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CH. 20

The Changed Life by Gerry Taylor

Chapter 20 – Jess

It was well into September when Tariq al-Akhri rang me

at the Bank. I had not actually seen him in almost two

months. He had been away for the hot months of July and

August with his extended family in Spain and then in

England. I had seen a couple of mentions of him in the

various financial papers.

‘Tariq, delighted to hear from you. All is well?’

‘Jonathan, all is fine. Spain was warm. England

beautiful as ever. I took some of my sons down through

the heart of the country and visited the names that they

only knew as places on a map, Oxford and Cambridge,

Derby and I don’t know how many more places. We even

visited Stratford-on-Avon!’ and he laughed pleasantly at

the memories.

‘Jonathan, I do have a small favour to ask.’

‘Tariq, you just have to say. The Bank is at your


‘No, no, it not a Bank matter. It is more a personal

request. When are you at home this evening?’

I stated any time after 5 in the evening, as I usually

left the Bank at four, it being about an hour’s straight

drive out to the Aloe Palace.

‘But you don’t have to drive out to me, I can go and see

you, now or later, or whenever you wish.’

‘No, no, shall we say six o’clock, and I shall have a

friend with me.’

I said, ‘Tariq, that will be fine and I hope that you

and your friend will stay for dinner. I have a new chef.

I look forward to being of any assistance I can.’

I was a little intrigued as to what Tariq’s problem

might be. However, I had to put it out of my mind as the

day was very busy.

That afternoon, upon arriving home, I advised Aziz that

we would be having visitors and to have Flavio prepare

dinner for three for seven o’clock onwards. I doubted

that Tariq and his friend, whoever he was would stay the

night, and that being the case, would have to depart at

a reasonable hour even though the weekend was coming up,

so I had ordered the dinner a little earlier than usual.

True to his word, Tariq arrived just a few minutes after

six in a large limousine with his friend who was a

distinguished looking Arab, whose car it was and who had

picked up Tariq from his Palace and driven him here.

Tariq’s eyes were sparkling with amusement, and I

wondered what was up. Little did I suspect.

We settled down on some couches in the Palace and

refreshments were offered to my guests. Food and Drink

were on their best behaviour and actually kissed their

former Master’s feet when they had brought the trays of

refreshments in. Tariq looked at his guest and said,

‘These two incorrigibles used to be mine. Always

upsetting the Palace. Now look at them.’

I did not get the inference. Because flighty and all as

Food and Drink were, they had hardly been incorrigible

at any stage, and I got the impression that Tariq was

trying to make me out to be, in the eyes of his friend,

more than I actually was. Of this, I was convinced, when

he said to his friend, ‘Of course, I mentioned to you

the other case with my brother’s slave.’

Tariq had introduced his friend as Farouq Al-Hatim, so I

said ‘Farouq, why don’t you tell me what your problem

is. If I can solve it, it must not be great.’

Farouq started to explain to me that he had a large

property which included some three hundred or so slaves.

I was surprised as I thought the only certain families

in the country had that level of slaves, and I had not

heard mention of him before in business or at the Bank.

And as I think I may have mentioned, many of the

families are inter-related.

His property included some mines in the foothills of the

mountains so he invariably looked for strong working

class slaves for his venture. He also had a private

liking for American working class individuals and when

one such slave came on the market at al-Qatim some

months ago, he had bought him for 32,000 euro.

I thought to myself that either the ‘private liking’ as

Farouq had expressed it must be very strong or this was

a particularly good piece of slave which he had bought.

The slave had been in training prior to the auction, so

Farouq thought that it would be as usual, that he was

getting a reasonably well trained and submissive slave.

He was wrong. The slave was rebellious and dangerous and

created all sorts of problems at his mine, to the extent

that the two overseers there wanted to have him gelded

to cut the testosterone levels in the slave’s body.

However, Farouq was reluctant to do this and put up with

the slave’s behaviour as long as he could. He had been

whipped a number of times, starved, left without water

on two occasions for almost a whole day in the sun. I

put up my hand. It was not necessary for Farouq to go

on. I understood the problem.

I also said that I understood what annoyance a

disruptive slave could cause in a well run establishment

as had happened in one case, and I nodded to Tariq. I

also said that it was not good for general discipline

nor indeed for the reputation of the owner. And that

reputation must be protected. Also that what was being

said here did not go beyond the circle of the three of

us ever!

‘There! I told you Farouq he would understand

perfectly,’ Tariq said

Farouq had stopped talking and looked relieved.

‘Where is the slave now and do you have the papers on


‘In the car’ – he was in fact in the trunk of the car -

‘and yes, I do have his papers with me. I had hoped you

would accept this case.’

The comment puzzled me a little, until the penny dropped

and I realised that Tariq had been ‘marketing’ me as a

specialist in slave training.

‘Let me have him brought in for you,’ I said and called

on Aziz, to get Greg and to have Food and Drink standing


Two minutes later a worried looking driver came back in

with Aziz and a six foot four hunk of prime American

manhood. He was two hundred and ten pounds if he was an

ounce, none of which was fat. His body looked hardened

despite being fully naked and his ten inch cock half

aroused. He was however filthy. His arms were held by

Velcro to the back of a neck collar.

At that moment, Greg arrived followed in by a nervous

Food and Drink. I circled the slave. His eyes were

blazing and throwing out sparks of heaven knows what.

Resentment, hatred, resistance? Or perhaps, all three.

I looked at his file. His name was Jess Tollman, from

Michigan and aged twenty four. Formerly a car worker on

an assembly line, married with two kids, a boy and a

girl. He had been ‘lifted’ when going on a so-called

camping trip with two friends, who had, in fact, sold

him for $5,000 dollars.

He was struggling against the hold the driver had on his

arm, and calling the driver quite a few names. Aziz’s

eyes were dangerously slitted as if he had seen and

heard enough.

Apart from his height and weight which I had got almost

to the pound, Jess Tolmann’s SIN number was 473724.

He had been given shots for the usual nine different

diseases, had been seen by the veterinary dentist for

four fillings and a dental descaling. The attached half

page doctor’s report had ok ticks in every box, one of

while said ‘Fertile: very’. Further boxes ‘Flaccid: 16’,

‘Erect: 31’ and ‘Circ. 16’. Clearly a long and well hung


Further boxes said ‘Foreskin: u/c’, ‘Anus: virgin’,

‘Status: tight’, ‘Prostate: walnut sized’.

I wondered just how many had held him down for that

particular examination.

Speaking first in English so that he would understand

me, speaking as if to him and to him alone in the room,

I said ‘Jess, welcome to my home. You are going to be

taken for a shower and a shave, and by the looks of it,

a haircut. Let my two slaves here do that for you and

afterwards I shall look in on you.’

He had not said a word but his chest was heaving a

little less. I put my hand on ...

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