Date: Fri, 11 Jan 2008 12:04:53 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Instrument, Part Twelve

THE INSTRUMENT

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories at
groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

Part  Twelve

I felt better after seeing Marc - he really had
treated me badly for years, and it's always satisfying
when the tables are turned, I think.  Still, his body
had excited me and it did seem a pity that it was
going to be wasted - after a crucifixion you can't
even harvest the organs for the organ banks and the
body is only fit for disposal.

My erection was really hurting now though, and I knew
that there would be a very visible damp patch on the
thin shorts where I was leaking pre-cum:  I needed
sex, and I needed it now.  And there was another
person who had treated me badly, and where now I might
now take  a little revenge.

I strode into the stables, and told them to prepare
Jason for me.

"Shall we clean him inside as well as outside?", the
stable slaves enquired.

"Neither!  I assume he has just returned from his
toils, and is sweat-stained... So much the better.
No, by 'prepare', I mean render him more biddable:
request an overseer with a prod to control him, and
then cuff both of his wrists to his collar."

As they scurried off to obey my orders I stood there
in this place that had become so familiar to me - the
scent of straw, and of males, was almost intoxicating
to me.  The drays came in, covered in sweat and as
usual laughing and joking with each other in spite of
their tiredness, but they shied away from me as I
stood there, clearly scared of me now.  But their
glistening black hides beaded with sweat inflamed me
even more, and I was sorely tempted to order one of
them to kneel and present his ass to me.  But good
sense prevailed as I wanted to conserve all my
energies for Jason, and when one of the slaves came
back, bowed, and told me that all was prepared, I
could hardly contain my enthusiasm as I made my way
along that oh-so-familiar path down between the
stalls.

In the "old days" I'd only been able to overcome Jason
when I'd had one wrist secured to his collar.  Now,
although I was immensely more powerful after years of
"proper" work as a pony rather than from working out,
I had decided to take the precaution of having both
wrists secured as Jason, too, had gained in power and
strength in that time.  I felt  I could probably
subdue him if he had one arm free, but I didn't want
myself damaged - as I started my new life, I thought
it would be inappropriate to have a black eye, for
example.  Nevertheless I was expecting fierce
resistance from him, and, to tell you the truth, this
was something I was rather looking forward to  - not
only was it going to be good to fuck Jason, but doing
so against his will, when he'd exerted all the effort
he could to prevent me, was going to be particularly
satisfying.  He'd get to know how I felt, after the
way he'd so frequently used me.

He was lying sprawled on the straw in a typically
defiant pose - his legs stretched out and parted to
show he was unashamed of his large cock and balls
which were casually "draped" across one muscular
thigh.  His head was propped against the wall so he
was staring down his body, and the lights reflected
from the big snout ring and his tit rings.

He saw me standing looking at him, and made no effort
to get to his feet.  OK, I suppose he was in some way
"correct" about this as we were both slaves, but you
might have thought that he'd have shown a bit of
respect as it was obvious from the fact that I no
longer had visible rings, and was wearing shorts and a
T, that something had changed.

"Get up, Jason, and come over here as I want to
inspect you!", I commanded.

"Fuck you, Steve.  You're a fucking slave, just like
me."

I smiled at him. "Yes, Jason.  You're right.  A
fucking slave.  With the emphasis on the fucking!"
Now, get up and come over here - I'm going to milk
that cock of yours to give me some lube when I move on
to fuck your ass."

"You mean you're going to try to fuck my ass.  A fag
like you doesn't get to fuck a guy like me.  It's me
that fucks you, remember?"

"Oh yes, Jason.  I do remember.  I remember all those
nights in here when you've fucked me as if I was some
piece of shit, and then rolled over and gone to sleep.
 Not once did you ever treat me like a buddy....  We
could have had fun together, and instead of that you
just treated me like some convenient place to deposit
your semen...."

"You're right, Steve.  That's what you are - a big
asshole, just there to take a real man's cum.  Now why
don't you take those fancy clothes off and get in here
and down on your knees, where you're supposed to be,
and let a real man fuck you."

Well he needed to be taught a lesson.  There were
always one or two of the carriage whips used in the
traps lying around, and now I reached for one of them
and lashed out at Jason - as I've told you, these
really sting when they hit your back and butt, but my
blows landed on the soft inner parts of Jason's
thighs, his cock, and his balls.  It must have been
excruciatingly painful!

With a great shout he sprang to his feet - not easy to
do with your hands cuffed behind our neck, but of
course Jason was in superb physical condition.  He
lunged at me, forgetting that he was tethered to the
floor by his ankle manacle, and as the chain went
tight, his momentum caused him to lose his balance and
sprawl on the floor in front of me.

Well, this was too good an opportunity to miss!  I
leapt onto him and we began to struggle - in spite of
not having the use of his hands, Jason fought and
bucked and tried to but me with his head in an effort
to get me off him.  His powerful legs tried to crush
me. He attempted to bite me.  It was all completely
useless, of course:  there was no way he could stop
me.  And actually it was very satisfying, very
satisfying indeed:  the more he fought and the more I
overcame him, the more sexually exciting it was!  My
cock, if I'd had time to analyse one sensation from my
body rather than the totality of what comes from a
hard fight, was throbbing with excitement.  Finally I
was sitting astride him with his belly down - my hands
were under him and I had grabbed his tit rings, and by
twisting these viciously I had got him to lie still.

"Right, Jason.  You know what comes next, don't you?"
My breathing was hard and irregular, and it was
difficult to get the words out.  He bucked again in an
effort to unseat me, in spite of what must be
considerable pain from his tits.  And, to tell you the
truth, it was hard to remain astride him as he was
drenched in sweat that was making his whole body
incredibly slippery.

It was going to be easier said than done, as I knew
the moment I got off him to get him into a position to
fuck him, the battle would start all over again.
Fortunately I'm a pretty resourceful guy, and the
solution came to me:  I tore the flimsy sweat-soaked T
off me, ripping it into a strip as I did.  Jason
thought I was going to use it to gag him, and clamped
his jaws resolutely closed, but instead, keeping
control of him as best  I could with only one tit
ring, I deftly threaded the fabric through his snout
ring!  Once I'd managed to get the other end through
one of the tethering rings in the floor of the stall,
I had him:  hauling on both ends of the material, I
pulled Jason's head down to the floor, then
triumphantly knotted the fabric to hold him there.  If
you've ever had a snout ring fitted, you know that
there's no way you're going to resist too hard as the
pain in your septum is intense - we both hated being
tethered that way when we were working, even more so
than we hated being tethered by the reins. I had the
added benefit now of knowing that Jason was not only
immobile but would also be feeling totally humiliated.

I got to my feet and looked at his lovely naked body
lying there on the floor of the stall, and let the end
of the whip stray along his thighs and butt, lingering
in the hollow at the base of his spine.  "Well, Jason,
that wasn't very nice of you, to try to fight with
your old stable mate, was it?  Perhaps I should punish
you - how about I give that butt of yours a good
whipping, to warm it up before I fuck you?"

"Fuck you!", he muttered, defiant as ever, although
his words were somewhat indistinct as he face was
pulled down  to the floor.

I ripped off my shorts, grateful that my cock was now
free, and literally threw myself down on top of him.
Pulling my body up and down his, I allowed my cock to
start to plough between his butt cheeks as I crooned
"Feel it, Jason?  It's outside now, but soon it's
going to be down there, pushing for entrance to your
ass.... And do you know what, Jason?  It's going to
get in, isn't it?  Because you know an asshole can't
keep out a cock that's determined to force its way
in!"

I paused to catch my breath, as I was breathing so
hard not only with the exertion, but with excitement
"Now, are you going to be sensible, and get up onto
your knees nicely, so I can reach between those thighs
of yours and wank you, so that there's your cum to
lube your hole?"

Another muffled "Fuck you!" was all I got.

"All right, Jason... But don't say I didn't
offer....."

Look, you don't want to read all the details of how I
fucked Jason.  After all, we've all fucked, or been
fucked, and so we know what it's like.  All I can say
is that the way I was taking Jason was a position I
like - I forced his legs apart so I could half kneel,
half lie between them, prised his butt cheeks open so
I could see his hole, and then entered him as he lay
there.  He screamed, of course, and tried to stop me -
but his ability to thrash around was severely
restricted;  and, as you know, a guy with a rock-hard
cock can always used it to batter open an asshole,
however tightly its owner tries to keep it clenched
shut.  And once you're in, it's all over, isn't it?
Well, all over for the guy underneath, who simply
can't stop you.  And unfortunately, it was all over
for me all too soon! The pent-up desire to fuck Jason
and the struggle to subdue him had left me so aroused
that after a very few strokes I felt that wonderful
tightening in my balls as they got ready, soon
followed by that fantastic, convulsive jerking of my
cock as it pumped my cum deep inside him.

I lay on top of him afterwards as I allowed my body to
calm down after this fantastic session.  We were both
covered in sweat, and it felt ever so slightly cool,
in spite of the heat of Jason's body under me, as it
evaporated.  I left my cock in him as I moved my head
to rest on his shoulder blades, and whispered "There,
Jason....  You'll be sore,  but it's your own
fault.... You should have let me lube you."

To my amazement I didn't get back another foul set of
abuse from him.  Instead, he seemed to be slumped, and
just lay there.  So I went on "You know the drays
across the way seem to have enjoyed seeing you get
fucked.  They've watched you fuck me often enough, I
suppose - but when we were allowed to go over there,
you never let them fuck you, did you?  You always said
that whiteys were naturally superior to niggas, and
that nigga cock wasn't allowed up a whitey's ass."

I paused for dramatic effect,  and went on "But maybe
there's a lesson you need to learn, Jason - and an
interesting one for them, too..... Perhaps I should
invite one or two, or even three, of them over here,
and show them that nigga cock can perfectly well ream
a whitey's ass?  I can, you know -  I'm in charge
again...."

At first, I didn't hear what he mumbled.  So I slapped
his shoulder, and  said "Louder!"

"No, Steve, don't...."

"I think you missed out something there, Jason.... You
don't give orders to me any more, you know.  You can
ask me things, though.  And didn't you learn in school
how to ask for things nicely?"

To my amusement - and pleasure, I suppose, as I
recognised I was getting control of him back - he
muttered "Please, Steve.  Please, no."

Much as I'd have liked to lie there, my cock buried in
Jason's tight ass and his lovely sweaty body taking my
weight, I knew I had work to do.  So very reluctantly
I eased myself out of him and got to my feet.  I
thought for a moment about finally humiliating Jason
totally by making him clean up my cock, but with him
tied to the floor by his snout ring, this was not
really practicable without a lot more effort.  So I
slapped his butt in a way that was both sort of
friendly, and designed to show him that I was in
control, and said "Tomorrow, Jason, I think you'll be
pulling me,  so be sure to get  a lot of sleep and be
well rested as I'll need to tour the entire estate.
And I'll be in a hurry, so you'll need all your
strength as otherwise you'll be feeling the whip where
my hand just slapped you!"

I thought I detected another "Fuck you!", so I slashed
at his butt with the whip again, quite enjoying seeing
how he flinched and did his best to avoid the strokes.

"Say what you like now Jason", I added.  "As tomorrow
you won't be saying anything, with the bit in!"

I strode off before he had chance to say anything
else, then stopped at the clean-up area to take a
shower - I suppose it was habit, really, as I could
have gone over to the palace and done it in privacy.
But I saw the stable slaves peering at me nervously as
I soaped myself, waving them away as it was good to be
able to do this for myself for a change, rather than
having to stand there and have someone else clean me.
Then, dressed in clean slave shorts and a clean T and
with that incredible feeling you have when you're
sexually satisfied, squeaky clean, and full of
enthusiasm and energy for the future, I strode over to
the palace  to pick out a room for myself - it seemed
best, at least until I was sure I had secured my
position with the Sheikh once more, not to use my old
quarters in the "free" part of the palace, but instead
chose a large room - with a very lage bed, and a
private shower - in the quarters reserved for senior
slaves.

__________________________

As it happened, I didn't get to drive around with
Jason the following day.  Instead, I went very early
to the accounting offices and demanded from the weary
manager and his toiling slaves the latest state of
play.  For the rest of the morning I was adsorbed in
reviewing the perilous financial state of the Sheikh's
affairs, and I say "perilous", rightly, as his
expenditure was far exceeding his income.

When we think of Sheikhs I suppose that most of us
conjure up is a stereotype with which the TV has made
people all over the world familiar - a white-robed man
in dark glasses descending from his private jet with a
vast entourage of wives and servants, about to plunder
the stores on Manhattan or the casinos of Las Vegas;
or mingling with aristocracy and royalty as his string
of fabulously expensive polo ponies and his
highly-paid professional riders play a chukka; or
perhaps sitting on his huge "yacht", almost the size
of a cruise liner, moored in the harbour at Monte
Carlo.   There are of course sheikhs who can indulge
in this conspicuous consumption, as their income is
still buoyed up by a sea of oil, but "my" Sheikh was
not like this - the oil revenues had long since been
spent (mostly wasted), and he once again relied on the
meagre taxes he could raise from his people in this
desolate place where there were not very high incomes,
and in the profits he made from growing the crops on
his extensive land holdings (profits which ought to be
fairly substantial, as there was no labour cost
involved in planting, tending for, and harvesting
them).

His income, although fabulously high by the standards
of "ordinary" workers in normal societies, had a lot
of calls on it:  he had a "position" to maintain as
ruler, the expenses of operating and maintaining the
palace were considerable, he contributed generously to
the welfare and health care costs of his subjects, and
so on.

The more I looked at the books, the more I realised he
was living way beyond his current income, as the
manifest failings of Marc in running the estate had
virtually wiped out the profits that this business
ought to have produced.  We needed urgently to
dramatically reduce expense, or to find other ways of
increasing income in the short term as the crop
business recovered.

It was not a pleasant interview when I broke this news
to the Sheikh later that day - he professed to be
"unaware" of his finances, as he had been unconcerned
about the way the estate was run.  He tried to stop
discussion of this whole area by cutting into my
exposition and saying "Yes, Steve.  But enough of this
boredom.  Tell me how plans for the crucifixion of the
slave are progressing - I need some amusement and
excitement."

"I have been concentrating on understanding the
position we are in, Highness...."

"...and neglecting my interests, Steve!  You know I am
a firm believer in the importance of being seen to
punish slaves who disobey, and especially slaves who
ferment revolt.  And my plan to punish Marc is known,
Steve - I heard some of  the bath boys discussing it
this morning as they assisted me.  It is essential
that the slave be punished, and punished as scheduled.
 Go and ensure all is progressing, the stage...."

"Highness, are you sure you wish to continue with
this?  The slave was a very special favourite of
yours, and I regret to tell you that you cannot afford
to replace him:  young, lithe whiteys like him
currently fetch very high prices in the markets.
Would it not be best simply to trade him in for a new
slave to minister to you....."

"No, Steve!  All the other slaves know he is to be
punished.  If the sentence is not carried out, I will
not be seen to be in control of matters."

"Highness, what do you care for the opinions of
slaves?  You are their owner, and the ruler of this
kingdom:  it is you who makes the rules, you who
decide what shall be done.  And it is their lot to
accept your wise judgement....   And without a
pleasure slave, highness, your nights will be lonely."

"I must accept that, Steve.  I cannot be seen to be
weak.  If the slave is not punished, others will be
tempted to revolt.  Now, go and make sure preparations
are in hand.  And select a suitable nigga for my bed
tonight - I must accept, I suppose, that I can no
longer afford the pleasures of a young whitey."

"But sir...."

The Sheikh glowered.  "You are a slave, Steve!  I did
not like the way you used to argue with me sometimes
when you were a free man, but I had to tolerate it on
occasion.  But not any more - do as I command, or in
addition to the crucifixion I will command the public
whipmaster to attend, and stripe that back of yours
permanently....."

I decided not to press the issue further as the Sheikh
was known to have a short temper, and having seen
whippings with a "proper" whip, administered as a very
severe punishment, I had absolutely no desire to be
the victim of one.  At the same time, I did think the
Sheikh was being a little unfair - I had not much time
for Marc, but he hadn't had much of a life:  captured
and enslaved at sixteen, fucked by me, used by the
Sheikh as his sex toy.... And now to lose his life at
such a young age because of some indiscreet remarks
made after tender scenes of passion with his lover.
But perhaps most of all I was annoyed that my
authority was being usurped:  I was in charge of the
estate again, I'd told the sheikh he couldn't afford
to replace Marc, and that Marc should be "traded in"
at the dealers, and my advice was being ignored.

Still, I couldn't afford to disobey, and went about
arranging for the construction of the stage, and for
the slaves to be lined up the following day to witness
Marc's punishment.  When it came to selecting  a slave
for the Sheikh's bed, however, there was more of a
problem:  he liked young slaves, and they had to be
relatively lithe and agile so they could "perform" for
long periods, riding up and down on his cock as it
always took him a considerable time to cum.  None of
the slaves about the palace seemed suitable, and I
could hardly bring in one of the coffled field slaves
as many of them were simply untrained in the civilised
behaviour - once on a coffle, they tended to piss and
crap whenever they wanted, as Jason did, and I
wondered what the Sheikh's reaction would be if he
woke up to find his bed soaked in slave piss.

As I continued to ponder my choices, I saw the drays
heading back towards the stables and the solution
presented itself.  There had been a young nigga who
had joined the team a couple of weeks before - he must
have been nineteen or so, I suppose, but was big,
strong and exceptionally well muscled as were all the
niggas chosen to be drays.  I expected that as he
matured he'd develop that thick, solid layer of muscle
that all his fellows had, but at the moment  he was
just a "normal" well-set up guy.   The drays were
always quite particular about crapping and pissing, as
being so many of them sleeping in such a confined
space they took care to ensure that they could control
themselves so that their excreta could be done in the
corner of their stall, and I supposed he'd be properly
trained in that respect.

I ordered the stable slaves to thoroughly prepare the
young dray - inside and out - and when I collected him
later that evening I was well pleased with the result.
They had freshly shaved him all over, and his jet
black nigga hide positively shone and glowed with
health and the effects of the slave oil.  I ordered
him to bend over and spread his buttocks, and when I
pushed my finger in to his ass the effect was all that
one might hope for - he was relaxed enough, having
been used by his fellow drays, so that he did not
scream, and yet his sphincter was still strong and
subtle offering just the right amount of resistance.
Feeling me inside him, he began to massage my finger
with his muscles, and it was all together a most
pleasing performance.  When I pulled my finger out it
was moist and yet sweet, and once the  dray stood up,
he respectfully fell to his knees so that he could
take my finger and lick it clean with his delightfully
pink tongue.  All in all, I thought, the Sheikh should
have nothing to complain about in terms of his ability
to provide a proper sexual experience.  Mind you, the
nigga was big, in every sense - tall, much taller than
me, and very impressively hung:  his cock was in
proportion to the rest of him and swung freely on top
of low-hanging balls the size of pullets eggs:  I
wasn't sure how the Sheikh would react to having such
a young giant in his bedchamber - or, rather, I felt
sure he would not particularly relish the experience,
as the contrast between his own fat, bloated body and
short, stubby cock would be very great.

Very carefully I "briefed" the young nigga on his role
- he was to be totally obedient, very humble, and
focussed only on the Sheikh's pleasure.  He was not to
speak, and must continue to "ride" the Sheikh until
the Sheikh allowed him to stop, however tired he got.
I ordered the nigga to kneel and wank himself as I
watched, rather enjoying seeing his huge cock spurt
out loads of thick, rich cum:  it would of course be
totally unacceptable for the Sheikh's cock in his ass
to excite him to the point at which he might
spontaneously cause him to ejaculate, and at least now
his balls were relatively empty.

It was a bit like the old days, I suppose, when I had
first introduced Marc to the Sheikh:  the old man
insisted I stay, and lie next to him on the bed to
make sure that all went well.  I commanded the nigga
to arouse his owner, and the big buck bent over the
Sheikh's groin and took the small, slug-like cock
between his big lips and worked away enthusiastically
- I rather enjoyed seeing the muscles in his back
stretching and relaxing as he worked away, especially
as he had one of those spines  where the backbone is
visible its whole length.  Then, when the Sheikh
signalled that he was ready,  I ordered the nigga
astride him and was pleased with the way he did this
with enormous care, so that the small white erection
slid easily into his ass - although not very far, of
course!

I'll say this for him:  the nigga gave every
appearance of enjoying his ride!  He never stopped
smiling as he worked away, and work it was:  he was a
big, heavy guy, as I've told you, and both the Sheikh
and I enjoyed watching the powerful muscles in his
long thighs powering away as he strained to raise and
lower his body and properly "work" the Sheikh's cock.
Mind you, the sight of his long, thick nigga dick was
a little disconcerting as it was so very big as it
bounced up and time in synchronisation with the rest
of him, and I don't think the Sheikh particularly
liked the way his balls slapped against the Sheikh's
flesh.   The nigga was soon covered in sweat, and I
have to say that there's is something particularly
attractive, I find, about seeing little rivulets of
sweat running down the hard ridges and valleys of
solid muscle, especially when the skin has been shaved
totally smooth and oiled:  it forms trickles then
drops, which re-form.... Totally fascinating.

After abut thirty minutes I began to et concerned that
the nigga's stamina would fade, but he kept up his
work until at last the Sheikh gave a great sigh, and
commanded him to stop - but to remain crouched over
him so that his cock remained lodged in the nigga's
ass until the Sheikh's ejaculations were spent.  When
the boy was finally allowed to "dismount", I asked the
Sheikh if he should sleep on the floor at his bedside
as Marc had done, but the Sheikh shook his head, and I
dismissed the young dray telling him to rejoin his
companions in the stables.

"That was excellent, Steve:  you chose well.  His
muscles massaged me and thrilled me....."

I smiled my acceptance of the Sheikh's praise of my
choice, but he continued "....but it will not do.  I
have become accustomed to smaller, more lithe,
slaves.... And it is aesthetically more satisfying to
have a whitey, rather than a nigga.  You will procure
one of those for me."

"Highness, I have explained.... The expense.... We
simply cannot afford it currently.  Perhaps your
Highness could accept a nigga for a year or two,
whilst our finances recover:  one or two good
crops...."

"NO, Steve!  I particularly want a whitey."

"The only other one available, Highness, is the pony,
Jason.  He is big and strong and muscular, but a real
whitey....  He is not used to taking cock, but I can
train him quickly - indeed, I am training him already
to allow a man's cock entry to his ass.  And his
thighs are powerful enough so that he can 'ride' you
for long periods...."

"Are you mad?  Do you consider me some kind of
pervert?  Fucking my pony... Who has ever heard of
such a thing?  I would be the laughing stock amongst
my friends, if such a thing were to be found out!"

"We can keep it secret, Highness...."

"Nonsense.  As you know, there are no secrets here
with so many slaves in the palace.  I will not be the
subject of salacious gossip."

"Well, Highness, other than Jason, there is only
Marc...."

"...who is to be punished tomorrow.  Of course, Steve,
there is you...  It would save a lot of time were I to
decide to use you as my plaything here in my
bedchamber.  We could discuss matters of importance to
the estate as I fucked you...."

I felt a cold sweat break out on me!  No way did I
want to have to spend every night with this old man's
cock up me, especially if I would be expected to talk
business as he used me.  Thinking quickly, I responded
"It would of course be an honour, Highness.  But I
understood you to particularly enjoy younger
slaves..."

"You are right.  I might use you occasionally as an
interesting variation on my usual pleasures, but on a
regular basis it would be less than satisfying."

"Am I right in supposing, Highness, that the slave
Marc would be perfect for you in every way..... If he
did not have to be punished."

The old man's eyes seemed to fill with tears.  "Yes,
Marc was good and exciting and gave me great joy,
until his disloyalty....  His flesh was exciting, and
he could be tender....  And now he must be punished.
It is announced....."

"Highness, if he could be punished in a way that did
not cause his death, then all would be fine.  He could
resume his duties here...."

"But it is announced that he is to be crucified.  And
as I told you, I cannot be seen to rescind the order,
without losing face."

"Highness, the coffled slaves are being lined up to
witness a punishment.... That is all that has been
said.  That it is to be a crucifixion is mere
speculation...."

I saw a glimmer of hope in the Sheikh's eyes.  "But
you can devise a punishment that will be seen to be
sufficiently severe.... Without permanently 'damaging'
him?  I would not like a eunuch in here - it might
change his character without his hormones flowing - so
gelding is not an option."

My plan seemed to be working, so far!  I had though
that the nigga dray would be at once exciting but
intimidating, and had been proven correct.  Now I
needed to keep the Sheikh's interest, so I slipped off
the bed to retrieve something form my slave shorts,
and came back and showered several small objects onto
the luxurious silken bedcover, near the Sheikh's
hands.

"Feel these, Highness..."

I watched as he fingered the items one by one, and
finally he said "What is this, Steve?  Some bits of
plastic, glass, metal...."

"They are prosthetic testicles, Highness.  See, they
come in various sizes.  And the plastic ones are
designed to feel 'spongy' if squeezed, rather as a
real testicle does if you are squeezing hard enough to
cause real pain.  And the metal one - it's stainless
steel actually - is specially designed to be 'heavy':
it will drag the sac down, and make one of a pair of
extremely low-hanging and mobile balls.... Rather as
the nigga's balls were swinging tonight."

"Yes, but I have said that a gelding would not be
acceptable. How does this help?"

"I propose that we only half geld Marc!  We do it in
public, without anaesthetic.  The assembled coffle
slaves will see his agony as one of his testicles is
sliced out.  Most of them will probably not realise
that only one is being removed anyway.  They will all
see this a a very great punishment:  in spite of being
slaves, they are still men, after all, and they will
have watched Marc being un-manned.  And then,
afterwards, we get the veterinarian to sew one of
these prosthetic testicles in place of the real one:
you can select whether you would particularly enjoy
squeezing one, or seeing Marc hang very low...."

"But I said I do not want a gelding.  The changes...
He could become soft and flabby, his voice would
change...."

"No, Highness!  Not if we take only one testicle.  A
young guy in his prime, like Marc, produces much, much
more semen than he ever needs, and his hormone
production is anyway regulated by other hormones in
the body.  One testicle will suffice to keep him as a
'man', and to provide a fountain of cum should you
elect to allow him some release.   I have all of this
on the authority of the veterinarian, who loaned me
these stones anyway."

I saw the old man begin to smile.  "Yes, Steve.  Your
solution appeals to me.  Most subtle.  I will be seen
to be punishing Marc in an extreme way, and yet  I
will still have the use of his body."

"There is one more thing, Highness..... We should
agree everything in advance, tonight...."

The old man nodded, and I continued "To help raise
revenue, he must be studded, regularly.  Many of your
colleagues and neighbours will pay substantial sums to
have such a handsome whitey bred into their herd.
And watching him perform will be an added interest as
an entertainment in the afternoon."

"Agreed."

"And we must make sure he cannot ferment sedition
against you again.  Not with your nephew. Not with
anyone.  Ever.  I have a plan for this...."

"Do not bother me with details.  I agree with you, of
course.  See to it.  Indeed, go now and make sure all
is arranged for tomorrow."    The old man paused, and
said finally "And I think I like the steel testicle -
if there was ever a criticism of Marc, it is that his
balls tended to contract as I fucked him.  Perhaps now
he will be even more desirable!"

End Of Part Twelve.