There are the 4th and 5th chapters of The Kazakh's Story, a novel about slavery and gay sex in modern times.
Key words: authority, control, loyalty, slavery, punishment, re-training, and submission.
This story is entirely a work of fiction and all rights to it and its characters are copyright, and private to and reserved by the author. No reproduction by anyone for any reason whatsoever is permitted.
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The Kazakh's Story
Chapter 4 -- Night
The Master brought me around to the right side of the bed again, and to told me again `Sit. Sleep'. He then half wrapped the quilt round me and tucked in its edges. I closed my eyes, counted backwards from three, and saw the fleecy clouds of my Kazakhstan race over the most beautiful steppes in southern Siberia.
The next thing I felt was a toe in the side of my hip as Ahmed woke me and I sprang up with a morning woodie of seven inches of pure erection. The sun was streaming though the bedroom window and a digital clock beside the Master's bed was showing 7.30.
The Master was rising. He saw me at display and my erection, and with a wave of his good hand signalled the direction of the bathroom, where I pissed like a Czar, shat and was out of the shower within two minutes flat, making way for the Master and his two body slaves. As I finished first and was already dry in the warm air of the day, I came into the bedroom and saw the Master's clothes had been laundered during the night. I laid them out as I used do for my old Major and stood at rest until he came out. He saw the laid out clothes and I think he was going to say something about the clothes but did not.
A trolley of regular food came in and my stomach rumbled in sympathy, but the other two slave and I were given two slave biscuits each. Then the Master did an extraordinary thing, he poured water into three glasses. Glasses I ask you of pure lead cut crystal! And gave us each a glass to drink. My head was light with the thought and the touch of the glass on my lips and I drank it like a Crimean white wine, sip by sip. The head of household who was standing by did not seem to be at all pleased with the Master giving glasses to the slaves or in handing them water to drink. That made my sips all the more pleasurable.
The Master was ready to leave and I had his overnight case packed with his few things -- the body slaves had already put them in and I had just to snap shut the clasps. For some reason the Master, seemed to think I needed clothes and a small shirt and a pair of khaki pants were given to me to put on. It was the first time in months that I had clothes on me and they felt uncomfortable against my skin.
As we went out Overseer Guss had words with the Master, and I knew from their body language that it was about me. A file was handed over and some papers, which the Master kept in his hand thought I was nearby if he had wanted to dispose of them.
In the courtyard, it was clear from the head of household that I was to travel in the boot of the very large black limousine there for my Master. My Master must be a very important man to own such a car.
The Master said something and then he was beckoning me to get into the back of the limousine, not the boot, and I sat as indicated on the floor. Not knowing the protocol for travelling in the back of car, I put my arms behind my neck as if at display.
The Master pressed a button and spoke to the driver and then another button and all the windows went dark. I could see the courtyard outside, but it was like looking through two pairs of sunglasses, it was that dark.
The file was obviously about me. He would read a bit and then look at me. Read another bit, and look again. It also gave me the opportunity to study my new Master more closely.
He could not yet be forty and his colour was fair. He was not Arab but definitely European. I had decided last night he was not Arab when I saw that he was not cut, and yes, I do not think he is American. I do not know why.
The air conditioning in the car is on, but it is still hot and I am uncomfortable in these tight clothes. But I do not say or do anything. As if reading my mind, with a wave of his fingers, he tells me to take off my shirt and pants.
Ah, that is a relief. I feel much cooler and the air conditioning is cool, but there is a breeze on my balls and I know what is about to happen as I learned with one or two of my recruits who had very inventive minds and powerful lungs for blowing. I would soon be getting a hard hard cock.
The Master with a flick of his fingers had me shuffle forward a bit. His foot was between my legs and the tip of his shoe just barely touched my balls which had not yet been drained this morning. That alone was sufficient to bring my little corporal -- well not so little - to full attention. Again, the tip of his shoe touched me and I trembled with the reaction in my balls. Although I do not shoot quickly, when I start a machinegun is nothing on my rapid fire.
The Master put down the file he was reading and started to undress himself in the car. He had given me no instruction, so I stayed put. He was making slow progress as he was only able really to use one hand, but soon his clothes were a pile on the floor and seat. He was leaking a lot and then he moistened his finger in his wetness brought it to his lips and then put his finger in my mouth. It must have been the air-conditioning in the car, but my balls were ready to explode, the finger in my mouth made me tremble all over and I sucked it as gently as I could.
The Master pulled out his finger from my mouth and taking my arms from behind my head one at a time with his good arm, he pulled my head down towards his erect member which I took as I had done so many times to my favourite conscript Sergeiy Ivanovich on our patrol outposts.
For the first time, I noticed that my Master's eyes were not grey or steel as I had first thought, but blue. My own eyes did not leave his face. I have to be able to judge his reactions.
I could feel his build-up immediately. I knew that he had not come with me last night, perhaps with the other two slaves, perhaps not, but if he had, then his powers of recovery must be awesome, because no sooner had I sucked him up and down four times, than he came in my mouth so hard that it was like as if a hose had opened and his cum was going directly down my throat.
I would say that his squirts came out four or five times in all. He immediately had me stop sucking him. Maybe he is like me and cannot abide being sucked after coming. If this is what my new Master wants all the time, I am going to be able to please him very well.
Then for the second time in one morning he surprised me. With his fingers spinning in a circle, he indicated that he wanted me to turn round. A hand -- his only good one, went down between my buttocks and pressed my balls up and up, so that I was effectively on my feet and on the back of my knuckles bent down in the limousine. He shuffled me backward until the calves of my legs were up against the back seat.
Then his tongue started touching my portal of delight and round my flower bud, I almost went through the dividing partition into the front of the limousine. His tongue was touching me in places as no one had ever touched in such a long time.
As I had been shaven all over yesterday in preparation for the evening dinner and presentation, my choad was totally bald. My balls were bald. The space between my balls and my legs were bald. Even the little spot over my private hole was bald. And my Master's tongue was touching each of these spots.
I cried out. I gasped. Oh, please balls of mine, do not shoot now. I will always treat you with respect in the future. Please don't shoot. Let me enjoy every touch of my Master's tongue. Oh steppes of Siberia, where is he touching now?
He is licking with the flat of his tongue right up from the back of my balls to the coccyx of my spine. Oh corporal mine, stop jumping up and down. You are supposed to stand still and at attention. Oh thank you, corporal. Oh thank you for not spouting!
My Master has now turned me round. My face must be a sight. I know I am breathing as if I have been running up and down the training sand-dunes.
My Master has taken my turgid member, my beautiful corporal, in his mouth and not even sucking me, his teeth have grazed over the flange of my cock-head and the tender skin behind it on my shaft. It is too much. I explode once, twice, three times, and a glorious fourth time into his mouth. My Master is no novice at this technique and has not lost a drop of my seed which must have been almost solid such was the pain of the explosions coming down my piss-hole.
We look at each other. Rather he at me. I am not taking my eyes off him. He points to his own clothes and expects me to help him dress, which I do. Then he points to my two garments which I put on.
While I am doing this, he takes water in a bottle from a small fridge in the back of the front seat. The limousine has a fridge with ice in it! My Master pours out some water into two crystal glasses, puts ice in his and holding up a piece of ice is clearly miming if I want it in mine.
I am being offer ice in my drink! I nod as if nodding is going out of fashion and he hand me my glass. Taking up his own, he lifts it in a toast. He waits until I tentatively raise my own and then he clinks my glass with his. I copy the way he sips his water. I could have swallowed mine in one gulp, but I sip every time he sips. He notices the imitation and smiles.
Now we are clearly entering a city. It is large, very modern. It appears to be all new architecture. There are few people walking and quite a few cars.
We soon pull up outside the gates of a very large house. As soon as we get near the gates - they must be electronic of the types I have heard speak of - they open to let us in. We are in a courtyard. My Master is important because the driver opens the door for him. My Master takes the file that he was reading and we go into the large house.
The house is like nothing I have ever seen as a private dwelling. It has not just an outside courtyard, it has an inside one where all the walls facing the inner one are of glass, looking out on a garden and a beautiful fountain and plants of many colours.
The driver has given me the overnight case and has disappeared. I follow my Master down a hall and round the courtyard until we are almost opposite where we came in. We go into the Master's bedroom. He is pointing out things to me, the toilet, the bed which is just a leather covered base with a blanket on it and a running machine treadmill which I have seen in gyms. I hold up the overnight case, as if to say, `where do I put it' and then he opens a double door into another bedroom and points to a stool. I realise my mistake. We are now in the Master's bedroom. The other one is mine! I am astonished. I have my own bedroom! The Master's one is so large you could park army transports in it.
Clicking his fingers, I follow him again through doors. He points to a brush and a rake and points to the garden. I am to clean up the place. Yes, I understand that. More beckoning of fingers, and we go through double door again, and we are in a swimming pool area. The Master points at me and points at the pool, and with one arms makes a poor show of imitating a swimmer. I am to swim in the pool! It is my head that is beginning to swim, I can say at this stage!
The Master is obviously in a hurry as he has looked at his watch twice. We are now in the kitchen area, where the driver is having his breakfast. I see a pile of my slave biscuits on the counter and my stomach rumbles even though it is only some hours since I was fed.
A small Far East person in white comes in from somewhere. He is clearly the cook, and they speak in the English language. The driver has not risen when the Master has come in, strange, but has stopped eating his breakfast while he too is brought into the conversation which obviously is about me. The driver grabs his coffee and swallows it and a last gulp of his breakfast.
We rush back to the Master's bedroom. The Master quite quickly sheds his clothes and leaves them in a pile on the floor. I do likewise. He smiles at that.
He walks into a smaller room and it is not a room at all, but a wardrobe of shirts and ties and shoes and suits. My Master must really be important to have... My thoughts are cut short as he gesticulate to the cuffs of a shirt he put on and to a pair of cuff links on a dresser. I put them in.
He points to a whole pile of underpants and I take the top one and slip them on him. He grabs a tie, realises that he cannot put it on and is about to throw it down when I take it from him and going behind him, raising the shirt collar, put it on him as I had many a time for my old Major. The Master looked surprised and gave me a smile and a pat on the backside.
Next a suit of light blue material and I slip a belt through the loops of the trousers. The Master already has a pair of socks in his hands and I put them on. He slips on a pair of polished black shoes. Looks at himself in the mirror from the front and the side. Looks at his watch and breathes deeply. I know that sign he is late for something.
He hurries out of the room-wardrobe and out to the front steps of the house. The driver is waiting with the car. I do not think I am expected to go with him and I am correct. He turns to me, points to his watch which says 10.30 and with his finger points to 4.30. He will be back at half past four! I have six hours to do all the things he has told me.
I go back towards my room and think that I should start by putting away the Master's clothes, but I meet the cook coming down the hall with them in a basket. He realises that I am now naked and give a big laugh and shakes his head and goes on about his business.
My own tight shirt and khaki pants have disappeared as well, but that does not really worry me. I am not more comfortable working naked than with clothes on. The house is spotless. You could eat your breakfast, if you had a breakfast to eat, of the toilet bowl itself it is so sparkling white.
I try to go through some doors re-tracing my steps as with the Master, get lost once or twice, find some doors locked, and finally find the place where the brush and rake are, with other cleaning items.
I pull aside one of the glass panels out into the inner court yard. There are some leaves and I rake them. There are some flowers which are dead on bushes and with a type of sharp pliers I have found I cut them off. The court yard is clean but I brush it. The day is beautiful and warm and though it must be hot outside the house, here in the courtyard, with the water tinkling in the fountain, it is cool and the odd spray from the fountain hits my body. There is even a small bird hopping from branch to branch on one of the bushes.
I must have spent an hour in the garden and courtyard, and then I went out to the outside court yard where the limousine had come in and did the same. There was little to do and it was soon finished.
As the Master had said I could swim, I go in to the swimming pool. By this point, I was getting to know where was where in the house and got there no problem. I walked the length of the pool. It was twenty five paces. Twenty five metres. Forty lengths, one kilometre. Two hundred lengths, five kilometres. I started to do my five kilometres. The water was so clean and like velvet against my skin, far smoother even than the beautiful water of Lake Ozero where I had learned to swim with my grandfather. At times the water stings my eyes. I floated up and down the pool at a leisurely pace, the internal computer of my mind counting off the laps.
Chapter 5 -- Memories
I swam and I remembered all the good things in my life so far. My school. The Army. The old Major who had taught me so much about life and how to be a good Speznaz officer in the field and all he asked was a warm mouth on his member at night and a warm body beside him in his military cot.
I remembered my Irina, whose parents came from Bukhara in Uzbekistan. The softness of her skin. The beauty of her smile. Her sharp tongue. Oh, that woman of mine could have a sharp tongue at times! I called her mine thought we had never married. The army never seemed to leave me long enough in one place for it to be called home.
I remembered the army lads, fresh from the steppes and the farms and hills, wanting to be tough in one of the best units in the army. Oh, I toughened them up each and every one of them, not just with drills during the day, but with my drilling of their portals of delight each night.
I can proudly say that I had each and every one of them, from the tightest young town butts to the more accommodating buttocks of the farm lads who knew what was what about sex.
And Sergeiy Ivanovich! Where are you now my Sergeiy Ivanovich? You and your strange eyes and strange second sense. I did not believe you that morning at breakfast when you said, My captain, we will have a snap inspection today.'
How you looked at me in the eye and walked into the kitchen leaving me with a roll of bread half in half out of my mouth.
`How the hell do you know that, Sergeiy Ivanovich?' I had shouted after him, but he was humming to himself in the kitchen just like he did when I took his twenty year old hole each night I was not having one of the others. He always hummed while I fucked him, with that half smile on his face resting on my army pillow.
But I had said to myself, "What if?" and went to tell the guards on the only road into the camp to let me know when they could see dust on the North Road, that we were due a snap inspection. Two patrols were out that morning, so there were only the two outpost guards and seven of us left to clean up a camp which had not been cleaned in a month. We did it all by ten.
`Get the regimental flag!'
`Sir!'
`Get the flag of the Republic!
`Sir!'
`Ready to raise flags on my command!
`Sir!'
I remember thinking that I must have looked a right prick standing there with my men in the Kazakh morning waiting for a snap inspection, just in case there was a snap inspection.
I had the six conscripts and myself at the ready for half an hour as if anyone would inspect us in the middle of nowhere. An then one of the outpost sentries hared down the path.
`Dust on the North Road, Sir! Too far off to say what, Sir!'
As the entry ran back to his post, I checked each of my men. Sergeiy Ivanovich was the second last in line.
`Snap? Is it, Sergeiy? We'll show them snap, won't we?'
Three minutes later two jeeps barrelled into camp leaving the sentries in a cloud of trailing dust.
`Attention! Prepare to raise the flags! Raise the flags!'
It was old General Iron Bones himself with a Captain in the first jeep and they had to stand to attention as the flags were raised and as it the privilege of the regiment, we sang the country's anthem at full belt.
`Guard ready for inspection, Comrade General!'
`And Captain Yuriy Andreiyvich do you normally have a guard ready for inspection at -- and the general checked a wristwatch -- 10.45 every morning.'
`Only when we feel that a snap inspection is due, Comrade General' I could not help reply.
The General inspected as if he and we were on the Chimkent barracks square. A word for each man. He took his time. Straightening an already straight collar. Brushing away an imaginary speck of dust. Pulling on an already tight belt. I hoped that the young Captain would not spoil it all. I thought he was about to burst.
The second jeep had spilled out a Major and a sergeant-driver. The General had flashed him a look and the Major shook his head as if to say `Well, I did not tell them.'
The General stayed the day and that night. He had brought his own tent. I asked him did he want one or two. He asked how cold was the night in this outpost. I replied that it could be quite cold. So he replied that it would be a two conscript night.
I sent him two of the farm lads and I was glad I had broken them in myself, because Old Iron Bones is hung like a camel.
The Major, Captain and the sergeant-driver were accommodated with one apiece.
But I kept Sergeiy Ivanovich of myself.
That was the first night that he crossed my fingers as my hand lay over his chest when we were both spent. He took the index and middle fingers of my right hand -- I was spooning him for behind at the time with my hand over his side and chest -- and he put my index finger under my middle finger and kept them entwined together.
`What's that about?' I remember I enquired.
`Sergeiy -- and he ran his finger down my index finger -- and Yuriy' -- and he ran his finger down my middle finger.
I did not remember that until long long after.
I do also remember that when one sunny beautiful evening, he said, `A sandstorm to-night' as he was setting my plate on the table for a serving of beans and potatoes.
I looked at the satellite readings - all clear. I checked the radio, but nothing on the army weather station but high fronts.
I took the precaution nevertheless of battening every single thing down. When the sandstorm hit out of cloudless night, it was the worst in over twenty years. One outpost further east was blown into a river. Another nearly demolished.
The worst that happened to our lot as one of the lads said was that he now had sand under his hood, and he grabbed a hold of himself between the legs. I had him two nights later to check the truth of that particular assertion of his.
I should however have been warned when I went out on patrol that day. The various men saluted as I went by, but Sergeiy Ivanovich stood at my tent and his arm was not in salute but across his chest as if on his heart. It was only afterwards upon reflection, and I have had a lot of time on my hands to reflect as a prisoner of the Taliban, that I realise that his index and middle fingers were entwined.
..198, 199 and 200. My five kilometres were done. Ah, that was a good swim. I got out and planed off the water. I notice that I had made a mess of splashing water on my turns, and finding a type of sponge brush, I cleaned not only the ends of the pool but all around.
Going into the Master's bedroom, there was a digital clock which said 01.15. In other places, it would be lunchtime, but for a slave it is a time just to do his work or the jobs assigned to me. So I went to the kitchens to see if the cook had anything for me to do.
The cook giggled when I walked in. He was slightly nervous at a tall naked man in his kitchen. He nodded outside the window to the courtyard and garden. I nodded to him. He mimed brushing and pointed to the outside courtyard and I nodded back to him. He did a type of overarm stroke and I nodded. He shrugged his shoulders.
A pot of something was bubbling on the cooker and at the smell of it, my stomach rumbled as it always does. It was a loud rumble, and the cook laughed and looked at me.
He looked at me again, more closely. My grandfather always said I was a big lad for my age and breeding, and that I took after him in that department. Cook was looking definitely at my member.
He came over to me and put his hand on my belly which rumbled yet again. His hand was naturally a light brown and very small, almost tiny. His hand went down and he raised my member on the palm of his hand and looked at it in wonder. Now whom am I to object to an ardent admirer! Though I am some four or so inches when down, I am almost eight inches when up and very thick, as all the army lads have repeatedly told me.
Cook looked at me with a semi-hard-on and sighed and shook his head and let my member drop. Then he did an extraordinary thing to my mind, he took off his apron and dropped his pants and pulled down a small white bikini type underpants. He took his small uncut penis in his hand, it must have been only about an inch and a half in length, looked up at me and smiled.
Then pointing to his penis, he brought up his hand before my eyes and made a circle of thumb and first finger to indicate perfection. Then pointing to my own member, he looked at it again, and pointing at me, he again made a circle of thumb and first finger. The rouble dropped as they say. His was perfect for him! And mine was perfect for me! At least, that is what I made of it, and he dressed himself again.
There was a bowl of potatoes on the table and he took out a small knife and gave it to me and pointed at the potatoes. Does an army man know how to peel potatoes? Does your grandmother know how to boil eggs? I took the bowl of potatoes, sat cross-legged on the floor and peeled away.
Cook went over to a press and took out my, I say my' bag of biscuit. He said two' and pointed to the seven figure on the clock on the wall, and then bringing his finger around the clock to seven again, he said `two'. I would get two biscuits every morning at seven and two at seven in the evening.
My stomach rumbled yet again at the mere thought of food. I also realised that the cook had spoken to me in English, and that I had understood clearly. He then took a biscuit and broke it in half. My eyes were locked on that half biscuit like radar on an incoming missile. Cook made a little pantomime of whether he would or would not give it to me.
I solved that matter by simply saying `woof' and he burst out laughing and handed me the half biscuit, but again in mime, he showed that it was to remain between himself and myself, and to show the ill effects that its disclosure would have on him, he drew a finger across his throat. My Master would slit his throat for his giving me a biscuit?
I started to take the biscuit out of my mouth. But he laughed again his light little laugh, and coming over tapped me twice on the head as if to say "Do you always believe what you are told?'
We finished off the vegetables in double quick time. He was doing some vegetable that looked like a cucumber, making nice little shapes with it.
Cook then took me into another room with a large table in it - clearly different rooms had different uses here -- and he proceeded to set a place for one person. Each part of the operation he had me watch -- a mat, some cutlery, glasses, a napkin. He was teaching me how to lay a table for a meal for the Master!
Then with a smile, he took out a large cloth from a dresser and covered the entire place that he had prepared, stood behind another chair and told me, in mime and in words, that I was to prepare a place at the table as he had done.
I was like a little child. I put the mat upside down. Well, it did look the same. And then lengthways instead of sideways. He giggled his way through my efforts with the cutlery. Well, they are all for eating, aren't they. And he would shake his head until I got it right.
Finally, I got it all right, and he pulled off the cloth off the first place setting with a cry that sounded something like `rah-rah'. The two settings were the same. Then he had me put away the second setting. The Master would be eating alone.
Back to the kitchen, and Cook took down a pot to make tea. He looked at me and then put it away again. I indicated to him that he should make tea for himself and that I would have water -- after all I had eaten half a biscuit and needed more water.
Cook pulled the pot out again for his tea and made some. He filled a glass of water for me. I can get used to using glasses again, I can tell you.
A thought seemed to strike him and he went to the fridge and took out a tray of ice cubes, make a face at me. I nodded and he put two of them in the glass.
Then going out to the inner courtyard, he went over to a plant and pulled off a leaf and pulled something from a tree. He came back in and put a stalk of the plant in my iced water, and taking what was a lime that he had plucked from the tree, he cut it in half and squeezed a full half of its juice into my glass.
Taking his own cup of plain brown tea and putting it on a saucer, and handing me my glass of lime-water with its stalk of - I smelt it - it was mint -- he beckoned me to the side of the inner courtyard where the sun was not shining and slapped a hand on the seat next to where he sat down.
Yuriy Andreyvich Obov, former special forces Kazakh captain, former lover of Irina, former big brother to his army unit conscripts, and now slave of a Master whose name he did not even know, was drinking lime- water with a sprig of mint on a cool afternoon in a beautiful courtyard garden! Was life ever more perfect?
Looking at Cook, I knew that had he asked me to walk barefoot over the Pamir Kush in the middle of winter bollocks naked and in my bare feet, I would have at least made the attempt for him.
Maybe I could find out the name of the Master from Cook? I signalled for his attention and he looked up from his tea.
I said `Master?' and raised my shoulders to emphasise the question.
Cook replied and obviously by the way he touched his watch he was saying what time the Master would be home.
Again, I said, Master' in my best English. What is the word for name' in that language? I could not remember. Then I remembered what the Master had done. I tapped my chest and said Yuriy Obov' very slowly ad clearly and repeated it twice, and then said Master?'.
`Ah, the Master's name?'
`Yes, name' -- that was the word I could not remember.
`Jonathan Martin' and Cook repeated it slowly and clearly.
I said it five or six time also slowly and clearly, but obviously not clearly enough. Cook shook his head and repeated where the accents had to lie JOH-nah- than' and sang it out until I was singing it with him. Then MAHR-tan' we sang out together half a dozen time.
Cook finished his tea and laughing at my English, he shook his head and went into the kitchen to complete his work.
English is such a strange language. I remember they say a good' something in the morning especially for the morning, and something for the early evening and something good' for the late day, and then something good' before going to bed. Why could they not made do simply with a good day' meaning it for any time of the time of day or night as they do in proper languages!
I went in to practice on Cook. It is to my shame that although he had told me the Master's name. I never to this day learnt Cook's own name.
`Ghuud dhahy, MahhsTER'
Cook looked at me coming in the glass door from the courtyard saying my greeting. He almost fell into the sink laughing. He shook his head, but he said to himself as he went about his business `guhDAYmahstr' and continued repeating it until I got the message. I was putting the accent in the wrong place.
Then we tried it with afternoon', evening' and `night'.
Looking at the clock, Cook saw it was 16.15 and signalled `no more'. He had things to do.
I went and waited at the top of the steps of the outer courtyard and some minutes later the outer gates opened and the Master's car came in. I would have gone to open the door, but I thought that was the driver's job which it was, and when I went down the steps to greet the Master, all my learnt English of the day became confused in my mind and I stood there like a dumb farm boy from the hills.
The Master saw me and said something which contained my name in it. I was tongue-tied. He handed me a briefcase and gave my arm a pat. I followed him inside. I noticed that the sling had disappeared from his arm as indeed the plaster and when he took off his shirt in the bedroom to go into the shower, there was some form of elastic bandage on his wrist alone.
I ran his shower and washed him down. My Master has a fine body and I could appreciate it more now when we are less hurried. I notice that while he uses a perfumed soap, there are no cosmetics for men in the bathroom, except for what I think is an aftershave lotion. For a rich man, he spends a lot on clothes but little on lotions.
As I towel him down, I notice him looking at me and he gives me a smile, which I return. There does not seem to be any malice in him. But I think I would not like to have him as an enemy.
When dressed in casual and cool clothes sufficient for the temperature of the evening, he walks to the inner courtyard and around looking at the plants and trees. The fountain is playing its water games in the background. He notices that I have cut some of the dead heads on the plants, and he smiles and pats my arm again.
He reaches down and runs his finger along the ground. He is checking if there is dust! Should I have left the sweeping of the courtyard until later? I am sure that the fine sand of the desert will have blown in since this morning. He laughs at my apparent consternation, and mimes if I have brushed the yard. I nod, and for the first time, I say in English. `Yes, Master.'
He pats my arm again and says two words followed by `Yuriy'. I think he is telling me it is well done. I smile back at him in gratitude.
We walk into the swimming pool area, and he points to me and to the pool, I say, "Yes, Master' much more clearly and with my finger on the wall, I write out in imaginary numbers 200'. He does not at first understand, and then he motions up and down. I say Yes, Master.' I am getting on fine in English now. Three `Yes, Masters' without making a camel's balls of it.
The Master points to his wrist. He is not allowed to or cannot swim with it like that. He looks at me. Pats my firm belly and smiles.
We go into the kitchen where the driver is sitting down eating. He seems to eat a lot. Cook is busy and chats with the Master, and obviously is talking about me. I hope he does not mention about the half- biscuit. I will have to get out of the kitchen soon or my stomach will rumble. I can feel a rumble definitely coming on. But we leave the kitchen for the Master's eating room area.
There he looks at the place setting ready for his evening meal. He seems to be thinking of something, and with his hand on the back of his chair, he looks at the setting and then distractedly moves the three glasses the other way round to the way they are, and walks over to the window deep in thought. Something is on his mind, I think.
I put the glasses back in their proper order as Cook had taught me earlier in day. When I have moved them back to their correct positions, the Master has turned and is looking straight at me. I heard a noise behind me and there is Cook laughing. The Master is now laughing. They have played a little joke at my expense.
I will learn in due course that the Master eats early by this country's time at 7 o'clock each evening. He works at his desk on papers or making phone calls on his mobile until about half eight, and then he comes to bed. It is infrequently that he changes his pattern, and he is not a person for late nights.
To be continued ...