Dahran

This is the second chapter ex twenty two of a novel about slavery and gay sex.

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

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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e: gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com

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The Special Memories by Gerry Taylor

Chapter 2 - The Australian -- Day 1

'What are you looking at, mate?' he said at my stare, because staring at him I was.

The slave was not only blond and beautiful, he was Australian. It is a long time since I have been called 'mate' by anyone, but had I stood there all evening I would have allowed him call me 'mate' for as long as he liked.

The slave dealer was going to say something, but didn't and merely handed me the tan folder of one Roge (short for Roger) Harte, Aussie rules football player, though admitted on one of the very minor teams. If my heart had skipped a beat on coming into the exercise area, now it slipped down an entire flight of stairs.

I felt my head was light. I read each line of the four page report. Each sentence burned its way into my memory. The alpha-Australian was standing before us with a hand carelessly poised on each of his hips, as if to say 'What?', 'Just try me', 'I am macho', 'I am male' or even an arrogant untranslatable 'Don't fuck with me!'

(The Market Offer -- ex Chapter 22)

They say that before you try to put someone else's house in order, you should put your own in order first. They also say that confession is good for the soul. So, here, on both scores are mine.

I have a particular liking or preference for what might generally be called the Aussie Rules type - the lanky, rangy, well muscled fit hunks who play football as is played in Australia. Ok, I admit it! The sheer beauty of their bodies, the straining, steaming and rough and tumble effort of their trim athletically muscled frames in the sun has always left me weak at the legs and hard at the groin.

I had made the comment once to an important business acquaintance here in Dahra of this preference, and before you could snap your fingers, I found myself, by accident, the owner of a well built slave who would have fit the above description to a tee. Then I became the owner off some six more, and then like the proverbial snowball, I was now the owner of some six hundred slaves or so, albeit, not all anywhere near my particular preference, as some were foisted on me so to speak. But I am getting ahead of myself. Let me backtrack a little.

I found myself on a particular occasion in the slave-dealer's auction rooms in al-Qatim, one of two deep-sea ports, which in the past had been on the main slave routes between Africa and Asia.

Some months previously, in seeking some more slaves for specific purposes on my properties, I had carelessly mentioned to the dealer my personal preference, which had clearly gone into his computer, been cross-reference and indexed, and no soon as an Aussie Rules football type been 'lifted', I had been called to a private viewing.

I knew I was hooked. The slave-dealer, who would have sold his dear mother for a profit had she not departed this earth many years previously, knew he had me hooked. But he also knew that as I was one of his better customers, he could not force the price too high. He got eighty per cent of what he asked for after haggling. If pushed I would have paid the double for this beauty--now cooling down, but still cockily standing in front of me after the pace of his exercises.

Every slave in Dahra has two things uniquely his, a GPS - global positioning satellite - bracelet and also a personal folder, a file so to speak, with his details on two pages, and two pages of colour photos of the slave naked, front, back, in profile, and anus.

The last picture seemed to have been taken with some difficulty, as there were at least two pairs of hands separating the cheeks of Roge Harte's butt to reveal a drum-tight centred flower-bud apparently previously untouched by anything other than a toilet tissue or any human extremity other than his own soapy fingers at shower-time.

Subsequent to his purchase, Roge's arrival was by the usual slave transit van to the Lime Palace. I had Bob Conrad, the Canadian slave, waiting to look after him, for two reasons, Bob spoke English and was six foot four, at least four inches on Roge Harte.

Bob had also been a jock in his freeman life, and now after months of daily training and regular manual work, first at the Aloe Palace and then at the Lime Palace, my homes, he was in superb physical condition. Also at hand to receive the new slave, Jess, my assistant retrainer, in case of difficulties.

Once Roge had been relieved of his neck collar, he had been led away by Bob and Jess to be shit, saved, showered, douched, and to be given a haircut into the bargain.

I sort of regretted giving the instruction for Roge's shoulder length dirty-blond coloured hair to be cut, but there were two reasons which prevailed, first the climate of Dahra is the second hottest in the world, therefore shoulder length hair, blond or otherwise is out, and secondly, all of the slaves on my properties wear their hair short. Roge could be no different.

Roge Harte was to my mind a bit of a rough diamond who when polished, and I was really looking forward to the polishing more than his foreskin-covered uncut knob, would be a reflection of every good thing I wanted in a slave and be a shining example of my own type of preference.

I enquired where Food and Drink were, my two body slaves. It took a little while to find them as they are such frisky young Mehri Arabs, from one of the lesser Peninsular tribes, they could have been anywhere on the property.

'Master, we were chasing a gecko on the Palace roof. It was such fun.'

How could anyone be angry with such simplicity built into beautifully toned young twenty-one year old bodies--it had never been possible to be absolutely sure of their ages--and whose skills in bed, when not serving food and drink, as their pet names implied, could sexually speaking re-float the Mauritania, raise the dead and surprise even the more skilled lover such as myself.

I told them that they would have a new buddy for the night who was now being showered, and the hugged each other and did a little war-dance of glee. They knew the drill. They could do anything in bed to the buddy but not fuck him, and most buddies on the first night anyway were in such shell-shock, angst and denial that they were passive in their roles.

I had just finished prepping Food and Drink when Bob and Jess came out with a much cleaned up Roge Harte. I went to run my hand over his cheeks to see how his shave had gone -- buddies shave buddies, no one shaves themselves -- but he pulled away his face.

'Ssshh, Roge, I am not going to hurt you. I am just checking that you got a good shave.'

He swallowed and the second time, he let me run my hand over his cheeks and I checked with one finger the strength of his jawbone, and a little dimple in his chin.

'No, problems, Bob, Jess?'

'We could not douche him, Boss.'

I looked at Roge.

'No way José' was his reply.

I told Food and Drink to be off with themselves and not to annoy anyone or else...and I nodded with my head to their intended buddy for the night whom they had been eyeing with great delight, particularly the fine wisps of blond hair peeping out from his axilae, and the still moist magnificent bush of red to blond hair over his cock and balls, which ran a little treasure trail up to a flat navel.

The nod implied 'misbehave and your intended buddy will be assigned to someone else'. Being so dark haired, Food and Drink just loved anyone blond or fair. So they quickly scampered off arm in arm and doing that little hop, skip and a jump of theirs when they are happy.

'Roge, I had hoped that your training would have started tomorrow, because I did not want particularly to give you a wrong impression of your new home the first night, but I never put off until tomorrow what has to be done today. So come along with me,' and I nodded to Bob and Jess to accompany us.

We headed for the retraining room.

'Roge, as a retrainer of slaves, I try to explain things clearly to those who enter this retraining room. You are here because you are trained or were being trained to the ways of the Palace, and you chose otherwise. Here you obey my commands, and in my absence, those of my overseers. Do you understand that so far?'

Roge was looking round the retraining room half, I think in fear and half in fascination. It is a large room with a centre leather table with restrains. There is a sort of x-shaped wooden affair to one side which has a number of uses, what is for all the world like a vaulting horse with a number of moveable sections to its -- again to one side, and a large steel frame over beside one of the walls -- and to this I was working my way across the room.

Any small items used during a training session are always carefully washed, cleaned or polished afterwards and stored in the ceiling to floor cupboards.

In this way a trainer or retrainer can quite easily walk around the room and given a little time of which there is always a lot in the training room, find everything possible for the correct and proper retraining of a slave.

As I looked at Roge, I could see that he was beginning to breathe quickly. I did not want him to hyperventilate on a first evening. His fine member, all of its six flaccid inches was beautifully solid and showing under an almost translucent prepuce the outline of the cockhead and corona.

'Bob, Jess, see if Roge needs any help in standing on the platform.'

We have a small training platform in the retraining room. The slave's arms are then attached by velcro straps around the wrists to the overhead beam. If the slave wishes he can even hold on to velcro strap, much as passengers do when on a bus. The centre base of its steel frame is a small platform to whose sides the slaves ankles are attached.

Roge did not know what was going on. There was some body fear and I could see it in the goosebumps on his nipples. I was standing close to him and the pale golden-to-pink skin on his aureolae, made the almost totally pink skin of the little nubs of his nipples an enticing amuse-gueule for a future feast.

His skin was so clear, had I wished I am sure I could have counted the goosebumps. Maybe I am being unfair to Roge -- that these were caused by fear. The air-conditioning was on as this is a windowless room, and a soundproof one at that.

Roge was quickly put in place standing on the small platform, his two ankles strapped to either side of it, his arms just slightly over his head with the elbows bent.

'Jess, Bob, thank you. Off you go now for you dinner, sorry for keeping late, and be back here in an hour and wait outside until you are called.'

'Yes, Master. Yes, Boss,' the two replied respectively and departed.

When they had closed the door, I turned to Roge and said 'Roge, today is a day you are going to remember for the rest of your life'.

'Bugger you, mate' was the interrupting reply, which I chose to ignore.

'This is the first day of your training as a slave at your new home and my Palace. The rules are simple. If at any stage you want me to stop, you merely say `Master' and I stop. But if you ask me to stop, it means that you are accepting me as your Master, and that you are my slave--unconditionally, this is without any conditions whatsoever.'

'Bugger you again, mate.'

'So shall be begin, Roge. This procedure is out of sequence, because it is only a single procedure just for this evening alone. There are 87 procedures in all, which we can apply over almost 3 months.'

At that point, Roge's member did get smaller at hearing that any such retraining could go on for three months, but again, in fairness, I put it down to the air-conditioning.

I pushed the first of the buttons on the control panel of the steel frame -- quite amazing what you can get in slave supermarkets this weather -- and the central panel on which Roge was standing, split in two and each section moved to the outer frame.

The immediate result was that Roge had to do the splits. As the outer steel frame is just over seven feet wide by seven feet tall, it meant that by the time the split platforms had arrived that the outer frame, Roge was effectively standing on his toes at the very edge of the each section of the split platforms nearest to him.

To keep his balance, he had grasped the velcroed straps above his head. His ball sack was now slightly below hand level and his beautiful organ was hanging straight down. In order to keep his balance, he was holding on for dear life onto the two straps, and must have already been feeling the pain of the splits in his legs and upper thighs.

I pressed the second button on the outer frame and the top bar of the frame started to rise. Roge gave a groan and then a gasp as he was forced to relinquish his hold on each of the straps or else loose toe-touch with the split platforms.

The top bar stopped its rise after a foot, to leave Roge hanging by his wrists, and with the very tips of his toes on the split platforms and every sinew and muscle of his front, from neck to chest to belly to groin to thighs in perfect relief.

'Bastard,' was what I heard.

'Roge, say what you like, during any of the procedures. It will make no difference to the procedure. The only word which will make it all stop is 'Master'. That is the control word. That is the code to me or to my retrainers at any stage of training to make a procedure stop or pain go away. As I have said you know the price.'

'But, Roge, I want your submission not out of fear of me and not out of pain. I want it out of loyalty to me, out of respect for what I am training you to be -- the perfect slave--and in time, Roge, it will be out of love. That I can assure you.'

'You see that I do not gag you. You can shout at me or scream. It will not be heard outside this room, not even on the far side of the door will anything be heard. In this present procedure, I do not recommend a lot of shouting because of the next small addition to the procedure.'

I went to one of the drawers and took out a small jar of Vaseline, and gently daubed a bit of the petroleum gel on each of Roge's nipples and aureolae. His eyes never left my hands.

I then took out two of the smallest but strongest plain alligator clips and clipped one each on the proud centre teat of each of his nipples. These smallest clips do not have 'teeth' so to speak, just the straight bar of a 'toothless' gum. When testing them at the slave supermarket, I let the spring slip back when the side of my finger was still in the way. It is not a mistake I shall commit again, I can tell you.

When the first clip bit into the nipple, Roge almost lost his footing. It does happen. The stomach muscle clench and of course top of the body jerks down in sympathy.

'You bastard! You bastard!'

When the second one was clipped on, he gave a groan and said 'Bugger.'

'Roge, I am now going for dinner. I shall be back in precisely one hour. Do you wish me to leave a clock in front of you, so that you can see how much punishment time remains, or would you prefer just not to know.'

'Fuck off mate.'

'I'll take that as a 'no' and I shall see you in an hour.'

When I returned just slightly less than an hour later. Jess and Bob were at rest on each side of the retraining room door, awaiting my arrival.

I went in. Roge had lost his right toehold and was bearing weight of his body on two of the toes of his left foot. I realised why. He had a cramp in his right leg and the knot in his thigh was the size of a grapefruit.

The full weight of his body was on his left leg, and his pectoral muscles had lost the uneven fight against the two small alligator clips.

'Time up, Roge. Well done! Your hour's punishment is over.'

I pressed the overhead bar button and it came down. Roge was able to grasp the strap on his right hand. I pressed the side button and the split platforms came together. Roge was able to put his right leg down on the platform and I could see him trying to press down on the right foot to get rid of the cramp in his thigh.

I went over and looking in his face I could see the streaks of some tears on both his cheeks. I took off the alligator clips and he audibly groaned and sucked in breath deeply. One of his chest muscles spasmed a little. I wiped off the Vaseline very carefully from around the aureolae but I not go near the nipples themselves, which had lost their pinkness and were now a bruised purple.

I wiped away the marks of the tears on his cheeks and said, "No one but me will ever know about those. What happens in the retraining room, stays the retraining room. Understood?'

Roge gave a half nod but had not yet found his voice.

'Now let me see about that cramp' and I massaged away at the grapefruit in the direction of each sinew until it had disappeared in five or six minutes.

'It's a bit tender still, I'd say, Roge, but put your weigh on the two outside when they come to collect you. Now I have a question. Will you allow Bob and Jess give you a nice relaxing shower and this time will you allow them put that douche to good use?'

The question was in fact a double question and it was psychological. Either it was a 'yes' to both parts, or a 'yes' to the first part of the nice relaxing shower which all in Roge's situation would want, and a less secure 'no' to the second part.

'It doesn't mean that your submitting to me, Rog--a small white lie, as he who submits to one of my overseers submits to me--it just means that we get you cleaned up properly.'

Roge swallowed and nodded.

'I'll take that as both a nice shower and a nice cleanup, after that something to eat, and I have given you two buddies for the night. Just lie back and enjoy them.'

I saw a look of concern in Roge's eyes.

'No, Roge, they are not going to fuck you. They are just going to be....well, you'll have to wait and see for yourself. And will you do me a favour?'

Again this is a psychological procedure of getting the person being trained to be in concert so to speak with the trainer.

'Do say sorry to some stage to Bob and Jess, they were late of their dinner and they missed their evening swim getting you cleaned up before this lot.'

I called in Jess and Bob.

'A nice quick shower for Roge here, with a good cleanup inside and out, and massage his right leg a bit. He had a cramp. Get him his dinner and hand him over to Food and Drink for the night.'

'Everything's going to be ok, now, Rog,' Bob said.

Roge looked at the two slaves, half looking under his beautiful eyelashes--in this I am prejudiced, everything about him was beautiful--and muttered something on the lines of 'Sorry, guys about the misunderstanding earlier on.'

Jess and Bob took one of his arms each over their shoulders and hobbled him out of the room, and I heard Bob say, 'Forget about it Roge. We'll have you night as rain in no time. Won't we, Jess?'

End of chapter 2