Dahran

This is the 4th chapter of part one of a trilogy of novels of gay sex.

Keywords: authority, control, slavery, punishment, re-training, submission, loyalty

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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Contact points: eMail: gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com Web: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Erotic_Gay_Stories

The Changed Life by Gerry Taylor

Chapter 4 -- Yuriy Obov

Twice the following day, Wednesday, Tariq rang the Bank to see how I was. Would he send his own personal doctor over - it would be no trouble at all? Did I have any after effects? Had I slept well? The questions went on and were obviously from a genuinely concerned person. Arab courtesy at times knows no end.

The second call was, in fact, to see if I would join him for dinner that evening at his Palace. It had not occurred to me to think where or how he lived. As I had nothing on that evening I relented and finally said `Yes', because otherwise I felt there would be more phone calls of enquiry. He would send his own car to collect me at six from the Villa where the Bank had installed me. The Villa had been Tommy Elford's family home when he had been here and with six bedrooms, all mod cons, with a driver and a cook thrown in, it was more than spacious enough for my needs.

At five minutes to six, Tariq's limousine arrived and my own driver informed me as I was finishing dressing. It had taken me an age to take a shower without wetting the light plaster of Paris type dressing on my wrist and I had felt dreadfully squalid and dirty after the day of rolling in the dirt among other things. My own driver seemed put out that he was not driving me, the national hero, but I calmed him down and said that he would be driving me each and every other day.

Tariq had sent not only the limousine and driver but also an elderly Arab in traditional dress who introduced himself as the head of Tariq's household. Having made the traditional Arab of touching forehead, lips and heart, he took my hand and raised it almost tremblingly to his lips. The driver did likewise on impulse, and the head of the household rebuked him with some words I could not really hear, but I did hear the driver reply, `But he is my Master's saviour'.

It had not struck me until I was getting dressed to go out, that six o'clock was very early for eating in the Arab world. My Cook had said that dinner would always be ready for me at eight at the Villa, whether I had told him I would be there to eat or not.

The limousine surged ahead, there being little traffic on the road and soon we had left the capital far behind. I could have easily put a double bed in the back with me where I was more reclining rather than sitting. I finally pressed the intercom and asked the head of the household, whose name turned out to be Ahmed, how far out of the city we were going.

Ahmed replied that it was about an hour's drive from the city. As we were speeding along the freeway at what appeared not less than 70 miles per hour, I felt a bit surprised. He also said that his Master, again that term, had spent the whole day preparing for my visit, and I felt there was a trace of worry in his voice.

The limousine appeared to me to be hardly moving with regards to the flat desert landscape. The only way you knew it was moving was that cars in the distance came closer and passed by on the other side from time to time. With the air conditioning on in the car, there was absolutely no outside sound, so I put an easy listening CD in the player and sat back to enjoy the ride.

At precisely seven, the limousine, having left the main road some minutes previously and headed toward a white dot on the horizon, drew up towards the gates which must have been all of twenty feet high. The white dot had become an equally high wall stretching away as far as the eye could see on either side of the gates.

Inside the gates, the desert gave way to a paradise of green vegetation, crops growing, trees, palms and plants. It took us a full minute's drive still at what appeared to be almost the same speed from the gates up to the Palace, which was equally brilliant white in colour.

Having pulled up, I was just moving to get up out of the seat, when the driver was around at the door holding it open. He must have moved in less than two seconds. Again this time, he took my left hand, my right being in the sling the hospital had given me, and kissed it, but this time kneeling on the ground. Ahmed barked something, and the driver scuttled away.

Immediately, Tariq was out to greet meet followed by three other men. He went to embrace me but seeing the sling did not know what to do, so in true Arab style I put out my left hand and holding his hand, I kissed him on both cheeks.

The three other men who had been following him each in turn kissed my hand, each saying `Thank you, Master, for saving our Master's life.' It was not until the surprise had worn off, that I realised that they had each spoken in English, unlike Ahmed who apparently only had Arabic.

Ahmed was standing to one side in the doorway of the Palace and turning towards him, I said to him in Arabic, remembering his worried voice earlier on, `Thank you, Ahmed, for bringing me safely to your Master.' He appeared astonished and bowed deeply from the neck and shoulders.

If I for some reason had astonished him, on going into the Palace I was the one to now be astonished. On walking into the foyer of the Palace which alone was more the size of a tennis court, everyone walking around there, moving too and fro was totally naked, stark bollocks naked! The second thought of astonishment was that they were all male, of various heights and nationalities and colours. I could not see any what generally you might term Orientals or Africans.

I realised that Tariq was talking and I caught the drift of what he was saying in welcoming me to his humble home and that he and his slaves were there to serve me. I had been so astonished at seeing the naked members of his household, that the word slaves' did not sink in for a moment. I thought that as he was speaking in English, he might have misused the term slaves' when he should have used more appropriately the word `servants'.

I also realised that, not only was he trying to say thank you in the manner and custom that he knew how, that he was doing me the courtesy of speaking in English.

`Tariq, tonight one favour I ask. We are going to speak only in Arabic. I have forgotten a lot of what I learned in Cairo years ago, and if I do not make the effort while in Dahra, I am never going to learn to speak it as well as you do.'

Tariq clapped his hands with joy, and those who were listening all started to smile. It was if a cloud had lifted and it hit home that this guest was not going to make life impossible for them.

I had somehow thought that dinner at Tariq's Palace would have been with his family or at least with some family members present. But no, it was only the two of us.

I was settled on a divan of cushions by two dark haired young men in their early twenties whom I took to be slaves, as they were naked save for a silver coloured bracelet on their right ankles, one of whom placed a pile of down soft pillows under my arm and taking the arm in the sling between his hands, as if it were Meissen porcelain, laid it down so gently that I did not realise it was resting on the pillows until I glanced over at it.

I said I would take off the sling and just leave my wrist on the cushions. The other body slave looked frightened not knowing what to do, so I merely slipped off sling over my head and with a smile gave it to him, again resting my arm down on the cushions.

As I could not use my right arm, not being ambidextrous, the two took turns in feeding me and giving me sips to drink, while I chatted with Tariq. I complimented him on the splendour of his home, how well trained his household was and that he was a lucky man.

He said that in their tradition these things were willed by Allah, and that it was not luck I was with him the previous day.

This I now realise was a second direct intervention of Fate in my life. I was going to ask something, but stopped as if not finding the word. He noticed and said, `Tell me about yourself and your career.' It was a courtesy because everyone more or less loves taking about themselves.

I gave him the shortened version of my life, omitting what to some might be the juicier bits, so that finally I said, `And you, Tariq, how is it that you are at the Ministry of Finance?' His career took a bit longer than mine to relate, first, he had done a far wider range of things than I and secondly, he was talking in his native tongue which gave him a full range of vocabulary.

He was a second cousin of the Sheik whose family was directly traceable back to Saladin the Great. He was the fourth of seven brothers, five of whom where still living. He had four wives and fifteen sons. At that I spluttered as if I had swallowed down the wrong way. There was immediate alarm with my two attending body slaves, one of whom went on to wipe my lips with a cloth.

`Tariq, you look no more than late thirties. Fifteen sons?' I had noticed that he had not mentioned daughters.

I am thirty eight,' he replied and I married my first wife when I was eighteen years of age. First wife, three sons. Second wife, five sons. Third wife, four sons and youngest wife, three sons.'

I looked at him with my mouth open.

`Jonathan, you are thinking like a European. Here marriage is different. It is to breed good sons and continue the line. My eldest brother, who is fifty one, has thirty eight boys.'

I thought he was joking, but obviously he was not.

`May I ask you some questions, Tariq, and although I am used to Arab customs, please do not feel insulted if what I ask feels impertinent to you. Slaves. You have used the word a number of times. Are there slaves in Dahra?'

`Yes, all who are here and do not wear clothes are slaves. Those who wear cloth are either servants or my employees. Slavery has always been in Dahra and always will be. It is our way of life.'

`Ahmed and the driver? They wore clothes'

`Ahmed was a slave for fifty years and is now a free man. He serves as head of my household. The driver is a slave.'

`But he wore clothes!'

`Only when in the city. We are a modern nation in the capital and there use western ways, but here in the true country, we are a traditional nation.' He asked me what else I wanted to know.

I said `Do you have daughters?'

Tariq began to laugh so much, that a tear came down his cheek. A body slave immediately jumped up to dry it, but was waived away.

`Yes, I have daughters. Twenty of them, I think. We do not count daughters in the same way as we count sons.' He barked an order, calling for Ahmed who arrived in at the same time as the driver who was this time now naked.

The driver went on his hands and knees before his Master and his forehead touched the carpeted ground. Tariq said something I did not catch. I still had in those early days some difficulty in understanding comments in Arabic particularly when they are in a low voice or in dialect.

The driver drew close to Tariq whose right foot went between the man's legs and he raised and lowered his private parts a couple of times, and sort of rubbed the short hair on the slave's head. It was a profoundly erotic moment, because it showed a complete Mastery of an owned animal whose head had just been petted. Tariq pushed him away with a half gesture and instead of going away, he scuttled on his hands and knees the few paces over to me and kissed my feet.

For the first time, I saw a thunder of anger in Tariq's face at what he must have perceived as an impertinence to a guest. But I smiled down at the driver, gently raised my right foot as Tariq had done and nudged his balls and cock twice, and the same time giving his bristly hair and rub and a pat.

Tariq's anger was gone just as soon as it had come.

I said, `he is quite affectionate towards you, Tariq, and I suppose as I am your guest he is affectionate towards me.'

`Jonathan, I do not think that is the reason for his affection towards you. He knows like the others here, that had I been killed yesterday, they would have been distributed among my brothers, whom I can tell you are not as kind to their slaves as I. My sons, the eldest of whom is just 19, would of course have my wealth divided among them, but the handling of slaves is always best left to mature men.'

`Tariq, how many slaves do you own?

He looked at me as if I had asked him how many shirts or pairs of socks he possessed. Ahmed coughed and Tariq looked up at him, `Five hundred and seventy three slaves, Master, and twelve servants here at the Palace,' Ahmed said.

My mouth must have really dropped open, because Tariq said, `Jonathan, you are thinking like a European. Here it is the way of life.'

Ahmed coughed again in the back of his throat and barely perceptible to the ear.

`Yes, what?'

`The Master has twenty three daughters, the last one being born three weeks ago.'

Tariq smiled broadly. `Now you see why I need a good head of household'.

But in my mind, I think he was smiling because his head of household, had not just given a fact, but had pointed out the sexual prowess of his Master at the same time without it being too explicit.

He barked something and the driver and the head of household disappeared. The two body slaves who had been feeding me and giving me to drink became more attentive. I had noticed how they seem to sulk somewhat when I had fondled the genitals of the driver with my foot.

The one who had taken my arm to rest it down on the cushions had been giving me sips of a sweet drink from a glass, while the other had taken care of the food. I noticed that when the food body slave went to feed me again, he placed his knees on either side of my foot and when he had finished giving me a morsel to eat, his privates were just over my shoes. I therefore gave his genitals a stroke or two with the tip of my shoe and he positively beamed. Out of the corner of my ear, I noticed the slightly jealous look on the face of the body slave who had been giving me to drink.

Tariq said in an annoyed voice `Are they bothering you?'

`Not at all, Tariq, they are doing their job and very attentive.'

Switching to English, I said, `At times, I think, you must have problems of jealousy between your slaves as they seek your favour.'

He laughed and said `How right you are!'

He was silent for a minute or so, like a man who wants to say something but can't find the right word or moment in which to say it.

`Jonathan, I want to give you a present, but I hope that you are not going to be offended by it. In fact, I want to give you two presents.'

I was going to interrupt but he put a finger halfway up in the air, as if trying to give himself space in which to say the rest.

`You have done the Sheikdom a great service yesterday in saving my life. My work here is important. The Finance Minister is a first cousin of the Sheik and is a figurehead. He represents the families of western province. My direct boss as you would call him, the deputy Finance Minister, is again filling a post specifically created for him. He too is a cousin of the Sheik on his mother's side, who herself comes from a very powerful tribe, and he also a figurehead. It is I who actually make the decisions on finance here in Dahra.'

`I wish to transfer some three billion euro of my personal assets for management to Deckams private banking service. I know the Bank does very well for some others and will do the same for me. I will transfer more in time, but at present, my other assets are either maturing or in long term commitments. This 10% I am transferring is what I have in cash at the moment.'

My head was reeling. I do not think it was the drink as it was not alcoholic. It was the sheer size of the transfer. If Tariq was transferring 10% which was three billion euro, then he was valuing his total personal assets at thirty billion. And he was just one of some hundred members of the Sheik's family. He was also making me privy to his wealth, which Arabs never did except to the closest of their advisers.

`Secondly, I wish to make you another gift.' And he clapped his hand twice sharply.

The doors through which we had come earlier in the evening open and a slave walked in. He was naked, Caucasian, a little over six feet two, superbly fit, and it left me puzzled. He walked in with his hands by his sides and up to Tariq and made obeisance, going down on his knees and letting his head touch the carpet. I did not see him carrying in the present Tariq was talking of and presumed that he would now rise and get it.

Instead, the naked man rose and coming over to me, he again went down on his knees and his head touched the carpet at my feet. He then stood up, stepped back about two paces, putting his legs about two feet apart, put his hands behind the nape of his neck and pushed out his chest. He was truly awesome.

When I said naked, he was totally that, but for a centimetre wide silver looking band around his right ankle. I subsequently discovered, having noticed it on others as well, that this ankle bracelet was of pure titanium, impossible to cut without a very special type of tool of which there were only two in the Sheikdom, and in the band there was a GPS - global positioning satellite -- code which could locate the bracelet, and therefore its wearer, within two metres with ArabSAT IV, one of the Gulf's geodesic satellites.

Now up so very close, every vein could be seen under the slave's skin which was slightly oiled over perfectly even tanned. His musculature was superb, with perfect arms, hips and a narrow waist. I could feel myself getting an erection there and then just looking at him.

`Well, Jonathan, do you like my present or not?'

The penny dropped. The man in front of me, this ultimate specimen of Caucasian manhood was the present.

For a third time in as many hours, I was speechless but then somehow managed to find my voice.

`Tariq, I am an Englishman! Englishmen do not own slaves! How can I accept your present? How can I refuse it without hurting your feelings? You have done more than sufficient for me this evening.

Jonathan, Jonathan,' he spoke as if chiding a child, you have a lot to learn about slaves and even about those Englishmen who own them, I can assure you. He is yours to do with as you please or as you don't please. He is my gift to you. I could not think of what else to do at such short notice, until I remembered what you had said when you were in the hotel foyer, about the your type of perfect man, the Aussie rules football type, I believe you said.'

`Tariq, that was a comment, a phrase. I did not think you would do this. Where could he live? What would I do with him?'

`Jonathan, you are still thinking like a European. When in Dahra, do as the Dahrans do. I will not answer those questions for you, because you will have to find answers for them not just for yourself, but in yourself.'

`So, if I tell him to do something, he will do it,' I asked.

`Yes, he will. But I must tell you that he has only been trained for three months, so must be considered still half wild. Fresh slaves are never really deemed to be really trained until after two years. With this one, you may have a slight problem, and for this I apologise, but he was the best that I could find among my stock today and there is no market until next week. He is a Kazakh, so he only speaks I am told Russian, Kazakh and only a few words of basic English. I can have him speaking English for you in 30 days if you wish.'

I had to laugh at the apparently absurdity of the moment. Here I was being given a slave, considering owning a slave and being told that he could be taught English in thirty days. As they say, I know people who can't speak English after thirty years.

I looked up at the Kazakh who seemed to be looking at some spot over my shoulders or some such place. Pointing to a spot on the carpet in front of me, I said `Sit.' It was my first command to a slave of my own or of anyone else's for that matter and a defining moment in my life.

To be continued...