The Dahran Sands by Gerry Taylor
This is the sixth chapter [ex twenty two] of a novel about gay sex and present-day slavery.
Keywords: authority, control, gay, loyalty, slavery, punishment, retraining, sex, submission
This novel, The Dahran Sands, is the eighth novel in the Dahran series
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The Prison Doctor and The Changed Life [the first novel of this series] are now available as full novels in Acrobat .pdf format on http://www.geocities.com/gerrytaylor_78/
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Chapter 6 -- The prize find
A wise man never knows all. Only fools know everything.
(Arab proverb)
At Deckams where I work, our receptionist keeps a common computerised diary for each of the Managers and Directors of the Bank. We can all add to it, change it, or simply see who is available and, at what times, for the many jobs to be done in running a modern bank. As we arrive in the morning, we pick up our printed page of the `diary of the day', as we call it, on passing reception.
As I walked into my office as I was glancing down at what was on the agenda for the first day of my week, I noticed Zabian al-Kibbe's name down for 11 o'clock. His name had not been there before the weekend. There was nothing beside the name to indicate the purpose of the appointment of my opal mine General Manager.
I did one of those mental double-takes recapitulating in a couple of seconds the recent summary of opal mine events. I had seen Zabian some ten days previously when he had been in the capital city for our regular monthly meeting. The mine was producing at full capacity and with great profitability. We were not due to meet again for some weeks. If this meeting were problematic, the issue would have been listed. Therefore, it was not urgent and I put the matter aside and out for my mind until I saw my General Manager being ushered into my office some hours later.
`Surprise visit, Zabian? Up purchasing extra supplies?'
`Nothing like that at all, Jonathan. Rather just here to give you a little surprise.'
I indicated a comfortable armchair and we both sat down. Zabian had a glint in his eye like a poor poker player who cannot hold it in that he has all the aces in his hand. As we settled down in the armchairs, he pushed a medium sized black box across the coffee table between us. It was in dull black leather about ten inches long by four inches wide by four inches in height. The box looked a larger version of the ones jewellers would use for necklaces or such.
Inside it, I spotted on opening the box, there was a rough edged sandy coloured rock looking to weigh about three pounds in weight. On lifting it into the morning sunlight, it was indeed rough and sandy to touch, and yes, about the three pound mark, and then the sun caught some fragment of it, and it gleamed a hundred shades of yellow, and the brightness and brilliance of its internal gem shone forth. I was holding a rough uncut fire-opal which upon cleaning and polishing would certainly weigh a fine number of ounces.
I am a latecomer to the field of gemmology, but even I could see that this heavy weight in my hand would produce many fine opals. The difficulty pertaining to the opal, this type of gem being mined, is that it splinters very easily, not being anywhere as near as hard as a diamond or ruby, but whose colours and beauty are really beyond compare in their own realm.
It would be the skill of a gemmary as at the House of Gems in the capital city which would have to be invoked to bring forth the hidden treasure from inside the rough rock in my hand which I put back into the box.
I looked at Zabian. The smile was still on his lips, enjoying the moment and my look.
`You're not suggesting that this is all opal, Zabian? It must be, what? ...all of three pounds in weight.'
`Just over a kilo and a half in weight is what you have had in your hand. And yes, the specific gravity corresponds to that of opals. Even if the opal inside breaks, it can give any number of opals.'
`Who found it?'
`One of the slaves. A Pál Fejes, a Hungarian. Not one of your newer arrivals. One of the previously bought slaves. We are mining two new veins and this fell out at his feet. Too big to put up his wazoo and he immediately handed it to the production Supervisor to get his reward.'
`Wazoo? Reward?'
`We haven't had an attempted theft in over two years, Jonathan, as I mentioned to you previously, and that was an attempt to hide a small opal in the slave's rectum. I introduced as one of my new measures a reward system for opals over a certain weight. The slave can get a morning off or some extra food or a night with a slave of his choice. It works.'
`What did this Pál Fejes ask for?'
`Food, I think, for himself and his partner.'
`What do you do with opals of this size?
`Jonathan, there never has been a rock of this size in the mine. Even if there is a single opal inside it, it will certainly be large. If not, many smaller opals. Like all production, it can go if you wish to the House of Gems and they process it for us, or you can send it elsewhere.'
`Good, I'll bring it over to the jewellers myself. I actually need to get some cufflinks. However, I want something sent up to me from the mine. Have it sent up on the helicopter with Greg Logan when he's coming back this week.'
I handed a note to Zabian to give to Greg. Greg Logan is one of my slaves who is doing an industrial engineering time and motion project for me at the opal mine and who comes back each weekend to give me his weekly report.
`By the way, Greg doesn't get in your way?'
`On the contrary, I think I am learning a thing or two from him.'
I nodded my approval and Zabian departed on his business. This is one of the things I like about Zabian. He would be a success as a manager in any venture to which he might turn his hand, yet he was very modest about the high levels of success he brought to the opal mine.
The following afternoon when I had a moment, I dropped over to the House of Gems. Abdul Rahman al-Said, its owner was beside himself on seeing the size of the opal bearing rock and promised me the sun, moon and stars to be allowed process it and then to polish any stones it would produce.
`Sir Jonathan, how soon do you want results?'
`What do you suggest, Abdul Rahman?'
`Each stone is different, Sir Jonathan, I shall contact you once we get a clear idea.'
`I look forward to hearing from you and await your call.'
I left Abdul Rahman al-Said looking as if all his birthdays had come together and he promised me yet again all the expertise that his House could and would provide.
For me, it was important that Gustav had well-trained slaves, not just slaves who recognised him as their protector, but as their Master and owner in Dahran law. Although the trainers in the compounds were upbeat about the proper breaking and training of the Swedes, for the first week I heard of no real breakthrough.
Because of their numbers, the Swedes had been spread more or less at random through four compounds and it was in the third compound controlled by João and Spyros that the first breakthrough occurred.
I called them to report.
Spyros did the talking as he tends to do.
`Master, we have had a breakthrough just now in our compound. It is clear that these particular Swedes had no concept of what it is to be really trained or punished. One of the slaves yesterday twisted his ankle rather badly. It is swollen, so he can hardly move around. I had him kneel before me today on all fours all the time I was giving instructions to the slaves. Every time I gave an order to the other slaves to run or to jump, I gave this slave a stroke of a camel-cane across his nicely tanned backside. Nothing hard, Master, nothing vicious. Just a very firm stroke. After about three hours, I must have given all over thirty to forty different orders and each time a stroke of the cane to the slave on the ground. His backside was now totally red and there were a couple of really good weals on it, but no broken skin.
`Master, it is like the drop of water on the stone. After years and years of a single drop, the water has bored a hole through the stone. The same with this slave. He was suddenly between his groans and sobs, begging me to stop. My final stroke was not across his backside but down his crack. It was the last straw. He simply broke. I think this is the best way to break these Swedish slaves for Master Gustav. No terrible pain, just constant pain and constant humiliation for not having obeyed as they should have in the first place.'
I thought to myself that maybe there was more than a grain of truth in what they were saying and I told them to keep me informed every couple of days.
The breaking of the Swedes began as a trickle, and then became a daily stream then a flood as one by one they succumbed to the procedures of the compounds and for the first time in the protected lives after their sale they were brought to the realisation that they were, in fact, slaves of another man, their Master Gustav Ahlson.
In their training and breaking-in as proper slaves, I do not know all the answers to the aggravated problems which had been allowed to develop by Gustav. I was learning on a slow curve by the looks of it.
I regard Gustav Ahlson not just as a colleague at work, and a damn good General Manager at the Bank, I regard him as a friend. As a friend I have tried to watch out for him. He had bought his Swedish slaves motivated by genuine compassion, and by a brainless concept of patriotism which he had never, in all those years, dared to reflect on in the light of economic facts.
Gustav had enjoyed their company in his house. As slaves in Dahra, if they wanted to remain alive, they had no choice but to stay with him. Gustav, however, pretending to live in a bubble outside the system of supply and demand, had preferred to refer to them as his compatriots' and fellow Swedes', had waived protocol and refrained from giving direct orders, to maintain the sweet illusion that his slaves were not really slaves, and that he, Gustav, was not really a slave-owner. In fact, in Dahran law, all the Swedes had been his slaves from the day of their purchase. Not only by the quirks of Fate and political geography, but because of the simple fact that Gustav had bought them and kept them.
My trainers now had the challenging task to undo the results of Gustav's illusory fancies, retraining the Swedes to think and act as became their factual status.
I stopped by the various compounds over the weeks that his slaves were there being broken in and trained. It is so easy to spot a slave who is doing his utmost in running or engaging in push-ups or press-ups, which are as much a part of a general toughening up process and lessons in obedience to the Master's orders.
It is also very easy to see the slaves who are lagging behind. By this, I do not mean the slave who is last or second last in a race or programme. There is an indefinable something in the human attitude which lets the observer know the slave is pushing himself to the utmost or holding something back, not just in reserve, but in defiance or disregard.
I have seen slaves struggle through their given sets or programmes, stagger around the perimeter walls, falter in their strides, giving it their all, and as a Master I wanted to cheer them on, to shout out well done', keep it up'. But a Master should not interfere with what is being done well enough in the hand of experts and with the concentrated efforts of the trainers who are intent on extracting every minute fraction of effort and commitment from the slave.
I could see what my trainer Bryce Sands had been saying. Björn was there but he was not there fully committed. Gustav's former lover was condemning himself to further and longer sessions in every compound. The same could be said of Olaf, another Swede. I had all the time in the world to secure that submission and commitment for my friend.
In all matters serious and sublime, there are inevitably moments of light relief. So it was with Rolf Hanzer's, my Gym Master's new programme of Personal Bests. It had been running well according to Rolf and I accepted his wisdom and assurance on the technical side of things. For my part, I came to gradually realise that my slaves were actually beginning to look more toned, more muscled, trimmer, fitter, leaner, and more exercised. Even Flavio, my chef, whom I am the first to admit is not great for exercise, did look better.
`I really do it to keep Marko company, Boss,' he had admitted to me, giving his own flatter stomach a pat and pinch. I passed no comment, but I knew that he was pleased with his own improved fitness.
It was however Rolf who came to me with what he said was a problem', one which he would like me to mull over as Master and resolve. Beware both the Swiss and the Greeks bearing flattering gifts' is not a bad motto, even if the gift comes in the form of a problem.
`What problem would that be, Rolf?'
`Each week we have the coach trip to the beach of those who have excelled in their PBs.'
I was getting quite into the swing of all these gyms abbreviations. PBs! Personals bests!
`Indeed, and it seems to be working quite well for you.'
Yes, Boss, but this week Dieter is one of the top twenty. He now has his five PBs, but he does not want to go to the beach next week. He wants to save the trip' as he says and he wants to do another set of five PBs so that another slave can then come with him.'
`Dieter wants to credit Georgi so to speak.'
`I knew you'd understand, Boss.'
`It's not actually astrophysics, Rolf. Where is the problem?'
`Boss, it's just a question if Georgi should be given a trip to beach that way. He might not have even get more than the single personal best he has already. He would be going to the beach on the back of someone else's efforts.'
`If those efforts produce the given result, and that is passed on to the other slave, where is the problem?'
`Boss, it would leave the PB system wide open to abuse. Some slave could force another to hand over their right to a trip to the beach. Some slave could have a hold over another slave and demand a trip.'
`Rolf, drop those shorts of yours and come here.'
Rolf Hanzer who was standing about two paces from me, immediately dropped his immaculate khaki shorts and stepped out of them as they lay round his ankles, and unbidden went to `display' as he came over to me and pushed out his hips so that his genitals would be visible at their best and taut belly muscles and abdominals would appear firm. I extended an upturned palm towards him and he placed his warm pink testicles in my hand.
Rolf is a beautiful slave, without physical fault or imperfection who keeps his body beautiful for my eyes and the touch of my hands. His totally hairless balls, the result of many applications of the Palace's depilatory cream, rested in the palm of my hand, and I heard Rolf sigh.
The first time he had produced this sigh when I had handled his balls, I had asked him the reason.
`What is most precious to me, Boss, is in your hands. I am in your hands and I am happy to be there.'
I gave his testicles a soft squeeze as I looked at his perfectly trimmed pubic hair, and he smiled at me as his penis began its arced rise.
`So, Rolf, why not just wait until Georgi has got his number of personal bests and he and Dieter can go to the beach together.'
`Please, Boss! Georgi will get a number of personal bests alright over a long time, but it will take him ages to get enough for a beach trip.'
Rolf's penis was now dripping precum. He has a very low-resistance level to sexual touch.
`You mean to say that the head of my cactus gardens will never get a trip to the beach.'
`Not because he is your head gardener, Boss...oh Boss, you have me very close...he is just uncoordinated. In the pool, he is all over the place. Boss, please be careful...I am on the very edge...'
`Hmmh...' I said as I continued let Rolf's balls rise and fall in my hand, stroking the underside of his penis with my thumb.
`Boss, in the gym, I have to put a trainer on Georgi's weight training sets every time he is there in case he harms himself...Boss, oh Boss...I'm...'
I took Rolf's cut glans in my mouth just in time to catch the first of three long spurts of his sweet and salty cum as they hit the back of my throat. Rolf has such a short fuse that you have to be really ready for him after the first half a dozen strokes or sucks whichever you are doing.
`Is Dumi Bod not looking after you in the mornings, Rolf?'
`Of course, Master, I shot twice this morning. It's just...it's just when you do that to me, I blow, and you know that Boss. Every time it happens with you, I think the top of my cock is going to come off.'
`All of this does not really help you with your problem of the personal bests, does it, Rolf?'
`Not really, Boss,' a rapidly deflating Rolf said.
`Pull up your shorts, Rolf, and let us agree a rule that where two buddies between them make up ten personal bests, that counts as a trip to the beach. So, if a buddy has a trip already in the bag, he can help his buddy get there as well by allocating him some of his own PBs .'
`Boss, thanks a million. I knew you'd have the right solution.'
`Flattery, Rolf, at this stage of your career?'
`No, Boss, not really. More of a grateful thank you. The PB programme is fun and everyone likes it. It is also my way of trying to say thank you for making me very happy.'
`Happy as a slave? Never able to travel outside Dahra? Never to marry? Never to have kids? Never to see your family again?'
`Never to have kids is a problem alright, Boss, but there are worse things in life than what you list. I try to look on the good things that have happened to me as your slave. The complex I run. The assistants and the power I have. I don't think you even look at the new equipment budgets I put in.'
`Do I need to?' I asked with a grin.
`Of course not, Boss. You know what I mean. I recognise you as my Master and I want to serve you as best I can. I think you know that and I think the other slaves realise that as well. I try to give you the best and try to get the best of those whom I train for you.'
I looked at Rolf Hanzer, a picture of good health and a truly fine figure of an athlete, and thought to myself how fortunate I was to be his owner.
`So, trips problem is solved for the moment? No need to leave it with me over the weekend then?'
Rolf nodded and departed a happy Overseer. A Master has only one pair of eyes. An Overseer like Rolf makes life so much simpler, and at the end of the day, that is what so many desire...the simple life, not quite the Horatian `happy the man whose wish and care, a few paternal acres bound', but close enough.
In one sense, I am easily pleased by my slaves who serve me as long as they attain and keep to my standards. In another sense, I do realise that gratitude is my drug of choice, and when slaves express their gratitude even for the minimal things they receive, it does please me no end as well.
Over the following weeks, one by one the Swedes broke under the gruelling training of the compounds until of the original twenty two, only two remained unbroken. Tears had been followed by floggings. Floggings had been followed by tears, shouts and epithets, name-calling and blustering, bluffing and pretending, and one by one, capitulating to acknowledging their true status as slaves to Master Gustav. Except for the last two - Olaf and Björn.
I also told Gustav of the success, well the partial success of the training, as he had said to me that he only wanted his slaves back at his Palace when all were fully trained to be obedient to him as their Master.
When at the end of six weeks, a little over the norm, the majority of the Swedes had been retrained to my trainers' satisfaction I made a suggestion to Gustav about Olaf and Björn which he did not like. I told him to sleep on the suggestion as he should from now on be a Master and act like one.
I also advised him to have his retrained Swedes put through the special sex training techniques now that their sessions in the compounds were over.
`You are confident, Jonathan, that they have all come out trained, with the exception of Olaf and Björn?'
`I am confident. In fact, I am positive about it. The training Supervisors know their job and they have considerable experience in dealing with all types of slaves from the malleable to the self-proclaimed unbreakable ones. Gustav, your slaves need to know without an iota of doubt who their Master really and truly is. For your own peace and harmony, your slaves need at this stage not just to know you as Boss, but also to fear you, I regret to say, because I sincerely believe that up to now they have not feared you.'
`I'm afraid you're right, Jonathan. I have been treating all of mine as friends and one as a lover.'
`Gustav, don't beat yourself over the head with it. A wise man never knows all. Only fools know everything. Let the sex trainers know in general what your Swedes have to learn, and even more particularly what you yourself want them to learn. You will be amazed at the results that you will get with a month's further training in sex techniques for the slaves. Quite amazed!'
End of Chapter 6
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