This is the twelfth chapter ex twenty two of a novel about slavery and gay sex.
Keywords: authority, control, loyalty, slavery, punishment, re-training, submission, gay, sex
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The Special Memories by Gerry Taylor
Chapter 12 - The Loyal Friend
You would think with just under six hundred slaves between them at the Aloe and Lime Palaces that the overseers could find one or more water carriers. Sorry, let me explain. Some five hundred and fifty of my slaves are at any one time out during the workday in the fields surrounding the Palaces. The balance of the slaves would be on indoor duties around the Palaces, or with the medical staff, or in the small hospital recovering from various operations or on special duties.
I also at the moment have three or four slaves for my hobby - cultivating my own cactus gardens. A number are on tree-duty as it is called, checking on the irrigation the poplars, palms and borders of aloes surrounding each of the Palaces.
All of this work takes places early morning, or late afternoon as the heats of midday day are to be avoided. Nevertheless, we have found that the average slave working in the Dahran sun needs at least three litres of water per day. Make the calculation and you will realise that that is a lot of cool water for over five hundred and fifty slaves.
The water carriers referred to by all and sundry as `water-guys', also fill another function. Each has two buckets in his mobile cart, one full of Aloe milk for those who are still new to the Palaces and during the first three weeks in the sun need to be covered quite literally from head to toes in this natural sun block, some even twice during the working day. The second bucket contains -- at least at the start of each journey -- ice cubes and any slave who so wishes can have his backwashed with a cloth dipped in ice-cold water by asking the water-guy to do that for him. It is all part of the buddy system. You don't look after yourself. Someone looks after you. Some seek the backwash, some don't. But it is one of the water-guys' jobs.
The overseers found that one water-guy is needed per one hundred slaves and the water-guy is kept really busy during all the working day during about four hours in the morning and two hours in the late afternoon. So in theory, we should have five or six water-guys. Due to various changes too long to go into here, we were down to two.
I suggested at one of the evening meetings with the both Yuriy and Dumi, the two farm overseers, that they should changed the schedules and take some of the working slaves off other duties. Yuriy started to study the nails of his fingers at that suggestion and Dumi looked into the middle distance and said nothing. So much for being the Master of two Palaces, I thought!
'So what exactly do you want?' I had finally said and the concerted opinion was that we -- the farms at the Palaces - needed at least three water-guys. So, I had the slave-dealers at the al-Qatim and al-Mera markets send me their next auction catalogues and the following Thursday, there was I at al-Qatim, catalogue in hand, on the lookout for three suitable slaves.
It had been a busy week at the Bank partly due to the issue of the new tranche of EuroBonds, so I had merely flicked through the rather thick catalogue of some one hundred and sixty pages -- forty slaves being on offer and four pages per slave of which two were the details and two were the photographs. I had indeed noticed that the catalogues were getting progressively thicker with greater numbers of slaves on offer each time. Perhaps a sign of the continuing depressions in the Eastern European and Central Asian countries.
The only thing that I remembered from the catalogue as I had started to peruse it again on the way down to al-Qatim, the nearer of the two seaports and slave markets, was one slave was carrot-red and freckled all over even deep into the separated cheeks of his backside and -- it is strange how the eye sees things -- I spotted that two were from Luton, just outside London, of all places!
I am a firm believer that you should have your mind made up before going near any auction rooms of any type and I had effectively ticked off with a biro a number of 'possibles' as I termed them to myself, but had not chosen either Mr. Freckles or the Luton guys.
When Faisal, my driver, had deposited me at the entrance to the auction rooms, one of the assistants to the slave-dealer was to hand immediately to bring me in. There was a number of people there whom I recognised, including a couple of clients of the Bank, who had manufacturing businesses just outside the capital city and also there was the Lebanese general manager of Farouq al-Hamdi's opal mine.
The GM caught my eye, nodded and came over to say hello. After the pleasantries, I told him to keep me informed when any of his mineworkers were coming to the end of their careers at the mine and he promised me he would. Those slaves whom I had bought from him previously had turned out to be excellent and trouble-free workers.
'And today?' I asked.
'Just looking for five or six more for the mine, but I'll also try al-Mera next week.'
We separated and I started to do the rounds of the forty stalwarts on display. Again, East Europeans seemed to be the flavour of the month. It does vary that much from catalogue to catalogue.
I soon spotted the carrot-haired slave and his photo had not done his colour justice. He was flaming red-haired and I mused to myself how he would burn in any job out the open air in Dahra. His name was given as Justin Toolan and he had been a supermarket store man in London.
The three slaves that I had in mind were out of the former Soviet republics of Central Asia and looked okay, nothing special and I did not examine them to any degree, just merely saw that they looked as their photos and appeared to be in good health.
I saw the GM of the opal mine looking at this particular slave. Normally, when an examination takes place, the slave goes to 'display' as we say, putting his arms behind his head so that he can be easily viewed. The GM was palpating the slave's biceps and leg muscles very professionally. The slave stiffened when his ball sack was pulled down as far as it would normally stretch and each of his testicles was individually felt. It is not a harsh procedure. I do it myself very often, but the slave who is not accustomed to it thinks his balls are going to be squeezed hard, which is normally not the case at all, perhaps a small squeeze to check if the balls are the new prosthetic types, or the genuine articles.
It was while this examination was going on that the page for that particular slave opened in the catalogue and I actually read his particulars, because he also was one of the two 'Luton' slaves and his name was Gary. He was a former squaddie, what our American cousins call a grunt, an army private, aged twenty years. He looked the type that the opal mine would use -- reasonably well-muscled, no appreciable fat. His penis was now erect from his tackle being touched and I saw a small tattoo just under his left hipbone. The opal mine GM moved onto another similar slave down the line.
Slaves during auction viewing are not supposed to speak and I saw, as I generally approached him, this slave whisper something to the slave beside him, who straightened up and braced himself in a better at 'display' position. Nobody else saw the whisper. I did because I just happened to be looking in that direction. I looked at the catalogue again and as I half-suspected, the other slave was the other 'Luton' guy, a petrol pump attendant, named Donnie.
Donnie was the proverbial weakling. Nineteen years of age, spindly legs, a fair amount of hair on his legs, small underdeveloped nipples and a very small penis nestling in a small bush of pubes which had no treasure trail at all; all this in a white band of pale un-suntanned flesh. He was the physical opposite to Gary, who exuded fitness and well being.
When I approached Gary, he immediately braced well and the slave beside him did likewise. Was this an effort of self-promotion as Sergio, my Brazilian slave had done to me a while back? I also thought that quite a number of the slaves at the Aloe and Lime Palaces had in fact come there already as buddies, such as Marek and Jerzy, or Food and Drink.
Looking slightly up at Gary, as slaves are positioned on raised platforms, I noticed a trickle of perspiration coming from his left armpit. He did not flinch when I put up a finger, took the trickle on my fingertip and tasted its sweetness. I had not spoken at this stage and contented myself to merely run my finger up his thigh and cup and raise his testicles, which were tight up against his body, in the palm of my hand. Again, he did not flinch.
I did the same to the slave named Donnie beside him, but Donnie's self-control was not as good and he gave a little jump when my fingers touched the inside of his leg and he swallowed hard when his balls were lifted. At that precise moment, I noted two things; that his eyes were very watery, as if about to burst into tears or suffering from some allergy in the air-conditioning and secondly, he had beautifully formed moist lips.
Looking up at the two of them, I said, `What are two Luton guys doing in a slave market in the Middle East?'
I doubt it was the question itself, maybe yes or maybe no, rather perhaps hearing English spoken because everyone else was speaking Arabic, but both of them gave a little jerk backwards.
It was Gary who recovered first and said, 'The three of us were on a boat-trip in Greece and woke up in a container, sir.'
I noticed that he had managed to convey the maximum amount of information in the minimum amount of words and added in a `sir' to boot. Army training perhaps?
'Three of you?'
'Donnie here, me and Justie over there, sir' he nodded in the direction of the carrot-top, Mr. Freckles.
Again a very interesting reply. Gary had placed himself neither first nor last, but in the middle. I knew before he had even uttered it, that he would have a question and I just waited for the question, looking partly up at them both as I did.
`Sir?'
The question had started.
'Can I ask a question, sir?'
'What?'
'What are you looking for here, sir? If I may ask, sir.'
'Have you any idea of how many rules you are breaking here by asking that question?'
'I am sorry, sir,' and he looked away from me into the middle distance, bracing himself again at 'display'. His companion slave did likewise.
I let his original question hang for a moment and then I replied, 'I am here to buy a couple of slaves for my farm. Satisfied?'
'Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. If you are looking for two people can I recommend, sir, Donnie here and Justie over there. They are good workers, sir,' and again he braced and looked at the far wall.
As the conversation was taking place, various of the other prospective purchasers were merely passing by and seeing what they thought to be my interest in the pair, passed on.
'And where, Gary,' I said putting my finger under his name on the catalogue, 'do you fit in to all of this.'
'Nowhere, sir. I got them into this mess by inviting them on holidays with me. I just hope they can get a good owner. The man before you seems to be interested in me, sir.'
'Do you know what he wants you for?'
'No, sir'.
'To dig in an open-cast mine twelve hours a day, every day, for the next seven years.'
Gary blinked at that piece of news.
'Thank you, sir' he said, but it lacked the cockiness of previously. Donnie had gone a shade of white.
With that, the slave dealer came up to me followed by a slave bearing a tray of drinks and speaking in Arabic said, `Sir Jonathan, you do not have a drink. The day is hot and the auction has not yet begun, please help yourself.'
I looked at the drink being put into my hand as we moved away and thought to myself, 'What the hell! I can get Central Asians anytime,' and I walked away from the slave, while talking to the slave-dealer.
'What are you expecting for the these three?' I asked as we wound our way to the back of the display podia and I pointed out the two with whom I had been talking and the carrot-head.
The slave-dealer said, `for the red haired one, as little as twenty thousand, because he will burn in the sun and I don't think he has any special talents and quite frankly, Sir Jonathan, I have not seen a lot of interest in him. The same for the other one,' and he pointed out Donnie, the former petrol-pump attendant. 'Now the other one will get a good price. Perhaps thirty thousand. He is very fertile and shoots quite a distance when he comes. Also, he has been in the army and is very fit. Are you interested in him, Sir Jonathan? He would be more than a good bed companion when properly trained, which unfortunately he is not at present.'
If anything, the slave-dealer is polite and looks to the preferences of the clients.
'I was thinking of all three. Seventy thousand for the three now and they come out of the auction.'
'Sir Jonathan, it is always a pleasure to do business with you. And I may I again thank you for the beautiful present you sent me.'
I had given each of the slave-dealers a copper coloured bronze of a horse at full gallop, done in a type of desk pen set. In my mind, I had it down as long-term public relations, even though the bronzes had cost me fifteen thousand euro each, if I remember correctly. But it always is a good idea to have a slave-trader on your side.
It looked like I had progressed in that direction to no small degree over the past months. Both Dahran slave dealers had processed and were processing still the inflow of unwanted prisoners from EU countries for exclusive delivery to the Lime Palace. A clandestine operation hidden from the eyes of the world, but perfectly straightforward in the eyes of the Sheikdom's age-old practice of slavery. As a small side effect, the dealers had been making a mint on handling fees paid by governments eager to let their prisoners disappear into oblivion.
The dealer walked me to the office and I wrote out a personal cheque, with delivery of the new purchases to be effected later that evening.
End of Chapter 12