Dahran

This is the thirteenth 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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The Dahran Way

Chapter 13 The importance of processing

Rob Kuiper

In my mind's eye, I remember the day that the former South African ranger, Rob Kuiper, stood before me at `rest.' He was a superb physical specimen of manhood, with toned muscle over his entire physique, which was a golden brown. The scorching Dahran sun might cause damage to some skin, but not to that of slaves like Rob, where health and vitality oozed from every pore of his body.

His perfectly sculptured and tapered penis with its defined mushroom head jutted out from his two inch trimmed pubic hair and then just hung down inviting and waiting attention.

A vein throbbed on his lower belly and such was the clarity of his skin that the bloodlines were visible on a totally fat-free body. His solar plexus barely moved as he breathed.

`Have you any idea why I have called you, Rob?'

`No, Boss.'

`So, it could be for praise or for punishment? Still not an idea?' I asked with a half-smile.

`Sorry, Boss, I thought things were going okay with the last slaves that Niko and I trained. Sorry, Boss, if they weren't up to scratch.'

`Quite the contrary, Rob. They turned out very well. You and Niko, as well as João and Spyros, are my top trainers for new slaves; you know that well. You have a talent for it.'

Rob smiled a bit and seemed to relax somewhat.

`No, Rob, what I have called you for is to see if you are ready to take on another job.'

Rob gave a bit of a grin and in his unmistakeable Afrikaner accent said `You just say the word, Boss, I'm your man.'

`I'm curious, Rob, about one thing. You don't have a regular buddy. Niko I understand is your working buddy, but you don't have a sex buddy.'

Niko Ziel was another South African and a former lifeguard.

`No, Boss, both Niko and I are definitely tops and now that he has found Frank Kovacs, I just get myself a buddy for thirty days each month. I sort of wear them out very quickly.'

With that his cock, which had been hanging nicely gave a slight jerk and proceeded by its own volition to full eleven o'clock erection, as I tend to call such angles.

`I see, Rob, just the thought of sex is enough to get you hard.'

`Yes, Boss, always has been like that since I was a teenager. Long may it continue, I hope.'

`Come over here, Rob and let me explain what I have in mind for you.'

The Afrikaner slave came over beside me and I explained my plans for the slaves that I was about to purchase. `Purchase,' though might be the wrong word. It was the reverse. I was being paid one point three million euro to take and feed and house each slave for the rest of their lives. The only snag was that each of them was a criminal. Words like hardened, inveterate, recidivist, habitual and hopeless, littered their file reports.

I rubbed the tip of Rob's penis just as I know he likes it, until it was weeping copiously. I was only halfway through my explanation when Rob said, `Boss, I just can't hold it any longer. You are driving me through every barrier I am putting up...aagh...aagh.'

I had sufficient time to take Rob's penis into my mouth as he shot off load after load of his sweet cum, tasting as it does of nutmeg. He remained rock-hard even when he had finished spurting in my mouth.

`How many times do you come a day, Rob?

`At least three times, Boss, at least three. But not as good as that, I can safely say.'

`Okay, back to what I was saying.'

`Boss, sorry for interrupting, but you haven't mentioned Niko in all of this.'

`No, I haven't. Does that cause a problem for you.'

`Boss, Niko knows me backwards, not just my body. He knows my mind and how I operate. Likewise with him, I know him inside and out. I trust him as I trust myself. If you have nothing specific in mind for him here at the Lime Palace, can we still operate as a team on the new project?'

`A sort of two for the price of one, eh Rob?

`Exactly, Boss.'

`You get on that well with him?'

Boss, he is the only one, who has ever fucked me, apart from Komil and yourself. The first time he fucked me in the arse when he was spent, he put his backside up in the air and said to me Now, Rob, fuck me just as hard as I've fucked you.' He hated every second of it, Boss, but he let me do it to him. After that I have never had a secret from him, nor he from me.'

`Well, go and call him. Just call him. Don't tell him why.'

When Niko arrived panting slightly from a long run from the fields, he was in a way a mirror image of Rob in his colouring and build, though I would say better in his muscle development, perhaps from his lifeguard days.

`Niko, I have offered Rob a job, which he won't accept unless I give him you as his toy-boy to fuck every night.'

Niko looked at me and blinked. He shot a glance at Rob, who was poker-faced.

`Can I ask a question, Boss?'

`What?'

`What is the best way to tell a Master that he is lying?'

I burst out laughing. He had handled it nicely. Even Rob was grinning.

`No, Niko, there is no best way. I want Rob to be the manager of a new project. He wants you along. Is that right, Rob?

Yes, Boss, as joint-managers,' Rob said. If that's okay with you?'

`Okay, joint-managers it is. But I have not given you all the details yet.'

`Boss, the details are not important at this stage. Just say what you want done and then forget about it. It will be done as you want it,' Rob said.

That was one of the nice things about all the overseers and assistant overseers; they themselves did not need supervision. I tried to let them know that they were not just slaves with position, but also partners in the long term, where we were all trying to make the best of circumstances. I have not brought about their slavedom, but upon coming into my ownership, I have tried to treat them not just as owned slaves, but as intelligent and hard-working ones as well. They also had sufficient confidence in me to come and say when something was not working, or not as well as expected, or needed.

You both know that the first EU prisoner-slave programme has been very successful,' I said addressing the two overseers at rest.'

We have incorporated just under two hundred and fifty slaves from all over Europe into a very good system here. These were miscarriage of justice type cases, not hardened criminals. Now that it worked so well, I have been asked to take another five hundred long-term prisoners, who have been given life sentences, where life means for as long as they live. Our American cousins say without possibility of parole,' which I suppose means, in the final analysis, that the `parole,' the word, of these prisoners cannot be trusted.'

`Boss, did you say five hundred?'

`Yes, over a three year period. Each of these new slaves, who arrive will be deemed to be officially dead in Europe. We get them for the remainder of their lives. They need to be fully and totally integrated into our way of life here. Some of these will not just require the training of the normal slaves so to speak, they will have to be thoroughly broken in as slaves.'

What I did not tell the two that this was part of a series of package deals involving long-term oil between the Sheikdom and the EU and that the transfer of criminals to my ownership was the fourth of four unpublished protocols, which would never see the light of political day.

`We will have to build a new set of buildings together with some five training compounds. But the most difficult part will be the training of those whom the various governments want to send. It would be easy just to break them down physically in time, but I want more than that, I want them trained so that they are totally willing to do work here at the Palaces and even if in time given the choice of leaving they would want to choose to stay here. I want them to realise that their homelands no longer want them, but that here at the Palaces we do; that here is now to be their new home and that is something I want emphasised. But that is in the long-term. For now, remember these prisoners are hardened criminals -- many with violent records. Do you think that you can both do it? Or should I ask Greg Logan and Jess Tollman to work on them first to soften them up a bit for you in the re-training room.'

Rob looked at Niko, who looked back at Rob.

`Boss, let Rob and me have a chat about this and we'll propose something to you. We can break anyone; let me tell you. The trick will be to break them quickly enough in sufficient numbers, so that they are then willing to be actually trained for work and life here at the Palaces. But I think Rob and I would like to do the full breaking and training here ourselves,' Niko said, as if the need for the involvement of Greg and Jess were an insult to their capability.

Rob was nodding assent.

I explained in detail to Rob and Niko the cover-up, as it would take place at the EU prison end. No prisoner would be over forty years of age and each would be free of transmittable disease. Once the prisoner had been identified as a candidate for `permanent transfer,' as it was being termed, he would be given a drug, which would cause him to collapse -- the more public the setting in the prison the better.

When rushed to the prison infirmary, the prisoner was to be stated to be having a heart attack, or other ailment requiring immediate hospitalisation and would `die' on route to the hospital, but in fact, at that stage would be en route to a private airstrip for transfer to Dahra.

The following day, the prisoner's death would be announced to the other prisoners as wing cells were tossed in a `search' for tainted drugs. A call would even be made to the prisoners for the handing in of all drugs -- suggesting that rat poison or some other substance had been put in them by a disgruntled dealer.

The prisoner's body' would be then cremated within two days of his lifting and official papers created as to the death. It was a copy of one of these death certificates,' which had first told me accidentally how the EU was covering up the loss of the prisoner slaves.

It showed the lack of interest in long-term violent prisoners that, in all my time of accepting such prisoner slaves, no serious enquiry was ever made in Europe as to the death in jail of these violent prisoners.

These slaves were sent either to al-Mera or al-Qatim for two weeks processing according to my instructions.

My head of household, Aziz al-Aziz, now a freeman of Dahra after almost fifty years of slavedom, had once mentioned to me that the most important thing for a slave was to know that he was a slave, either at a conscious or an unconscious level. He had said `the perfect slave thinks like a slave, acts like a slave and lives like a slave for his Master's pleasure.'

It was the nearest thing to the perfect description of a slave that I have ever heard.

For me the loss of freedom would be the ultimate loss and the greatest of pain -- a pain, not in the body, but in the soul. For me, to lose freedom would be akin to losing a portion of the soul and even harden criminals, at some very basic level, will realise just that, even if they are incapable of putting it into words.

The new criminal-slaves, who arrived an average of four a week over the following three years from different parts of Europe, were first transported into Dahra through one of the two deep-sea ports at al-Mera and al-Qatim for the purpose of being processed for my ownership and their subsequent work at the Lemon Palace.

The processing of the new slave included a series of procedures I had laid down, some copied from the old ways, some required by the Sheikdom and some created or adapted by me, as their future owner, which I have always referred to as techniques.

To make sure that both slave dealers knew precisely what was needed for the new batches of incoming slaves, I invited both owners of the slave centre in al- Mera and al-Qatim to lunch at the Dahran Bilton.

`Two things are going to happen to all these new incoming slaves apart from the normal processing with, which you are familiar.'

`The first thing is that every slave, who is not circumcised will be cut. You all are familiar with the full circumcision as a child. The foreskin has been completely removed and the rough under-skin of the shaft is still after all these years a slightly different colour. However, at times, the fraenulum at the back of the tip of the cock does not get cut. I want it cut on every slave to allow for maximum penis length. This also will be performed on each of the slaves whether already circumcised or not.'

`But secondly and more importantly addressing the question of possible violent behaviour in these, all these incoming slave will be half-gelded.'

The two dealers looked at each other, but otherwise were quietly listening to me.

`This half-gelding is an expression of my absolute authority over them. Each new slave will have his right testicle castrated under anaesthetic upon arrival. It will set the serious tone of the future training to be given and it will be a clear statement to each slave that misbehaviour of any sort can result in the castration of the left ball as well.'

While the work of castration is rare in western cultures, it is quite common in eastern and African ones and while in the west, it is done by doctors, or with animals by veterinarians, in Dahra, when there was no religious significance attached to the procedure, it is performed by a veterinarian surgeon, particularly when slaves are involved.

As the first batch of slaves was due to arrive through al-Qatim, the `old' port, the slave dealer Ahmed al-Atti, invited myself and his opposite number Mustafa ben-Mustafa to see the first processing of the these slaves and to met the vet Dr. Raj Haniff -- a Dahran of Indian extraction, who turned out to be the same one, who would be used by both auction houses and to view his technique.

I had to smile to myself when in his office, he nonchalantly and silently put his hand on the bronze horse at full gallop on his desk, deliberately drawing our attention to it. It had been a gift of mine to time. Mustafa ben-Mustafa smiled at me and I smiled at him knowing that he too had one in his office down at al-Mera, the `mirror' port.

As always Ahmed is the essence of courtesy and being in his `house,' we were both feted with a pre-ceremony drink. A glass of sweet Muscatel is always a pleasure to sip after a good lunch and before the start of business.

For some reason, the removal of the foreskin is called `skinning,' perhaps because the prepuce once removed makes the shaft of the penis look, as if it had been skinned. The term has stuck and more often than not, the removal of the foreskin is so named.

A circumcision can be done in about ten minutes. It is not a long or complicated procedure in a child, but in an adult, it does take a tad longer, particular if there are small veins in the way.

Apart from the skinning, in the case of a slave, who is already circumcised, a sizeable proportion of slaves require the fraenulum to be nicked or cut, which allows the penis to extend to its full length. In time, this is one thing, which the slave really appreciates when sexually active.

I had thought it better to have the skinning and gelding done by someone else, other than by my resident surgeon and doctor at the Lime Palace -- Yves Fournier, who would in time be the attending to the slave for more regular procedures -- and I believed there was no need to frighten the slave unnecessarily in the future, were he to see attending him the same doctor, who had half-castrated him previously.

An Austrian slave, from the first batch of the new slaves being delivered from Europe, was lying on his back on a stainless steel table, his arms, legs and torso firmly restrained by leather straps, a ball-gag in his mouth and a cloth blindfold around his eyes.

Dr. Haniff, the vet, was there when I entered the surgery. The place was as gleaming clean as one would have seen in a top hospital.

We were speaking in Arabic, so there was little likelihood that we would be understood by the slave.

`Master, if I may explain the procedures here. There is full, local, Novocain anaesthetic. The slave is too valuable to have him hurt by his thrashing around in pain and causing my hands to slip, so I also give him a strong pre-op Valium-based sedative.'

`I do the circumcision first, if it is needed; then the cutting of the fraenulum, again if it is needed and then lastly, the gelding of the right testicle, in that order. It takes in all a maximum of about fifteen minutes, per slave, if all three procedures are required. Please feel free to ask any question as I proceed.'

With that the vet administered a liberal dose of Novocain over the cock, even inside the fold of foreskin and on the tip of the penis itself, so as to numb it totally. He also administered another spray of Novocain on the slave's right ball and all the surrounding area of the scrotum, which had been totally shaved of pubic hair.

There was a large clock with a button on top on a side counter. The vet pressed the top button. I realised my mistake. It was not a clock at all, but a large stopwatch, which was counting digitally down to zero, much like the timer on a microwave. The vet was waiting for the Novocain spray to kick in.

He walked to the head of the slave and started with the back of his thumbs to massage the slave's short hair and forehead down to the level of the forehead above the blindfold. The Austrian slave, who had been struggling a bit from the time he had felt the cold Novocain spraying on his balls, now relaxed.

The vet came round between the slave's legs, which were splayed wide and on the outer side of each leg, pulled out from underneath the table a stainless steel drawer containing all his instruments. The drawers were, in fact, two expandable surgical tables already laid out with a magic marker, scalpels, small blades, bandages, cotton wool -- everything needed for a circumcision.

The vet took the Austrian's cock in his hand. The Austrian did not move, as if he could not now feel the touch.

`I am now pulling the foreskin forward all the way towards me, at the same time pushing back the tip of the gland inside the folds of the prepuce and with the magic marker, I can draw a circle around the point where my fingertips are holding the foreskin. The circle will to be the cutting point. I am now going to cut off the foreskin.'

He took up the scalpel and with one firm unhesitating cut, severed the foreskin from the cock. It was in his hand before the flow of blood from cut blood vessels even started.

The vet was ready with cauterising powder and styptic agents and I noticed that not more than a few splashes of blood were lost. The vet placed the slave's flaccid penis, now with its blood-stained glans, on the slave's lower belly. He must have seen a question forming in my face, because the vet answered it. A beautifully displayed glans with a perfect corona was lying all pink and wet extending from the now visible top cut area of the shaft of the penis.

`I leave the penis unbandaged for some minutes to ensure that no small veins or tissue are bleeding.'

I saw that the vet was checking that no bleeding was occurring and I saw that he was checking for the presence of that little brake of flesh, which is called the fraenulum underneath the tip of the penis. The fraenulum usually stops the penis for a full extension and in some men, it is one of the shaft's more sensitive spots.

However, my instructions on the fraenulum are to cut it, so that the penis can always extend to its maximum length for the slave's own subsequent sexual enjoyment during penetration or when being given a blow job in the morning showers by his buddy.

In the Austrian's case, there was a small fraenulum and the vet took the spray of Novocain, gave the fraenulum a one-second secondary burst of anaesthetic spray, hit the top button again on the timer, waited some fifteen seconds and snipped the fraenulum with the end of a scalpel. I was amazed that there was no blood to speak of, though in a way I was glad that there was none.

`That, Master, is the first part of the job. As you can see it is quick and painless to the slave. I shall, when finished, apply a field dressing, which stays on about a week on both the fraenulum and the full circumcision area.

The Austrian slave was still lying quietly on his back and relaxed, as if he was hardly feeling what is going on between his legs. I wondered to myself just how much pre-op sedative had been given.

`I am now taking, Master, a blood sample, as requested. This will be sent for tests to the laboratory, which you have specified.'

This he did from a vein in the slave's right inner elbow. The vet put the vial of blood on a stand and then turned back to complete is work on the scrotum. He opened a four-centimetre cut on the front of the scrotum bag.

I was looking from the side and was amazed to see a pinkish white right testicle being eased out. I had always believed for some reason that testicles would be red like tomatoes, but this testicle was like a very small off-white plum.

The vet took a scalpel and severed some remains of the restraining tissue. The testicle was lying in his latex gloved hand. There was very little blood at all and what there was, he easily stopped.

He cut the epididymis of the removed testicle, which carries the slave's sperm and hormones from both testicles to the vas deferens inside the scrotum and cauterised it with what looked like a gas-cooker lighter.

The vet had one of the new Japanese automatic auto-stitchers ready and he sealed the scrotum cut with four absorbable sutures. These he told me would disappear within ten days.

For safety's sake, the last procedure was a shot of antibiotics a very short needle into the flesh of the side of Austrian's left buttock, which had been dabbed with a spot of alcohol.

The vet then set about cleaning up his set of instruments, putting them into a sterilising unit, which had appeared out of one of the side-counter's cupboards.

The entire procedure had not taken fifteen minutes.

Two of the dealers well-muscled assistants came into the G&S room and released the Austrian from blindfold and straps on the table and substituting the straps for a leather belt around the Austrian's waist with a handcuff on either side to stop the slave from touching himself, his penis, balls or the dressings. They led him out carefully and quietly ahead of me.

The two assistants put the Austrian slave into a cell and linked the waist-belt to the wall and taking off the ball-gag, they brought him a pitcher of water. Had the Austrian not been very well sedated, I think we would have had a lot of bellowing and shouting.

The minder with the pitcher of water just stood there holding it up to the mouth of the Austrian offering it to him to drink, who finally realised what it was and allowed it to be put to his lips.

The assistants according to the dealer were instructed to look in on their charge every hour, give the slave any water he wanted after the surgery and on account of the heat of the day. For the first time as a slave, he was to be touched and patted on arms and shoulders, or to have his arms or head given a rub to show concern and to help keep him calm.

Sooner rather than later, the reality of the operation would kick in and it would become firmly imbedded in the mind of the slave, according to Mustafa ben-Mustafa that a Master can order anything done to the slave's body and the slave can do nothing to stop it.

When I got back to the G&S room, a Catalan prisoner slave was on the table with his ball-gag in, however in his case, tears were streaming down his cheek from underneath the blindfold. Clearly no fool he, or else a slave with a powerful imagination. In either case, a slave with potential for more than being a mere farm labourer!

I found myself one evening sitting in the shade of the veranda at the Lime Palace, with various of the overseers. The afternoon sun was warm, but a desert breeze had sprung up far out among the dunes and reducing the heat of the sun. Bob's limejuice was being served and consumed all round.

`I always have Ross Wells' words in the back of my mind all the time, that we are a family of sorts here. And I don't want to endanger that, but I have to take a number of other matters into account. These new slaves will be trained to my specifications, come hell or high water.'

I discussed quite openly with my heads of household, stables managers -- that is the old term for farms managers -- my overseers and assistant overseers as to what forms of rewards and punishments are best for new incoming slaves. With the one exception of Aziz, now a freeman, they are all slaves and as overseers know what slaves want and what slaves want to avoid.

Contrary to popular belief and misconception in this area, the majority of my overseers has never been flogged with a whip, but all have tasted the stroke of the short horse-type quirts -- a favourite device used in other Dahran establishments and some have felt the use of the camel-cane at mine.

It was a sombre evening dinner we had when we discussed punishments, and as I mused inwardly, most likely considering what they had endured prior to my ownership of them. Various had had water-deprivation and sun-exposure punishment with other Masters. Stan, my property manager, had been raped consistently with a broom handle.

Various had been branded with the mark of their Master's house with hot irons, some tattooed, various nipple- and penis-ringed and genitally cinched -- though I think this was more for the titillation of the Master at the time, rather than as a serious form of punishment. But the list of punishments was a long one.

When it came to the rewards and indeed the best reward that a slave could received, I was not surprised at the simple basics of adequate food and water, sufficient hours to sleep to be able to do a day's work, hopefully not in the full sun. The Dahra sun at midday is so cruelly hot and scorching that fifteen minutes in it without protection will cause severe burning on most European skin.

However, I was surprised to hear what the slaves considered the best reward, which was the approval or the care given by me as their new Master. When I asked what they meant by care, without hesitation, all said the medical, dental and optical care. The pallets for sleeping came very far down that particular line.

As we were discussing this particular point, out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Ben Trant, my secretary, was loitering about to the side of the veranda, with papers in his hands which appeared to require shuffling over and over again.

`Ben, are you trying to overhear what is not for your ears?'

Ben's claim to fame, apart from being the first of my slaves to openly state being gay, is that he does not tell lies. With everyone's eyes now on him, he became flustered, as I knew he would.

`Sorry, Master, I was listening in because I thought you were all wrong.'

Yuriy, my farm manager, was trying hard not to burst his sides laughing. Stan, my property overseer, had his hand under his chin shaking his head in apparent disbelief.

`So, what then Ben is the greatest reward that a slave can have?'

Without a second's hesitation, Ben replied, `that his Master loves him,' and that stunned those assembled room into silence.

`And before that, Master, that the Master knows, who his slave actually is.'

`Come here, Ben,' I said.

He came up beside me to kneel down, his eyes down, as if not wanting to make contact after what he had said.

I stood up and putting my arms around him, I said, `Ben, as usual you are right and I know, who you are and I love you. Now is that a reward or not?'

With a warm smile, he said, `Yes, Master, it is and for that I would gladly give up my dinner every evening.'

`Okay, Ben, off you go. No more listening in on conversations that are not for you.'

When Ben had disappeared, I said, `I think he may have a point' and the others nodded.

Perhaps, it was Aziz, my head of household, who put in context another aspect of reward when he said: Master, I served my original Master and the Mistress and Master Abdou, their son, for over forty years. In that time, no Master or the Mistress ever said thank you' to me to indicate approval of my work. That is why I mentioned this to you, you may remember, when you first came to see the Aloe Palace before you purchased it, that Masters did not thank their slaves.'

Aziz, I do remember. Do you wish me to stop saying thank you' to you for the work you do for me?'

`No, Master, in my old age, I am getting accustomed to your words of gratitude.'

At that, everyone laughed out loud at Aziz's late-in-life conversion.

But Master, for me,' Stan, my property overseer said, the day you told me that I had to go to the hospital to get my teeth treated and my other problems, that day I knew that you cared for me. That was the greatest reward that I had received in years.'

There were various murmurs of agreement.

`So, you think a reward is when you show a slave that you know, who he is; when you show you love him?

The answer all round was an emphatic -- `Yes, Master.'

`And a word of approval and of thanks?'

Again, there was a clear and definite chorus of `Yes, Master.'

`Fine then, rewards in the training of the new slaves will be words of acknowledgement, love, care, approval, thanks.'

`Not just for new slaves, Master, for the odd overseer as well,' Dumi Bod, my stables manager at the Lime Palace said before looking down at his feet.

I had to smile at that. And so, it was to be.

For me, communication is always vital in any organisation. A Palace or its farms, no less so. I gathered all the teachers together one midday and had both Tommy Saunders and Andy McTee -- with Fiona Tuttle's permission -- and Hassan Dufhar -- with Aziz's permission -- to attend as well.

I stated that I wanted all the newcomers taught both English and Arabic as all the previous slaves had been. After just two years, the original slaves were quite fluent in both languages, for easy and simple conversations. I hoped that it would be the same for the latter arrivals as well.

I told them upfront that the new prisoners had a history of violence in their criminal backgrounds, which involved drugs-trafficking, trafficking in refugees, which I thought ironic, murder, hijackings, robberies of every hue, to state but a few.

I stated that my first concern was to ensure everyone's safety, the teachers,' that of the other prisoner slaves and existing slaves, by effective training and effective supervision. I also said that no teacher would be forced to teach the newcomers.

That last statement seemed to relax the atmosphere. What did the teachers have to say to the new programme?

One of the Arabic teachers asked, `Master, would it be possible to try a class and if it did not work out to stop?'

I said `Certainly. If you feel that you cannot, you will not be forced to.'

Another asked, when the courses were to start. I replied `the very week the new slaves arrive.'

Another asked, if he could suggest a teacher from among the previous EU-prisoners. That surprised me, as I did not think there were any really well educated ones -- apart from Jens Johanssen, who was working on the Palaces' computers, and various of the Swedes who for their own reasons only worked the farms. The prisoner slave in question was merely well read but spoke English well, but had no training as a teacher. I agreed temporarily to have him given a try.

I asked, if further teachers needed to be brought in and was pleasantly surprised when the Arabic teachers only asked for one extra teacher.

Our final agreement was that the trainers would stay close to the teacher until the teacher felt confident with each group and that the trainers should not play around with their canes all the time, or every one of the slaves would be too stressed out to learn anything.

For some reason, I woke up the morning after that meeting in May with quite a thirst. The digital clock at the side of the bed said just four forty five. Sunrise would still be some ten minutes away though the morning dusk was already rising.

I slid off the bed, my playmate for the night Roge Harte, my Australian assistant gym Master, was soundly asleep on the other side, out for the count. I grabbed a white robe from beside the bed and padded down to the kitchen hoping that some of Bob Conrad's limejuice might still be in the fridge. There was and I helped myself to a glass.

It was then I saw some movement out on the veranda. I had not put on a light in the kitchen, so I was standing in the darkened kitchen looking out into the courtyard area.

Two naked figures had come up the veranda steps to the breakfast table and were doing something at the table. I walked through the service door and said `Hands up,' a half empty glass of limejuice in my hand.

The two naked figures froze at the sound of my words. They were Igor and Basili, my two Byelorussian slaves. Igor had a small white desert Trichocereus spachiams cactus in his hands, which he almost dropped. The T. spachiams is one of the few cacti, which give off a very heady perfume and I could smell it from six feet away.

Both Igor and Basili were frozen to the spot and both just stood there with their hands in the air. I had solved the mystery of the new cactus on my breakfast table each morning.

`What are you two stealing, may I ask?'

`Master, Master...' words failed Basili, who looked beseechingly at Igor, who was nursing his hand were some of the cactus spikes had gone into his palm.

`Master, we place cactus for you on table,' Igor managed to say.

`At five o'clock in the morning?'

`Yes, Master, every morning,' Basili had got his voice back.

`You take cactus from my gardens.'

`Only for one day, Master, then it goes back to gardens,' Igor managed.

`Why?'

Basili and Igor say thank you,' Master,' Basili said more firmly.

`Igor, put that cactus on the table and both of you come with me.'

In the kitchen, I washed Igor's hand and pulled out three of the black spikes stuck on his palm.

`Now, follow me,' I said and walked upstairs to the bedroom suite.

Roge Harte was still snoring gently away. A smack on his glorious butt soon raised him from his slumbers.

`Out, Roge, I have just caught myself two cactus thieves. Find yourself another bed.'

Roge departed the scene still rubbing his eyes, scratching his balls, not knowing what was going on and mumbling about it being five o'clock in the morning.

`You two, into the bed. You still have an hour of sleep due to you.'

Igor and Basili grinned at each other and jumped into the bed, pulling the soft quilt up over themselves.

`Is there space for one more in there?' I asked.

Both grinned even more. For next hour and a half, we talked, we had sex and we talked some more.

Basili was a beautiful lean figure of a man and when he came as I came inside him, his right hand clutched Igor's and his left the bedclothes.

Igor then knelt up and licked and teased my nipples until I was ready to come again and when I said I was ready, he went `doggie' style. Before I could enter him, Basili was there to lubricate Igor's anus with his tongue and spittle.

When I was finished, the two slaves were a lot happier than when they had walked into the bedroom suite.

As I lay there with an arm around each one's neck, I said, `I think your cactus each morning is the most beautiful plant of all the plants in flower that day.'

They gave each other some form of five finger hand-slap, which I thought was quite American, but then some customs are becoming world-wide and they cuddled up to me to keep me warm in the rays of the rising sun in the eastern desert in all its yellow and pink morning colours and splendour.

End of chapter 13

To be continued...