rocked the bedroom suite as Björn shot his first load down his buddy's throat underneath my flying ball-sack and thrusting cock.
I pulled out of Björn but I was not finished with him yet. I slipped a finger into him and felt the deflating prostate which was still half-full of his seed as it passed through on the way from balls to urethra. I set up a vigorous massage with the tip of my finger on the prostate before it fully deflated and was rewarded to feel it going hard again. Björn was now jerking as if his body was receiving little electric shocks which was precisely what was happening and right from his prostate. The membranes and tissues of the prostate filled and hardened and Björn groaned and then he shouted as another spasm overtook his body in the fast lane of sexual intercourse.
`Get ready, Olaf, for another load,' I said and within less than twenty seconds, Björn was trembling under the pressure of my fingertip and started to shoot his second load in less than two minutes into the mouth of his lover.
`Olaf, leave Björn's cock alone. Björn bring Olaf off again while I take a shower.'
`Yes, Master.'
For two Swedes who had caused me such stress, they were obeying well.
My two slave attendants for the night had gone into the bathroom suite as they are trained to do when I take slaves before I go to bed. Terry had drawn a bath in case I chose that instead of a shower, where Dmitri stood ready with a loofah.
`Nice pubes, Dmitri,' I said on passing him, and he beamed from ear to ear. He is the only slave in the Palaces who actually combs his pubes for his Master's delight. He thinks that is the way I remember him, which is true in part. But he has other sexual talents as well.
`I'll take a bath tonight, but come over and rub my back with that thing,' I said indicating the long loofah sponge in his hand.
Terry was pleased that I had chosen the bath he had drawn but I could see his eyes narrowing when I told Dmitri to effectively invade his territory. Palace jealousies are built on lesser trivia.
`Tell me what you did today, Terry' and a happy slave prattled away, delighted to be the centre of his Master's attention, albeit of a Master with closed eyes and half-asleep in a perfectly perfumed bath.
There was a shout from the bedroom which indicated that Olaf had come again.
`Tell those two slaves to come in here and take a shower before they continue with me tonight,' I said to Terry.
I stepped out of the bath and let Dmitri towel me down, and I finished off drying my hair with a small towel which I dropped on the floor at the edge of the shower for the two rapidly showering slaves to use when they finished. I would have no wet slaves in my bed!
The two slaves came out of the shower area and stood `at rest' at the end of my bed. I had dismissed both Terry and Dmitri for the night. I patted the bed beside me.
`Up here, Björn, on all fours while Olaf fucks you. Get yourself hard quickly, Olaf, or I'll use a camel-cane to help you concentrate.'
Björn knelt on the bed beside me, his close cut blond hair still shiny from the shower. His head was about at the level of my chest, and I put a finger under his smooth chin and brought his eyes up and into contact with mine. Eyes are indeed the windows of the soul, and his were in neutral. There is a type of look in the eyes which I can recognise and which means the slave is in total sync with me, his Master.
`Björn, you are a good fuck. Do you know that?'
`Thank you, Master.'
I could see that Björn was having difficulty getting up an erection after having come twice in such a short time.
`Use a finger on Björn's hole, Olaf, and see how quickly that erects him.'
`Yes, Master,' he replied as he came up behind his buddy and stuck a finger into the waiting hole.
`Björn, here at the Palace you have to be more than just a good lay for the Master. You know that.'
`Yes, Master.'
`Have you and Olaf changed your attitude much since last we spoke? Where do you stand?'
Stand, Master?' Björn replied. Good and all as the Swede's English was he did not recognise the idiom. I am on my hands and knees about to be fucked by one of my friends after having been fucked by you, Master.'
`Did I hurt you?'
`No, Master.'
`Did you enjoy it, twice, I think?'
`Yes, Master, both times. The second time most of all.'
`And why the second time which was only my finger up your hole? Why do you think?'
`I don't know why, Master. I have only reacted once before like that to my prostate being worked over and that was in one of the compounds.'
`You liked it, Björn, because I was in charge and you could do damn all about it. I was the authority, the Master, and you were the subject and the slave. That's really why you liked it. You like being dominated, Björn. You like it.'
With that he gave a gasp as Olaf must have hit some internal spot.
`Find that spot again, Olaf and keep working on it and on it alone.'
Björn started to move and gasp and squirm.
`Master, he is now really tight around my finger and I feel something swelling up where I am pressing.'
`I think, Olaf, that Björn is either about to have a dry orgasm or you will massage an extra bit of cum out of him.'
As Björn squirmed and squirmed against the invading finger of his buddy, he made no effort to avoid it, and from his gasps I knew that he was closer than close to cumming yet again as his body was jerking against its internal electric shocks. When his eyes began to close and roll, I put my hand behind his neck and pulled his mouth to mine. The heat of my breath, the flicking of his tongue in the ecstasy of the ejaculation rush, all combined and he groaned down my throat as he came for the third time in less than an hour, and his body all but collapsed on the bed beside me, his nerve endings unable to control his limbs any longer. I signalled Olaf to stop his finger probing.
When a couple of minutes later Björn had regularised his breathing, I looked at him on his belly beside me, his arms up on the pillows and told Olaf to lie down on the other side of me.
`Björn, this last hour summarises your life from this point on. Olaf has learned his lesson I think. This lesson was for you. You and I can do things together and it will cause you great pleasure at the end of the day. Or you can fight me as you have been doing up to now, and I can cause you a lot of pain and suffering. I really don't have time for personal lessons, but I think out of friendship to Gustav, my friend and your former lover, I really wanted to try to show you what life can be like with me as your Master. Do you understand?'
`Yes, Master.'
`If you want to start really recognising me as your Master, you can stay and sleep in my bed tonight. If not, you can sleep on the floor. It's as simple as that,' I said to the slave and not taking my eyes off him.
`Master, it may take me a little time to learn to serve you, but I want to do that. I have only ever served Gustav out of love. Please be patient with me and let me try and learn.'
With that he surprised me by raising himself up off his belly, and turning on this hands and knees towards my waist, he reached down and took my penis in his hand, and brought it to his lips in the sign of Dahran submission to a Master. He then looked across at Olaf on the other side of me, and Olaf as if reading his thoughts, reached out and taking my penis from his buddy's fingers brought it to his own lips. Two voluntary submissions in one night was not a bad achievement.
`Do you two now wish to stay together as buddies?'
They looked at each other and then at me, `Yes, Master' both replied.
`Good, now let's get some sleep and I'll want to see you two sixty-nining each other in the morning when I wake up. Good night.'
`Good night, Master,' each said.
Olaf put out the side light and I felt his body come close to mine. I put out an arm and pulled Björn to me.
`A Master does not let his slave get cold needlessly, Björn.'
`No, Master,' he replied and I felt his backside press up against my body.
It was the last thing I remembered of the night, and when I awoke in the morning, the two slaves were on the leather table and Olaf was astride Björn lowering his morning-erect cock in the slave's mouth and a formerly reluctant slave was having his cock sucked with gusto, and raising his hips to fully meet every suck. It was a marvellous view with which to start the day before going to the Bank.
Among the unopened correspondence on my desk at the Bank that morning was an invitation to a birthday party being given by Colin Bowman. I was delighted to see it as it suggested that Colin was coming out of the long period, not actually of depression, perhaps that is too strong a word for it, but of sadness, maybe, after the killing of his lover in an botched abduction of himself, a valuable Bank official. Such was the danger of living in Brazil at that time.
After the death of his lover, Carlos Freitos, his emotions went into a tail-spin. Now, I thought to myself at least in his emotions he is finally picking himself up. This was not a complaint in my mind about Colin, because he is one of the hardest working junior partners I have ever encountered. As the event was an evening and after hours once again I had Jess act as my driver.
Colin's house was a nice sized villa with a long medium-height surrounding wall as is the case with many Dahran residences. It was ten miles out of the capital city with a nice four-acre garden and a small swimming pool, and I noticed that the entire garden area was not only exquisitely cared for, with small patches of lawn, but also pergolas to shade those perambulating from the sun and an abundance of water ornaments. All of this could be seen as we drove up the short drive to the residence.
The party was underway when I arrived and Colin was at the door to meet me and some other guests of his own age. The house was lit up like an ocean-going liner from prow to stern, and I had no sooner got inside the door than I was being offered some white wine which I found was well-chilled Chablis.
I soon discovered that the main body of guests were Colin's acquaintances from the other Banks, both male and female in almost equal numbers. There were some neighbours in traditional dress and a couple of young diplomats. Doors in the main living room led out to the cool of the evening air and a veranda, on the corner of which a four-piece band was playing. Thankfully they were playing low and muted stride pieces of the 1930's and 40's.
I am not generally into astrology but I thought that Colin was well placed as a Leo--warm and generous as a host, creative and enthusiastic about his home and his guests, who were being served by, what I guess were some eight slaves. I had noticed the ankle bracelets on some of them early on.
All his slaves were impeccably dressed in light blue short-sleeved shirts and matching knee-length pants. It was not just that their clothes were matching, their features were as well. I had a faint memory of four of them at least with their slim waists and almost girlish-hips and easily malleable slave demeanours being sent for retraining when he had first purchased them.
Colin had obviously bought more than his first four and the extra slaves matched his first ones with their darkish North African complexions--Moroccan and Tunisian, I seemed to remember. That is to say, all except one who was behind a buffet table of canapés. This slave, I presumed he was one because of this short-sleeved blue shirt, was demure. He rarely seemed to lift his eyes higher than the roll-mops, the cream cheese filled curled slices of smoked salmon with their accompanying quarter of lemon, and the water-biscuits covered with dark caviar.
The slave was certainly no more than five feet seven and of slight build. I could not immediately make out his nationality by his physiognomy. He could have cut a passport in any of the Mediterranean countries and even through a number of Latin American ones. Yes, indeed Latin. He looked up fleetingly at a guest who approached with an empty plate, and held out a clean plate and serviette. His eyes were dark and his lashes were as long as one would find in late teenagers, yet he was certainly in his mid-twenties. He was a slave who had held his youth.
The guest with his newly filled plate disappeared and the slave looked to check that his buffet table was still in one piece and in order. I was making a pretence of looking at the four-piece as its melodies ducked and swerved through the great lyric and song writers of the pre-war years. My insouciant look and the angle of my body allowed me to look uninterruptedly at both band and canapé slave simultaneously.
Colin approached the table with two others and the slave's face lit up extraordinarily without changing more than a couple of facial features. There was something between him and Colin which went far beyond the slave and Master bond. It was in the eyes, yes indeed, in the eyes, because they shone out in brilliance and their corners contracted in happiness. It is fun to read body language, and the slave's involuntary body language was a declaration of total and adoring love towards Colin Bowman.
The party was a relaxed affair and I started to circulate. I had never met many of the staff of the other banks and as my name was given to any small group, I could see the reaction.
One young lady who was clearly on more than her first glass of champagne blurted out `Oh, yes, you're Colin's Boss who owns all the Palaces.'
Sailing close to the winds of truth, I could only reply, `Actually, I only live in one which is my home. But isn't Colin's villa just marvellous?'
Thankfully, the young lady was too far gone to see the diversion and change of tack.
`Sir, do you really own an opal mine? If it's not impolite to ask,' one of the young turks asked.
`I do indeed. Down in the south desert, and it produces some marvellous stones,' and I displayed the fire opal on my signet ring.
There were gasps of admiration as the light caught the differing angles of the polished stone and it showed why it got its fire name.
The conversation slipped into sport and holiday destinations and I circulated farther, until I got to a door and slipped out on the veranda to take a walk around the gardens which had been lit up with thousands of small white lights around the wood of the pergolas. I walked down the garden paths about a hundred feet or so to the boundary wall and looked back at Colin's jewel of a villa.
There were no outbuilding, except for a large garage to one side and a gardening shed. I surmised that his slaves slept in the villa--close at hand, for any form of service that might be required, day or night. A cosy arrangement. The evening was balmy and other couples from among the fifty or so guests were out walking. There was polite, but sincere, small talk of the beauty of our host's gardens and his home. I could hear wishful thinking in some of the comments, and I knew Colin Bowman to be a fortunate man.
I wandered back towards the villa and up the veranda steps, to come face to face with Colin.
`Jonathan, I was wondering where you had gone to? Please stay after the others have gone. It must be boring for you with this younger crowd and their constant jabber. You have made a big hit. They are in awe of you.'
Colin was on a high.
`I have to go in, Jonathan. Don't go. This will all be over in under an hour.'
`I won't go,' I replied to a pair of departing shoulders, and made my way in to the canapé table.
`A small plate of assorted canapés,' I ordered the slave beauty.
`Yes, Master, immediately,' and with a serving-slice put five on a plate for me with a folded napkin underneath.
`What is your name?'
`Ruy, Master, I am here to serve you.'
My curiosity had its answer. He was Brazilian from his accent. Colin had gone for another Brazilian! He definitely had an eye for beauty.
I turned on my heel and picked up a large glass of lime juice and made my way through the crowd and out the front doors of the villa. Jess was not hard to find standing beside the Rolls.
`Are you not listening to Country and Western?'
`No, Boss, not when you are away from the car.'
`And not sitting in the car?'
`No, Boss, I don't want to crease the uniform more than I have to so that it looks well when you come out to go back to the Palace. I really want to look my best for you.'
Has this anything to do with the visit to the brick factory?' I said handing him the glass of lime juice. Drink it. The evening is warm.'
The brick factory, Boss?' and I thought he shivered in the heat. In a way, yes, Boss, but it has to do with a hundred other things.'
I looked at him quizzically.
Boss, you may not think a lot of me with all my faults, but I want to really, really try to please you,' he swallowed hard as he said that and continued, you are a really good Master to me and the other slaves, Boss. I really mean that,' and he looked at the ground not wanting to look me in the eye as if he had said too much.
There was I with a plate of canapés warming up in the evening air looking at Jess, a prime specimen of slavehood at six foot four, with his near perfect body.
`What has brought all this on? Do you want one of these things?' I said holding out the plate for him to take one.
`I suppose the shock of the slaves at the brick factory and then realising how much I have going for myself back at the Palace and even tonight as your driver. There are loads of little things, Boss, and I am sorry that I have ever disappointed you.'
`Any time, Jess, you have disappointed me, I have punished you and you have bounced back better than before. You have not been punished in a long time, not since that drink incident, and you took that punishment like a proper slave should. In many ways, Jess, I am proud of you as my slave. But when you disappoint me again, I will punish you to your limits and you should bear that in mind at all times as a proper slave should,' and I held out the plate of canapés again which was soon cleared and washed down by the other half of the lime-juice.
As Colin predicted the party-goers started to straggle away into the evening and an hour and ten minutes after the prediction, the villa was empty save for Colin, myself and the slaves. At a nod from Colin, a general clear up started after the party which mercifully had not included a cake, and offered a glass of vintage port, we sat on a settee opposite the open side doors of the villas.
`You look happy, Colin.'
`I am, Jonathan, very happy.'
`And you have bought some new slaves.'
`Yes, a couple more of late. I have ten in all.'
`Ten, I only saw eight.'
`Two in the kitchens, the rest out here serving.'
`A very handsome slave behind the buffet.'
`That is Ruy, and that is the reason why I am happy.'
I looked at him and smiled, but said nothing. At times, happiness can be ruined with another's words.
`For almost two years, Jonathan, I have been checking every catalogue from the slave-markets and when I saw Ruy some months ago, I knew he was the one for me, even before I saw him in the flesh.'
`A substitute for Carlos?'
`Yes and no. Carlos was a freeman and my life and now he is gone. I have avenged his memory and wiped out his killers. Ruy is the balm of my soul and now the love of my present life. He cannot substitute for my dead Carlos. He is slave who simply lives for me.'
With that, Colin clapped his hands, and caught the attention of one of the slaves taking a tray of empty glasses into the kitchen.
`Have my household come out to greet my guest,' he ordered and the slave disappeared inside the double doors leading into the kitchen area.
Almost immediately, the doors opened and Colin's household filed out, naked, in response to their Master's command.
When they were lined up in a single row in front of us, Colin said, `this is my honoured guest, Sir Jonathan Martin. If he ever asks anything of you, do it as if I, your Master, have ordered it. Now greet him as befits a slave in this household.'
The first of the slaves advanced and went on his knees before me, bent forward and took my right foot. The slave took off my slip on and light cotton sock, and then did likewise to my other foot. Placing my shoes and socks to one side, the slave then bent down and kissed the instep of each of my feet in one of the traditional Dahran greetings of a slave to an honoured guest.
Each of the slaves did likewise. The eighth was Ruy, and the last two, similar to the first seven in colour and features, whom I presumed to be the two from the kitchens, did similarly. When all had finished the first slave put my socks and shoes back on, and I noticed that Ruy was now kneeling on the far side of Colin to me, looking up to his Master, awaiting his Master's least command or minimally expressed wish or desire.
`You have a well-trained household, Colin.'
`The first four were trained at your Palace, Jonathan,' and indicated slaves at the top of the row, of whom I had the faintest of recollections.
`They trained the others in all the best ways of slavedom when I have been out at the Bank. Some of the newer ones hadn't a clue what to do in a household. These four do the gardens and the others help out when they are free.'
The slaves looked happy to be the centre of their Master's attention and that of his honoured guest.
`Do you operate a buddy system here, Colin?
`Yes, and I have to get another slave as Ruy here looks after me. Don't you, Ruy?' and he playfully rubbed his young slave's closely cropped hair, and looked up at one of the kitchen slaves who seemed a bit forlorn at being reminded of his lack of buddy.
`How often do you punish them, Colin? Remember a couple of strokes a week in a small household works wonders.'
`You have heard that from the Retrainer of Dahra. A couple of strokes each week to the slave whose work is worst.'
The slaves now looked worried at hearing my Dahran sobriquet mentioned, but the first slave nodded and whispered, `Yes, Master,' and dropped to his knees to kiss his Master's hand, which in itself produced a bout of hand-kissing from all.
`Don't worry, Jonathan, I have trained them all to my specific requirements. Ruy has a natural Brazilian talent for making love to exhaust anyone and he is slowly filling a void. You never really forget the first true love of your life, but, Jonathan, I asked you to stay back because I wanted to give you something,' and he nodded to Ruy who went to a desk and brought back a plain white envelope with only my name on it.
The envelope contained a Bank draft for a quarter of a million euro.
What I owe you,' Colin said. In fact, I owe you a lot more for the confidence you have had in me at the Bank,' and he leaned across and kissed me on the cheek.
`Look, Colin, I don't want to take this. Put it into your pension fund or something. Really, I mean it,' and I folded the draft and put in it in his breast pocket.
Colin looked as if he wanted to say something, changed his mind and said simply, `Thanks, Jonathan.'
`In time, Colin, you'll find a young banker who just needs a helping hand and a few quid to get over a bump. Remember that you were once helped. That's all there is to it. Now I really must be going. Thank you for a wonderful party, which I am but guessing will go on a lot longer tonight,' I said looking at Ruy, who now was all smiles, as indeed were the other slaves.
An extra Master in any household is an inconvenience. So, I decamped and went back to the Lemon Palace to the strains of three tenors singing Italian love songs. End of Chapter 14 =========== Contact: e: gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com w: http://www.geocities.com/gerrytaylor_78/ w: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/erotic_gay_stories If not on the YahooGroups mailing list, simply send a blank email to Erotic_gay_stories-subscribe@yahoogroups.com 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