Dahran

This is the eight chapter of part three 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.

If you are underage to read this kind of material or if this material will be unlawful for you to read where your live, please leave this webpage now.

Contact points:

e. gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com

w. http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Erotic_Gay_Stories

The Market Offer by Gerry Taylor

Chapter 8 -- More about Jack

I awoke to feel the morning sun on my face and a hand on my chest. Looking in the direction from which it was coming, I was greeted with a big grin from Jack.

`Morning, Uncle Jonathan. You have a big erection.'

Jack the lad seemed to be able to get your mind concentrated in a flash and equally to get to the heart of a matter.

`Jack, most men have a pre-first piss hard on in the morning, including yourself from time to time, I would say.'

He pulled back the sheet with another grin to reveal a nice morning boner.

`A quick cold shower will sort you out. What time is it?'

`Just after eight. Uncle Jonathan, can I ask you a question?'

`If you can live with the answer and it doesn't scare the horses. What?'

`Have you ever made love to a man?'

`Is this a sex talk you want or what? I thought you were 18?'

`18 and a half, almost 19.'

`Yes, you told me that. Why the question?'

`I'm just wondering what it would be like.'

`Jack, you look like a nice guy. You must have slept with girls by now. Why are you asking about guys?'

`I slept with a girl once. Actually slept with her, but never had any sex with her. We both fell asleep at a party. But I have wondered about sex with a man...'

He let the statement trail off, as if still awaiting my answer.

The short answer is yes' and I did like it. And don't ask anything else.'

`Uncle Jonathan, would you make love to me, please, and I promise I won't ask anything else of you.'

No, Jack, absolutely not. You are my nephew' -- and then I made the mistake of saying -- and if your parents ever found out anything of the sort...'

`Uncle Jonathan, I would never ever tell them anything of the sort. Cross my heart and hope to die.'

And he did a dramatic enactment on his chest of a scout's honour sign.

`Please, Uncle Jonathan, please.'

Jack Tuttle had eyes to melt icebergs, the bedroom eyes to talk women out of their panties and men out of their minds.

I heard a disembodied voice which I recognised as mine saying, `So be it, but it is on your head. Get into the bathroom and take a piss, a shit and a shower in that order. Then use the douche beside the toilet three times. If you can't figure out what it's for then don't come back in here.'

Less than eight minutes later a pissed, shit, showered and douched Jack sprinted back into the bedroom suite. His penis was at its full five-inch erection. So much for cold morning showers I thought. He was going to say something but I put a finger to my lips and pointed to his side of the bed. Getting up I went into the bathroom and took a leisurely piss, and went over to one of the cabinets in search of some water-based lubricant. True to the hotel's ability to remember a client's needs, it was on a second shelf.

Jack's erection had not subsided and was pointing to the ceiling as he lay back on the sheets and pillows like Dawn rising from her slumber. I took a dollop of the cream on my middle finger, hoisted unceremoniously his two legs on to my shoulders and having seen his pale pink rosebud hole, in one fell insertion, slipped in my finger. His eyes opened wide at the intrusion but the `oohh' on his lips was never uttered. I wiggled my finger around until I hit his prostate, a little to his inside right. He jumped on the sheets at the internal touch of such a sensitive gland.

I pulled out my finger, which was coated only with the thick cream, and dipped this time, my index and middle fingers into the cream, showed them to him and inserted them without a word and without mercy into his tender passage.

Jack was lying there stoically as if waiting for me to hear him complain to give an excuse to desist and he was resisting the temptation to even emit a whimper as my fingers impishly touched his prostate again and again and again.

My own penis had assumed action stations of pre-piss status. I think your body reacts to memories of lubricating cream and to the pheromones of those being finger fucked.

`Ready for this, Jack? Do you want me to continue?'

He swallowed hard and nodded his chin down onto his chest twice.

I positioned my engorged penis head over his well-lubricated hole and, with one quick hip movement, slid the head in. Jack gasped but did not utter a word. I pulled back a little and pushed in another couple of inches. There was the slightest pop and I was past the tightness of his sphincter muscles that were now trying to grasp on to my penis just as they would have pressed down naturally on turds up to that point with the intention of expelling them through the anus. However, turds only come out. My penis was going in and with the cream on it; there was no firm hold for Jack's sphincter muscles to grasp on to.

`A couple of inches in, Jack, five more inches to go. Say if you want me to stop.'

He shook his head from side to side as if afraid to give voice to a word. A bead of perspiration was over his right eyebrow.

`A feisty 18 year old, is it, we have here?' I said.

18 and a half, almost 19,' he managed to say with ragged gasps. I want you in me all the way, Uncle Jonathan.'

This time it was my turn just to nod and I set up a quick fluid hip motion which had me going in to the hilt of my cock with my pubes touching the cream on his hole, and then pulling out to the pressure of his sphincter muscles, but before Jack could adapt his internal muscle grasp to the exiting penis, it was slapped back in hard again, and each time I tried to aim towards the right and down.

Finally, my angle of entry started to hit home and Jack began to groan. I pulled him up off the sheet and let his torso, still impaled on my cock, sit on the lap of my thighs. With his feet resting on the bed beside my heels, I started to raise his body and let it then drop back down under gravity on the hardness of my cock.

His groans became a whimpering set of gasps as time and time again his prostate was hit on entry or exit, and with his lips just inches from mine, he pulled himself close to my body in a sweaty bear-hug as he felt himself finally explode as he impaled himself one last time on the silky smoothness of my hard-on. His lips touched mine and his tongue was amateurishly flicking around in my mouth. I felt a lot of sticky moistness between our bellies and various shudders coming from his body.

Jack looked at me. I said nothing.

`Uncle Jonathan, I have never felt like that in all my life. Was that love?'

`No, Jack, that was one unmerciful fuck. It was not even really good sex.'

`Well, I'll take it any day whatever it was. I am afraid that my legs won't support me if I put them on the floor.'

`C'mon, let me get you in the shower where you can, this time, simply scrub my back, and then we can go down to breakfast.'

Jack moved his ordered scrambled eggs around the plate like squares of a Rubik cube. I could stand it no longer.

`Ask what you have on your mind, and remember you are in a restaurant, so no questions about sex, religion or politics.'

`How do you know I want to ask a question?'

`You are your mother's son. She used do the selfsame thing, move food around the plate as she would think of how to say what was on her mind.'

He sort of smiled.

`Am I that easy to read? You'll only be annoyed if I ask the question. And a second question, can I give you back the money you put into my account?'

`Most definitely not. You're a young buck about town, a man of the world. You need a penny or two in the Bank.'

`But not twenty five thousand, Uncle Jonathan. Mum and Dad will kill me when they find out,' and he continued his assault on the scrambled eggs.

I could stand it no more, any more than I could with his mother years ago in our youth.

`Jack, say what is on your mind, please. Those scrambled eggs surrendered a long time ago.'

`Uncle Jonathan, can I spend the summer with your in Dahra?' he said quietly.

That was one of a number of questions I was afraid he would ask.

`Jack, I have a job to do out there. I don't do much socialising.'

I was about to say `no time for baby-sitting' but it would have been too cruel.

`My job at Deckams involves volumes of money which you cannot even imagine. I would not be any fun to be around.'

`I wouldn't get in the way, honest, Uncle Jonathan.'

`It's not that, Jack. There are things of a social and political nature that I cannot discuss with you. Things of which very few know.'

`You're a famous banker, Uncle Jonathan, I wouldn't say a thing.'

`These things have little or nothing to do with Deckams or with banking, Jack. I lead a very complicated life.'

`Are you afraid that I might find out about something and spill the beans accidentally? You know I would not say or do anything deliberately to hurt you or to embarrass Mum or Dad?'

`You think, Jack, that I might be afraid that you might discover that I have a lover, a male lover, and that you would say something?'

Jack's eyes widened, as if confirming at least one of the thoughts in his mind, and he nodded his head.

`Any lover I might have would be the very least of my problems, let me assure you. If you want a summer job at the Bank, I can see that you have one here in London, or even in one of the European offices, but Dahra is out.'

Jack was looking at his eggs on the plate. It was a half dejected look and he was slumped at this wide young shoulders. He put his hand in his inside pocket and drew out a piece of paper. It was a cheque for twenty five thousand, the same amount I had lodged in his account the day before, in a hand writing that looked strangely like mine a quarter of a century previously.

`Uncle Jonathan, thank you for your money, but I am giving it back to you. If you cannot trust me with a single aspect of your life, you should not trust me with your money.'

He wasn't looking at me and obviously in internal turmoil.

I took the cheque looked at it and tore it up.

`You're as difficult as your mother was at your age. You know that? Trust, Jack? Is that what it is about? I have told you more about my private life in a single day than I have ever told anyone before. I deal in actions not words. But here are words for you, and you tell me if you can handle them?'

Jack looked at me not understanding what I was saying.

`What is rich for you, Jack?'

Looking at the torn cheque, he said with a little laugh, `every penny of twenty five thousand' which with the cheque now torn up would be safe in this his account.

Seeing that I was not laughing at his flippant reply, he ventured again, `ten million?'

`What if I were to tell you that I am that and at least ten times more, and in cash? How would you handle that?'

Jack looked at me shocked.

`You are worth a hundred million, Uncle Jonathan?' he whispered and looked around the hotel restaurant at who might be eavesdropping.

`Jack, there is no CIA here. Stop looking around the restaurant. But yes, in reply to your question. So with that bit of information, what are you going with it?'

`Definitely not return any more cheques to you, Uncle Jonathan' at which even I had to smile.

He continued, `but what it means to me is that I can rely on you at any time. It's like insurance cover, hopefully I shall never have to use it to ask you for money, but it is there as a protection.'

`Not bad at all, Jack. Not bad at all. And what if you were to discover something shocking about my life for instance? How would you handle that?'

`You mean really shocking, Uncle? Not just boyfriend shocking?'

I made no reply.

`I would tell you what I found out and wait for you to tell me about it in your own good time.'

`And what if I did not explain anything?'

`It would remain here' and he touched his heart.

`Not just here,' I said touching my forehead.

`The heart is for family. The head is for business.'

`Very nice. Who said that? I asked.

`Jack Tuttle,' he replied with a wide grin.

`So what about a job at Deckams here in London for the summer?'

`Only Dahra or bust!'

`And if Dahra does not work out?'

`It will, Uncle Jonathan, it will.'

`How can you be sure?'

`Because I trust you entirely as I trusted you this morning in bed.'

And the `in bed' bit was spoken silently only with a movement of his lips.

After breakfast, I had Jack ring his parents and Elizabeth came on the line, delighted to hear that Jack would spend the summer `on the Gulf' as she put it, and that hopefully I could get him to think about a career.

I sent Jack around with his passport to the Dahran Embassy, as all visitors to the country needed a visa. He rang me at midday from there to say that it would take at least another three hours' waiting by the length of the queue alone. I told him to be patient and to wait, that it was an Arab thing.

I had called the airline and booked a second ticket on the New Concorde to Bahrain and the Lear shuttle to Dahra. I was now on my own, with time on my hands to kill and was looking out the hotel window when my finger touched a card in my breast pocket. It was that of the sales assistant in the men's shop. I rang the mobile number which was answered immediately `David Jones here.' He was on duty at the shop.

`David, my nephew and I bought some items there last night. Do you have any white Van Heusen shirts in a size 16 collar?'

`Yes, Sir Jonathan. It was my pleasure to serve you last night. Yes, we have the size.'

`I am a bit busy at the moment, but would you be able to bring around to my hotel next door to you, say three in white and three in cream.'

`Indeed, Sir Jonathan. I am off at one. It's my half-day. I shall drop them in as soon as I finish. Single cuff, or French cuff?'

`Single cuff, long sleeve. Let me give you my credit card number.'

`We have the card number already, Sir Jonathan. There will be no problem. Just after one then.'

True to his word, David Jones arrived at ten past one. He was dressed in grey slacks and a windcheater, very much a young man's style. His shirt collar, open at the neck, highlighted his jaw line.

`Come in, please. It is very good of you to be so prompt. I should have remembered these last night. Why are you off on a Tuesday afternoon?'

`We all have to work on Saturdays and afternoons on a Sunday. As there is no overtime payment as such, so we get two full days and one half day off during the week.'

`And you're on a sales commission as well, I would bet?'

Yes, Sir Jonathan,' he said with a wide and friendly smile. Sales like last night make all the difference at the end of the month in the pay packet.'

`Things are tight in London then at the moment?'

`Very competitive, Sir Jonathan. You have to know your market and the niche you can have in the market.'

`What were you commissions for the last month, if I may ask?

`My commissions for May were just under four hundred pound.'

I took eight fifties - four hundred pounds - out of my wallet and put it on the table beside him where he had put the shirts.

He looked at the money and at me.

`David, I want the pleasure of your body for some hours. I will not pay you less than what you earned in commission for last month. I presume you are clean and not positive?'

He looked at the money again.

`You are to the point, Sir Jonathan. And yes I am clean and not positive.'

He took the money and put it in his wallet.

Bathroom in there,' I said, take a shower and use the douche beside the toilet. I'll be in the bedroom.'

David Jones was a good lover with a firm body. He said that he had both topped and bottomed. At that precise moment, I needed a bottom more than just a pretty boy like my nephew, Jack. I took David and took him perhaps too quickly, but then I had not all the time in the world. He muffled a cry when I first entered him too quickly and too hard, but he recovered well and was soon humping me as much as I was humping him.

When I finally lay back exhausted sexually and physically, there was a rivulet of sweat running down my back.

`Are you too tired for something else, Sir Jonathan, or do I have to go?' he said.

`What have you in mind?'

He turned me on my stomach and proceeded to massage my shoulders as only I thought Rolf back in Dahra could do, and then my spine and lower back. His fingers touched and fluttered.

His tongue touched me all over and then I felt his tongue at the top of my perineum and working its way to my butthole. It was rough like a cat's but at the same time soft like a dog's and made me start going hard again which I had thought impossible.

Then he said, `Are you comfortable with this, Sir Jonathan?' and I felt his cock touching the golden entrance as it is called in the Middle East, my most private of entrances.

I said, `Yes.'

`And are you clean and not positive?'

`Yes, to both.'

`Then hold on to the bed' and with that he started a sexual ride of my anus, which left me trembling and exhausted. I managed to ejaculate yet again, finding sperm in heavens know what quarter of my already depleted balls.

`You know, Sir Jonathan, that you are a very lucky man that you only gave me four hundred,' he said slapping my butt when he had finished.

`Why is that, David Jones?'

`Because if you had given me five hundred you would have ejaculated at least twice more and not have been able to walk for a week,' he laughed, and I joined him with a smile in his little joke, as he ran off into the bathroom to clean up.

As he dressed, I looked at his card in my hand, `Where would you find your niche in London's competitive market, David?'

`My niche, Sir Jonathan? My niche would be only the best of the best in men's shirts and underwear, on one of two corners within the Oxford and Bond Street square mile. That's my dream and one day I'll do it.'

`Would you be able to work with a silent partner?'

He stopped in mid-arranging of his shirt collar.

`Are you serious, Sir Jonathan?'

`Quite serious. You find the property. I buy it and rent it to a jointly held company for a nominal rent that you and I would own 50-50. You make a success of the business and you have your dream.'

`Sir Jonathan, I already have a lover' -- David Jones was a lateral thinker.

`David, so do I. I am talking about taking an investment risk in business, not about taking you to bed. How old are you? Do you want to give it a try? And be a millionaire before 30?'

`I'm 23, Sir Jonathan and yes, I want to give it a try and yes, I would love to be a millionaire before I am 30.'

`Then David, two things. Here is my card. Ring me when you have found the property and secondly, in the style of the country where I now live, come here and kiss my cock to seal the bargain.'

I will let you in on a small aside. Three weeks later `David Jones' opened on a prime corner less than half a mile from Bond Street. The property cost five million euro and I rented it for a euro a year to the new company. While the shop did well over the coming years, it did not do spectacularly well. Such things in the world of retail sales need a miracle. But David Jones was a great business partner and in time I met his lover a small East End electrician whose only cause in life was to love David.

We both made our money some years later when the entire surrounding block was bought and we really had to sell to the new owners or be smothered in building dust for three years. The property itself I sold for ten million which I suppose after six or so years was a fair return on the original investment.

The company itself sold for four million. David's fifty-percent was two million and he was only twenty nine years of age. He and his lover went to open a gay bed and breakfast in the newly unified area of the former Turkish enclave in Cyprus. The last I heard of them was last year when they adopted an orphan from the Balkans.

Jack returned at four o'clock with his visa for Dahra, totally exhausted by Dahran bureaucracy. I ran him a bath into which he sank. I joined him and sat him with his back up against my chest while I played with his nipples and his rising cock.

`I think, Jack, that to be fair to you, I had better tell you for the moment, just one of various secrets, so that you are not too surprised upon arrival in Dahra.'

`So you have more than one lover?' he grinned.

`No, Jack. Let's be serious because this is serious life and death business. In Dahra, I am a slave-owner.'

Time stood still in the bathroom. Jack swivelled round on his bottom in the bathtub.

You did say slave-owner', Uncle Jonathan. You own a slave.'

`More than one slave, Jack. I think I own seventy nine.'

Jack looked flabbergasted, and then kneeling up in the tub, he literally threw arms around my neck which nearly upended us both in the bath, and cried out `And to think that I thought that banking and bankers were boring. I will never underestimate you again, Uncle Jonathan.'