Date: Wed, 27 Feb 2008 20:12:16 -0800 (PST) From: Pete Brown Subject: The Instrument, Part 13 THE INSTRUMENT By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories Part Thirteen The following morning was one of those typical "desert" mornings - just before sunrise it was cool, no, chilly, really. But I had ordered the guards to have all the estate's slaves lined up in neat formations then as I thought it would add to the drama of what they were about to witness. They stood there shifting from foot to foot, as much with the cold, I suspect, as in anticipation of what was about to happen - normally during the hours of darkness all of the slaves were of course in the stables, or in the coffle barns, so they were not used to the morning cool. As the sun rises - which it does very rapidly indeed in the desert - it's always preceded by the morning wind, and as this starts to blow you can see the terminator line between darkness and sunshine racing across the ground towards you. It goes from being chill one moment, to a silvery brightness, to full hot blazing sun all in the space of a few minutes. I had planned the arrival of the sun like this to herald the start of our little exhibition, as I did intend to make sure that all the estate slaves learned that the soft regime which they had enjoyed under Marc had now changed. As the sun hit their naked bodies and they started to chafe and rub themselves in pleasure, getting the cold out of their skin, I therefore signalled to the guards that they should lay in with the lashes, and enforce a proper "slave" stance of stillness. I had arranged for Jason to be waiting at the front steps of the palace with the Sheikh's trap, and as he now trotted around the building pulling his owner I snapped the order for all the slaves to fall to their knees in honour of his Highness. Jason pulled up, and I bowed politely to the Sheikh (I had wondered if I too should fall to my knees, as a slave, but thought that this might be just a little excessive). "All is ready, Highness." "Are you sure, Steve, that this will not damage the boy permanently? The more I thought about that young nigga last night the more I realise how satisfactory Marc is as a pleasure slave. And if it's true, as you allege, that I cannot afford a replacement....." "No, Highness. He will not be permanently affected. But it is important that all the other slaves learn the consequences of disobedience. He will scream, at first in terror, then in supplication to you to save him, and finally with the total, pure pain that he is experiencing. It will be a lesson to all the slaves, but he will not be permanently damaged in that he will still produce semen, and will still be a man - or, at least, half a man. But never again will he risk your displeasure." "Quite, Steve. So let it begin." I suppose I'd felt a bit guilty in not telling Marc that he was not to be crucified, but had he known that his reactions as the guards half dragged, half carried him out of the cage in which he'd been transported to the yard might not have been as authentic. Two other slaves had been recruited to carry the heavy crosspiece of the cross, which they now lowered to the ground, but to add to Marc's terror the heavy spikes that were supposedly going to be used to skewer him to it had been packed in his cage with him - even though the cage was very small, one could not help noticing that Marc had somehow managed to twist his body so that he totally avoided touching them. When he saw the upright of cross that stood at the back of the stage, as I had anticipated Marc's screams of terror began, turning into the most heart-wrenching pleas for mercy as he saw the Sheikh sitting there in his cart observing. Those of you who think about these things probably think that you can only remove a slave's testicle if he is lying down. But of course all you need is a very sharp scalpel and free access to the slave's sac, and this can as easily be accomplished when he is standing as when he is lying. Consequently we were able to proceed as if we were about to crucify Marc - the two guards holding his writhing body wrestled him to the ground by the crosspiece and threw the weight of their bodies onto him so that he was unable to move. They tied his wrists and his biceps to the cross piece with leather thongs, and I heard them tell Marc that the spikes would only be hammered through his wrists once all was properly in place - fresh information that Marc did not want to hear, as his pleadings to the Sheikh now became hysterical. He couldn't stand unaided, and when the guards did pick up the cross piece so he could get to his feet, when they let it go the weight of forced his body to bend as he stood there, the absolute picture of misery. He had to be helped to climb the steps up onto the platform, and then the guards had to raise the cross piece once more to latch it into the upright. With the weight of his body suspended from his arms, Marc's cries did at least cease as he found it too difficult to breathe, but once his feet had been lashed to the upright and he could get some purchase to relieve the tension on his body, they started again. As a gesture to the fact that he was an "indoor" slave and not one of the common field coffles, Marc had so far been allowed to wear the normal indoor slave shorts, but now, at a gesture from me, the guards literally tore these off him so he hung there totally naked - a lot of the niggas watching had not seen a white cock before, and those in the front rows muttered appreciatively at the sight, well at least until the lashes of the guards once more made them silent. I had got our usual veterinarian to perform the semi-castration as I did not want to cause Marc unnecessary suffering (or risk damage to the Sheikh's valuable property), so he now approached to begin. I think Marc thought he was going there to make sure he was all right before the spikes were driven in, and his pleadings to the Sheikh for mercy now turned into abject supplications to the vet to save him. The man knew what he was doing, though, as he produced a very thin, very sharp steel needle (so thin you only really knew it was there because of the way it glinted in the sun). He took a pinch of Marc's belly flesh between his thumb and forefinger, and in one deft gesture managed to grab Marc's cock, push it up so it lay against his belly, then skewered through it and the pinch of flesh he had so that Marc's cock was held there. Yes, I know it mush have hurt, but the needle was very thin and I think Marc's shouts were excessive - and as he began to piss in sheer terror and his piss fountained up his body before running down his flesh, the niggas began to laugh. The vet continued, though, not distracted by this - he was rolling Marc's balls around in his hand and tugging them down, stretching his sac. It was interesting to observe how he used his thumb and forefinger of one hand then to keep the balls in the bottom of Mac's sac (as presumably otherwise they would have retreated upwards, as we know balls do when there's a problem!), and then, almost quicker than we could see, how his scalpel sliced up the rear of the sac. Marc's screams of pain stopped abruptly as he threw up, the vomit narrowly missing the vet. But he was not distracted, and I saw one of the pinkish-white balls pulled out of the sac, the "cords" carrying the body fluids and so on stretched, and then neatly severed by a second stroke of the scalpel. The vet flipped the grisly thing into one of those silver dishes they use, reached into his pocket to get the artificial testicle, popped it into the sac, and then, as all of us continued to watch in stunned silence, he calmly and quietly proceeded to attach surgical clips to the back of Marc's sac to close up the opening. The whole thing can't have taken more than two minutes, at the most. Marc's cries and pleas to the Sheikh for mercy had now turned into a constant crying - no, wailing, rather - as he was evidently hurting, and hurting very badly. I signalled to the guards who were carrying the heavy metal spikes and the large hammer that accompanies them, and as they came forward towards the cross Marc began to shout to the Sheikh for mercy once more. At a gesture from the Sheikh I approached the cross and spoke quietly to Marc, telling him that on this occasion, and this occasion only, his owner had decided to be merciful and he was not to be nailed up. "You will however hang here all day in the sun, and you will find it very painful: the weight of your body pulling down on your shoulders affects your rib cage, and it becomes difficult to breathe. You will try to push upwards with your feet to give yourself a breath, but we have bound them to the upright in such a way that you cannot exert much leverage - you will only get some momentary relief, before you have to begin the cycle again. And all the time there will be that pain in your balls - or, rather, from where one of your balls used to be." I paused for a moment for dramatic effect, then continued "But let there be no mistake, Marc: your owner has taken one of your testicles, as a warning and as a punishment. If you are ever disloyal to him again, in even the slightest degree, you will be back on this cross. But next time the spikes will skewer your wrists and your feet, and you will hang here until you die." He managed to stop sobbing for a moment, and I saw all the muscles in his body flexing as he tried to push upwards so he could get enough air to breathe. Then he croaked "Why....?" I laughed. "Marc, you are a slave. You know that. And an owner has total power over you. He owns you, he owns your body. And no owner can tolerate disobedience from a slave - you yourself have seen how we cane, and ultimately whip, slaves here who do not obey. But disloyalty is worse, far, far worse: we can see when a slave is being disobedient, and take corrective action. Disloyalty however begins in the brain, and is concealed until it manifests itself. At even the merest suspicion of disloyalty, a prudent owner therefore takes the strongest action possible to root it out and ruthlessly suppress it. You are lucky indeed that he still favours you - any other slave here who was plotting against his owner would be on the cross as you are, but would now be dying." He writhed again, and managed to say "It's not fair...." "Fair? Fair?...." My voice rose in exasperation. "What's 'fair' when you're a slave, and were disloyal to your owner? Let me tell you, Marc, that in spite of enjoying your body, and in spite of your cost, the Sheikh was nevertheless planning to have you crucified properly as a warning to others. It is only me who managed to persuade him that the punishment we have devised here is a sufficient warning to the other slaves - none of them want to risk castration! And to them, it seems that the veterinarian has removed both your testicles. As it is, in his mercy, your owner has left you with some of the powers of a man - he intends to breed you, I believe, and you will be perfectly capable of producing progeny with only one testicle. And aesthetically you will still look like a man - indeed, your already impressive equipment may even be enhanced as we have arranged for the prosthetic testicle that has been fitted to be larger and heavier than the one it replaced, so it will hang and swing more vigorously." I paused for breath. "That's what I call 'fair', actually. You are left with your life, and your manhood, in spite of committing the most heinous act of which a slave can be guilty." I did not give him chance to reply further, and instead turned to address the assembled niggas. "Your owner, his Highness, has generously decided that the slave's life should be spared. However the will hang here all day in the broiling sun, and as you go off to your toils, and return from them, you can observe him. Inspect his manhood, lying in the dish, and reflect: do you wish to be unmanned like him? If not, work hard and loyally." Not allowing any time for response, I then strode down and gave orders to the overseers and guards to begin the normal business of the day. Later that night I was summoned into the Sheikh's presence. I stood there respectfully, and he looked at me sternly. "I am pleased with you, Steve, he finally said. "You solved a potentially very difficult problem with my favourite slave in a way that appears to be satisfactory for all. I went to see him in the cells earlier on, and other than the kind of whimpering and snivelling that you expect from a slave who has been physically damaged like that, there was no problem." "It was extremely well done, and I am pleased with you. Had it not been for your disloyalty, you would have deserved a fine bonus." "Highness, as I have tried to explain to you, it was not disloyalty - I needed to visit my home....." "Your home is here. What finer things could a man want, than to be in my service here in the palace? You have no need of more home than that!" "But Highness, I wanted to see my son - he is fifteen now, nearing his sixteenth birthday, and I have hardly seen him as he was growing up. I only intended a short visit, to renew my acquaintance with him, and to make sure that he is set on the right path as he approaches manhood. I had not been a good father, always away - it wasn't always my fault, as my bitch of an ex-wife would not allow me the free access that a man needs to his son.... But I wanted at least to see him whilst he was still nominally at least not yet a man....." The Sheikh eyed me carefully, as if weighing up the truth of what I was saying. "So it was intended only o be a short visit. And you want to be near your son, your son who is almost sixteen....?" "Yes, Highness..." I felt pleasure, no, almost joy beginning to creep over me. Perhaps the Sheikh had understood after all. Perhaps he was going to let me go. But just as quickly a these thoughts had arisen, my hopes were dashed when he simply remarked "Well all that's in your past. You are now a slave now, and, as you know, slavery is for life. It would not set a good example to the others were I to set you free - it might raise hopes in the other slaves that they too might regain their freedom, something I could never allow given their cost, and the need to keep the demesne running." "But Highness, please, perhaps I could be allowed a visit to see my son...." "Of course not. It is inconceivable that you should leave the demesne. Slaves are not allowed to travel - you know that." I could see that argument was futile, and turned o go. "I do not think that the slave Marc is suitable for my bed tonight, Steve", the Sheikh added. "He would continue his snivelling and whining, I feel certain. And after being caged in the cells all that time, he is probably not clean and wholesome. Put a cleaning and exercise programme in place for him, starting immediately. By the time that scar has healed he should then be ready for me again." "Yes, Highness." "...and in the interim, I suppose I had better use that young nigga you found for me - he has not returned to the drays, has he?" "No, Highness. He is being kept in readiness for you...." "You anticipate everything, Steve! That is why you are so invaluable as a slave! Have him brought to my bedchamber, and I suppose you had better be there too, given that he is relatively unbroken." I have to admit that I did find it very erotic to again see the young nigga "riding" the Sheikh's cock. Like all slaves who had been selected for dray work he was heavily muscled, and tall - and yet, on his young body, the muscles seemed to work very well. He had very long thighs, and as he raised and lowered himself I got exhilarating glimpses of the flexing and extending of the muscles there. Of course he wasn't perfect - I always think that having the soles of the slave's feet so very different in colour from the rest of him is rather aesthetically unsatisfying - it's not normally a problem for field slaves and drays and ponies of course, as you only get occasional brief views of their soles, and the feet are mostly covered in dirt and dust anyway, so masking it. But when a slave is performing sexually, especially when he's in the "riding" position, the soles of the feet are very obvious to someone like me who had little else to do but to observe. Still, he was well behaved in every other way - he even appeared to be relatively enthusiastic about the Sheikh's cock, although given its relatively small size and the thickness of the guy's ass muscles before you got to his hole, it can hardly have made much of an entry! I think he was actually pleased at being "rescued" from life as a dray, and was hoping that if he put in a good performance he might become the Sheikh's permanent bed partner. A brief smile played over my lips as I thought how disappointed he was going to be when Marc resumed his normal place next week. Still, it occurred to me that I could make good use of this man myself - he'd make a nice change from Jason - or, perhaps, I might make it known to Jason that in future his role was to be fucked by me always, but that he could use the young dray for his relief afterwards, if he so wished. Yes - the more I thought about it, the more that seemed to be a good plan - I liked fucking Jason, and the idea that his pleasure was then dependent on my continuing goodwill was actually rather exciting. The Sheikh liked to keep his pleasure slaves with him all night, so usually when I was attending one of these sessions there was not much sleep for me. But after he'd given a great sigh and had clearly shot his load up the young nigga, he dismissed the man with a wave of his hand, and then told me that I could go, too. I thought of going back and fucking Jason, as I had been rather aroused by the sight of the nigga (if not by the less enjoyable sigh of the Sheikh's flabby body!). But then a better idea occurred to me, and I told the nigga to follow me to my own Spartan quarters. He didn't seem to mind when I ordered him to lie on his back and then curl up and get his feet as near to his shoulders as he could - I intended to fuck him with me standing over him, my cock drilling down into his exposed hole, but once he was in position and had pulled his butt apart on my command, I was rather revolted by the sight of the Sheikh's cum dribbling out. I'm not a prude sexually and normally I don't mind things like that - after all cum is perfectly natural - but I suppose I'm used to seeing proper "manly" cum - thick and white, and lots of it,. The Sheikh's pathetic dribble was somehow mean and pathetic, and I found it was actually turning me off. It's a tough call, I know - whether to have a nice pre-lubed hole, or whether to have a sweetly clean one, and on this occasion I decided on the latter. So as stripped my clothes off and lay on my bed, I ordered the nigga to go and clean himself out thoroughly. There's something rather luxurious, isn't there, to lie stretched out, in your own bed? I put my hands be against the wall behind my head and stretched and stretched. I rubbed my toes together, relishing the sensation of having all the muscles in my body good and taut. Life seemed good, at least for the moment in spite of the disappointment earlier in the afternoon when I knew I was never going to be released, and my cock sprang to attention as I lay there savouring the moment, anticipating the return of the nigga and the satisfaction I would undoubtedly have from his lithe body. ______________________________________________________ I suppose my life resorted to some sort of equilibrium for the next few weeks. Once Marc's scar had healed somewhat, he returned to the Sheikh's favours and, more importantly, to his bed. The Sheikh felt so confident of his control over Marc now that he no longer needed me to be there to orchestrate matters, so I once again had the nights free for myself. Although I did enjoy fucking the young dray, Jason remained my favourite nigh time occupation, especially as now I was in control once more it was his ass that was waiting for my cock at night. It also gave me a special pleasure to reserve Jason as "my" pony, so that as I drove him around on my normal business I had the satisfaction seeing his truly spectacular muscles, knowing that in a few short hours I would have full and unrestricted access to it. It's somehow especially satisfying to "tease" the straining butt of a slave who's serving you as a pony with your whip, knowing that a little later you're going to see the traces of the whip marks as you plunge your cock in. Jason hated it! Not so much being a pony, though- he was used to being a pony now - but he simply couldn't reconcile himself to the fact that it was me, and me alone, who now decided when we'd fuck - and of course it was always me doing the fucking! When I was a free man I had of course used him this way, forcing him to have sex with me, but once I was a pony working alongside him and sleeping in the same stable, Jason had "reverted to type" and his stronger, younger body had been able to overpower me. Now the tables were turned once more, as I could use Jason as I wanted. To be able to use Jason in this way I had to persuade the Sheikh that he didn't need Jason as a a pony, and with a little manipulation I managed it - I "sold" him on the idea that having a really tall, young pony meant that he did not need to even consider sparing the ship (not that I think he actually "spared" his ponies much anyway!), and so the young black nigga was reassigned from the drays to this role. He actually seemed to like it, although I made it better for him by allowing him to sleep with the drays at night rather than being shackled in a single stall as would of course be the way for a pony normally. I had decided, though, that I didn't like sleeping in the stables; so on the nights when I just needed to fuck and didn't want to lie wrapped around Jason all night, I used to ensure that he and the young nigga were stabled together so that Jason could fuck him. Look, it wasn't like being "free", but life was pretty good - I suppose the only real difference was that I now occupied the small, mean room in the slave quarters rather than my former luxurious suite, but otherwise everything was much the same - I ran the estate, effectively gave orders to the overseers and guards, and so on. Sure the money was no longer piling up in my bank account, but then I'd never had any need for it when I was at work anyway - as I've told you, it was just something I saw on the bank statements from the Swiss bank every month, and to a certain extent it wasn't "real" even then. So the fact that I was no longer earning was of relatively little importance. Look, you can have a pretty good life if you're doing a job you like, you have lots of opportunity to exercise, and when there's as much sex as you want, whenever you want it! I guess a lot of guys might be envious of me, actually - I mean, even though I was a slave, what's "freedom" actually? I didn't have worries and cares about money or anything, and I now knew that the Sheikh relied on me so much that I was in absolutely no danger of being sold, or even punished harshly. Over the next few months my life settled into a not unpleasant routine - I was gradually getting the palace back into shape, and as I did so the "work" load on me diminished. Jason seemed to becoming around, too, and once he learned that being fucked by me was inevitable, he got to accept it - especially as he then knew that I would let him sleep in my room, in a comfortable bed, rather than on the straw in the stables. Once it became clear that he was going to behave, I even relented and had his snout ring removed - although it does enhance the appearance of a pony, I think, it's a dammed nuisance when you're in bed and want to kiss. I suppose I realised I was employing double standards - as a pony myself I hated the snout ring, but as a driver I appreciated the look of it and the control it gave me over my pony! Jason at once tried to push the envelope and asked if he could have his "pony" hair cut into a proper marine's crop, as I had done to my own. But I actually quite liked the Mohican effect on top, and over the months as we had allowed his hair to grow at the back, it now looked very appealing when it was neatly plaited - as he ran along it bounced up and down, slapping the top of his back and emphasising the sweat that there always was there. So I refused to allow any change here, and I insisted he kept his nipple rings, too - as I've told you, I found them quite erotic on myself, and I liked seeing them on Jason too (although it may have been more of a problem for him, I suppose, as he did so much running, whereas for most of the day my rings were snug inside my polo shirt). And, of course, I kept the cinch banding and ball band on him: again, whenever he thought I was in a good mood he'd try to wheedle me into agreeing to have these removed, but I knew better; it really was in his own best interests to have some form of restraint like this for his genitals, and I kept reminding him about how he could basically forget them: a naked guy, after all, is always worried about getting his balls trapped when he sits down, doesn't he? I'd had a serious discussion with the Sheikh, too, about Marc's attire. It really was not suitable to have a young slave like him wearing longish "free man" shorts, and polo shirts. He needed to be constantly reminded of his status, I argued, and that I should be the only slave on the place privileged to look like a free man (well, at least when I had my shorts and polo on - once I stripped off to shower after a run, or went into the pool, the brand and my name tattooed across my shoulders made it perfectly apparent what my real status was). So now Marc was dressed properly for a slave: one of the brief tunics when he was in the palace, so that his genitals and ass were always easily accessible should his owner wish to fondle him, and when he accompanied his owner around the estate, properly brief slave shorts. There was one area that was a concern, though: the Sheikh's nephew, locked inside the old harem quarters. He was in fact the Sheikh's heir, too, and I was worried that should the Sheikh die - perhaps as he fucked Marc just a little too vigorously - then the nephew would inherit the entire demesne (including all the slaves, which included me, of course!). I knew he had a grudge against me for revealing the plot he and Marc were hatching against his uncle, and I feared very much that he would take revenge on me once he owned me. I decided therefore to try to "build bridges" to him, and so, in my role as chief of the Sheikh's slave, went to "call" on him in the harem. Physically he had it good in there - the harem had been designed to house about thirty of a previous sheikh's women, and now the nephew was the sole permanent occupant he therefore had the choice of many rooms to live in. There was a big ornamental pool in the centre of the complex, open to the sky, and although it was hardly big enough to swim a proper "length" in, he could at least do some exercise in it if he wished. The primary problem, I suppose, is that there was no "outside" awareness - all the rooms looked inwards onto the enclosed courtyard and pool, and the patch of sky above the pool was the only "external" sight. His uncle had compounded this feeling of isolation by ensuring that there was no TV or phone or anything, and by restricting the supply of books to be "holy tracts" where he could read of the good works of the assorted prophets and jujus that they believed in. When I went in he immediately began to demand additional stuff - he commanded me to get a TV connected, to bring newspapers, and so on. I had to apologise, saying that I was not able to obey his orders as his uncle had specifically commanded otherwise. He changed tack then, and went on "Well you are supposedly the head slave, so you can at least ensure that the slaves sent to serve me in here are suitable!" I thought I ought to appear to be humble and bowed low. "Excellency, if the slaves are not performing satisfactorily, I can have them disciplined....." "That is not the problem. They perform their assigned tasks satisfactorily, but they do not please me." "Excellency, if they displease you, then they should still be disciplined. The palace slaves are supposed to perform their duties willingly, to make life pleasant for your uncle and his guests...." I could see that I was not making progress, judging from the anger in his eyes, as he cut across me. "You idiot! The problem is that the slaves in here are all females.... That in itself could just be borne as fucking a female ass is not all that different from a proper male one. But the slaves are all old - I cannot be expected to have sex with slaves old enough to be my mother!" "Excellency, I am sorry, but it is your uncle's orders. He specifically ordered that services in this part of the palace are to be carried out by some of the worn-out breeding females." "Well at least have one or two of the young servants sent in occasionally...." "I am sorry, excellency. But I am the only male slave allowed into the harem, on your uncle's express orders." He glared at me, and snapped "Well then, strip!" He saw me hesitate, and roared "Are you stupid, boy? You heard me! Strip! Unclothe! Disrobe! I have been deprived of the sight of a proper body for too long, and if you are the only male slave allowed in here, then you will need to serve me." "Excellency, I'm not sure...." "So, Steve, in addition to already displeasing me greatly and making a rift between my uncle and me, you are going to defy me now, are you? You dare to disobey a free man's orders?" "No, excellency. But your uncle...." "My uncle is not here, Steve." He paused for a moment, and continued "...and he will not, of course, be here for ever. He is an old man....." I understood the menace in his words, and reluctantly pulled my polo shirt over my head. His eyes bore in to me as I unbuttoned my shorts and let them fall to the ground, and then stepped out of them. "You are in good shape, Steve. Not perhaps quite as firmly muscled as when you were serving as a pony, but good enough, nevertheless." As he said this he stood up and came and stood behind me, so close that I could feel his hot breath on my back. Then his hands were resting on my shoulders, and he began to move them down in that way that men do when they are inspecting a fine piece of male flesh. They rested on my butt for several seconds, before "testing" my long thighs and then fondling my rigid calves, as if adsorbing an impression of my power and strength. Like all slaves, I hated the way a free man like him could so casually appraise my body in this way, just as if he had a right to (although, of course, he did have that right - I was "property", and like a sleek car or something, an owner could run his hands over it if he wanted). He stood in front of me then, and murmured "Excellent! Were it not for that tattoo and brand, I could believe I was about to enjoy a free man." I felt one hand resting on the top of my butt on my spine, and his other running down over my belly as if his fingers were counting the hard ridges of muscle. Then he had my cock in his hand, pushed his face down onto my pecs, and began to taste my skin there, his tongue licking and slurping over my skin and his lips holding and teasing my nip rings so that I shuddered and squirmed. "Excellency, no.....", I began. His sensual exploration of me instantly stopped. "You do not give orders to me, boy! You are a slave, remember? Now, get down on your hands and knees as I have been too long without sexual relief." End Of Part Thirteen.