Date: Mon, 16 Jul 2007 09:37:12 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Instrument, Part Two

THE INSTRUMENT

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part Two


The Sheikh had come down to the interrogation room and
I bowed low in obeisance to him as I entered.  It's a
very simple room, really - you don't need a lot of
complex equipment if you're going to inflict some
"encouragement" on men to get them to tell you things.
 One end of the room was divided from the rest by a
set of floor to ceiling bars, with a barred gate in
it, behind which were six well set-up guys standing
there looking defiant and dressed in soiled, scrappy
shirts, jeans and desert boots.  I smiled inwardly -
men who look defiant like that are generally brittle:
push at them hard, and sooner or later they snap, and
you have them.  Men who hide their emotions are much
more difficult, as they "bend" more and are
substantially harder to break.

The Sheikh took me by the left biceps and pulled me to
one side (he enjoys touching my body, and it's not at
all uncharacteristic of him to use an opportunity like
this to once again feel my hard muscle).

"They are no doubt Western spies", he told me.  "I
know it, and they know I know it.  But  I want to hear
it from their own mouths.  I want to hear them confess
to coming to my country to spy on me.  And I rely on
you, Steve, to ensure that they are properly humbled
so that they are able to be honest with me in that
way.  But they are not to be permanently harmed - they
are good specimens, and once broken will fetch a good
price in the market.  There is a fashion for
Westerners at the moment, and it will amuse me to see
my colleagues scrabbling to acquire one of these."

"Yes, Highness.  How long  do I have?  As you know,
with a group of men like this, it can be very
effective to break them slowly - do one today, then
allow the others some time for contemplation, before
taking a second one....."

"Use your own judgement, Steve.  I am having a banquet
next week and it would be good to have them available
for me to distribute as gifts then.  And whilst I do
not presume to tell you how to do your job as usually
you are a reliable instrument to carry out my wishes,
there is one of them who is of particular interest to
me - the tall, lean one who is currently at the back.
If it were possible to leave him 'unbroken' as you
have worked  your usual magic on the others first,
that would be good:  I rather think I will keep that
one for my personal use, and, as you know, I enjoy
deflowering new slaves myself - well, at least I enjoy
using big men like him for the first time.  I am
indeed fortunate to have you as my instrument to train
young slaves up to a satisfactory standard initially."

"I understand, Highness.  The tall one - you mean the
dark haired one, the one who is kind of slouching and
looking relaxed, unlike the others who are of course
worried and tense?"

"Exactly so.  The one with the blue eyes, like yours.
It might be amusing for me to have two dark, blue-eyed
men at my disposal."

"But he will be a slave, Highness.... You can't
compare him to me."    I felt I needed to say this, as
I like to remind my employer that I am not a slave,
but a free man.  He sometimes treats me as if I were a
slave, and, I suppose, a lot of the time anyone seeing
me in action might be led to believe that this was my
status:  as my employer's instrument to punish and
train slaves I often perform acts in front of his
guests which, often, would be performed by slaves.
And clearly if I am fucking  slaves as an after dinner
entertainment, or using them for sexual gratification
generally, I will be exposed to the gaze of others in
a way which is not normal for a free man.  But it goes
with the job, I suppose, and, after all, I've got
nothing to be ashamed of - my body is hard and tough
and the envy of almost every man who sees it, and my
cock and balls are nicely in proportion to my tall
body and always attract envious looks from the less
well endowed.  But it is important to keep in the
Sheikh's mind that I am a free man - although I do
sometimes wonder just how "free" I am:   sure, I'm not
caged, or made to work in a coffle, I don't wear a
collar, and the skin on my butt is smooth as I'm not
branded.  On the other hand, when  I first came here
five years ago they took away my passport "for safe
keeping", so I'd have to ask for it back before I
could leave, and the last time I suggested that I went
on a vacation back home, the Sheikh simply said that
he needed me and that vacation time would be added to
the final payment at the end of my contract.  Not that
I have a contract, as such: we agreed a rate of pay
before I came, and that was it.  I was told that I'd
be fed, clothed and housed in addition to my salary,
which was tax free, so it looked like a fantastic
deal.  And they say my money's paid into a Swiss
account every month, and they show me the account
statement if I ask, but I've no real way of getting at
the money.  Still, I am a free man, not a slave, and
it never hurts to remind the Sheikh.

"Oh  I can compare two men, Steve", the Sheikh said,
smiling.  "I am of course very familiar with your body
from the many times I have seen you acting as my
training and punishment instrument.  And when that new
man is stripped, I don't doubt that I will make
comparisons.  But, as you say, he will likely be
enslaved for his crimes, and as a slave I will have
further opportunities for exploring his body,
opportunities that I have refrained from taking with
you."

I winced inwardly - he might think that he'd
"refrained from taking  opportunities to explore my
body", but in the course of my duties I'd many times
been in total intimacy with him:  for example, as I
restrained a slave so the Sheikh could fuck him, and
then fucked the slave immediately afterwards so that
it was not the Sheikh's undiluted semen that dripped
out of him; or when  I fucked one of the young slaves
as the Sheikh lay beside us watching, as he was too
tired to perform the act himself.  How much more
"exploration" of my body did he think was possible?  I
shuddered inwardly again, as, of course, he'd never
fucked me.  I'd many times been there, restraining a
slave as the Sheikh ponderously manoeuvred his massive
body to enter him, and had become totally familiar
with his overweight, out of condition flesh as he took
his pleasure.  And although the Sheikh's fat fingers
had explored my own body, testing my musculature
generally, and particularly relishing the sensation as
he felt my cock and balls before I fucked one of the
slaves, he had never attempted to actually force his
cock between my muscular butt cheeks.    I couldn't
help but feel sorry for the tall handsome guy as he
stood there in the cage, knowing that the Sheikh had
decided to take him and that one day soon I would be
restraining him as the Sheikh's cock battered its way
into his hole.

As I mused on, I realised I'd just had a very relevant
thought:  the Sheikh had decided!  So it didn't matter
whether these men were spies or not! My job as to make
them "confess", and they would be enslaved.  And even
if they didn't confess, they'd be enslaved anyway as
the Sheikh had total and absolute power here.  He
could enslave these men because he wanted their
bodies, wanted to present them as gifts to his
colleagues, wanted to fuck the tall guy....  And I
shuddered again, because as he could do those things
to these men, he could, I suppose, do it to me too.
There was no law, no concept of ""rights" that would
prevent him:  he was the absolute ruler here in the
kingdom.

I think he saw me thinking, as with a tinge of
impatience he now said "I have little time this
morning, Steve, but I am in need of stimulation.  You
may begin to break one of the prisoners."

I took a closer look at the men as they clustered
there in the cage, and went over to the bars.  "Who is
in command here?", I demanded.

I get used to "reading" men like this, and, as I
suspected it would be, it was a slightly older,
well-built guy who responded "We are illegal
prisoners.  We demand to be released.  We...."

"Oh shut up", I said calmly.  "You and I both know
that you are soldiers, here on some sort of
clandestine spying mission.  And as you have broken
the laws of this country you are being held as
prisoners.  And I take it that as you answered, you
are in fact in command.  Are you an officer?"

"If we are prisoners, and if we are soldiers, as you
believe, then we are only required to give our names,
and our serial numbers."

"...and your ranks, if you are claiming to be military
prisoners.  Now, I ask you again - are you the officer
in charge of these men?"

He stood there, defiantly silent.  I faced him for a
few seconds, then said calmly "If I do not get you
name, rank and serial number, then we will assume you
are not soldiers, but common criminals, and will send
you off to the city jail with the regular felons...."

"Joe Kalowski.  Sergeant.  4387029."

"Thank you, sergeant.  And you are in command of this
patrol?"    He nodded,

"Very well.  Select which of your men I should
interrogate first."

"You have no right!  We're military prisoners.  I
demand...."

"Select one, sergeant, or I will pick one."

"You have no right...."

He saw we shrug, as if I really didn't care.  Well, I
do care, actually - it's always best to begin with the
guy in charge, as once the other men have seen what
happens to him, they're more likely to break.  My
strategy is to start with the guy in charge, then, in
the second session, to select a guy who looks really
tough.  And then to tell them all that in the third
session I'll be choosing another one of them - and
tell them which one, always picking a weaker one.
Usually that does the trick - after he's seen two
sessions, the weak one is usually ready to confess
when I appear the next day to begin work on him!

I went closer to the bars, and appeared to be
inspecting the men, as if deciding.  Then I called to
the guards "Get your stunners ready, and come and open
the cage.", adding for the benefit of the prisoners,
"The stunners are an adaptation of tazer technology.
I would advise you to behave, and avoid the necessity
of having the guards use one on you."

"Now, which one.....", I said again, as if selecting.

"Take me, you bastard!", the sergeant snapped, and I
smiled inwardly.

The guards manoeuvred him out of the cage, and locked
the gate behind him.  He stood in front of me, looking
defiant.  "Remove all your clothes", I said quietly.

"I'm not required....", he began.  But I was of course
expecting this, and he never completed the sentence.
My fist slammed in to his gut, totally winding him,
and he staggered backwards.  He recovered, though, and
came for me, fists in an attacking pose.

Look, I always win these initial encounters.  For one
thing, I'm prepared and they aren't.  And for another,
I've been specially trained in the marines to "fight
rough" (training they don't give to ordinary grunts as
they're too busy teaching them to "respect" the local
population, to "understand the sensibilities of those
you are protecting", and all the other crap).   So I
won't bore you with the details of how I
scientifically and ruthlessly beat him up - being
careful, of course, not to spoil his features or
damage him permanently; but inflicting enough pain to
make him realise that he needed to obey me.

Finally I hauled him to his feet and he stood in front
of me, breathing hard and clearly in some distress.
"Right, Joe.... Want another dose? Or are you going to
do as you're told?"  Before he could answer me, I gave
him a way out so he could obey without losing face in
front of his men "We need your clothes for examination
- we know that soldiers sometimes carry concealed
weaponry."

Slowly and reluctantly he unbuttoned his tattered
shirt and let it fall to the floor, then bent over to
unlace his desert boots, and pulled them and his socks
off.   I nodded approvingly, but said nothing as he
then looked at me, realised I was serious, and undid
his belt, pulled down his zip and let the combat
trousers he was wearing fall to the floor.  He stepped
forward out of them, and stood there in front of me
now wearing only khaki-coloured cotton boxer shorts.

"When I said  'remove your clothes', I meant all your
clothes", I said calmly.  For an instant he looked
very defiant, but perhaps realised that his situation
now was even more hopeless than before - with his
desert boots on he might have hoped to kick out at me
and inflict some sort of injury, but now he had no
chance.  Slowly, and reluctantly, his hands went down
and his thumbs pushed at the elastic waistband of the
boxers, and he let them fall to the floor.

He had a good body, actually - I guessed he was in his
early forties, and he had that layer additional flesh
that men sometimes put on around that age - still
physically fit, but no longer perfect.  His torso was
smothered in dark, curly hairs that spread on down
across his belly to a huge patch of pubic hair that
stretched across his groin, and partially concealed
his cock and balls - a cock that was, I noted,
uncircumcised.  How very foolish of his officers to
send men on a clandestine mission to this country
without arranging for their foreskins to be removed -
if they were to have any hope at all of posing as
natives, how did they expect to use a public urinal,
or fuck a local woman, or do any of the other things
that men do where their cocks are exposed to the gaze
of others?  Like so many men who are on missions to
the desert, he was deeply tanned on his lower arms and
calves, with a lighter tan all over his torso and
upper arms.  His lower belly, butt and thighs were
pure white, though, and I thought he looked faintly
ridiculous with such a contrast in his skin above and
below the belt line.  Still, no matter - when he was
enslaved, all this would be corrected.

I told the guards to pull the "horse" out into the
centre of the room - it is of course very important
that the other men have a good view of what was about
to happen to him - and once in position, they "herded"
him, threatening him with their stunners, until he was
standing in front of it.  I gripped his neck firmly,
and pushed him down so that his belly was along the
top surface, and then, still exerting pressure on him
so that he was not tempted to move, bent down, pulled
a wrist towards the shackle on the front leg and
snapped it shut, repeating the process with the other
wrist immediately afterwards.

Opinions vary, but I prefer to leave a man's legs
unshackled to the real legs of a horse.  It can make
it easier to fasten both arms and legs, I know, but I
find that the fact that the man can still move his
legs and therefore futilely attempts to do so to
escape from the punishment he is being given, brings
him more quickly to the realisation that he is
powerless.  He was fairly typical as he lay there,
shuffling his feet uneasily, and I went and stood by
his head and ran my fingers through his short,
military-cut hair rather condescendingly.

"You are on a punishment horse, Jim", I said quietly.
Quietly enough so that it was clear that I was
authoritative and in command, but not so quiet that
the watching men could not all hear.  "You will
experience pain here, pain such as you have probably
not known before.  And it will continue, until you
reveal all to us."  Actually, that's not true.  Beyond
a certain point there's no point in continuing to beat
a man's body as it only serves to destroy the flesh
and if he is determined not to speak, he will not.
But as a threat, it sounds good.  And, as I have
explained, I did not expect to "break" the sergeant -
he was merely an example, an assistance in showing his
men what would happen to them.

"You've no right....", he  began.

"Oh yes we have, Joe!  We have the right given to us
by the exercise of power.  The power that stronger men
have over weaker ones.  The power that my employer has
to direct affairs in his kingdom as he sees fit.  You
are about to experience that power in action."

"I demand my rights as a prisoner of war..."

"We are not at war.  You are not a prisoner of war,
therefore.  You are a felon in this country...."

"I haven't been tried!  How can I be guilty of
anything..."

"...because our ruler, the Sheikh, has decided that
you are guilty.  We do not need tedious legal
procedures to demonstrate that.  He has decreed it.
Now, before we begin, are you going to tell us all the
details of your mission?"

"Fuck you!!" he shouted.  And, of course, I smiled
inwardly as in not so many minutes it would in fact
him who would be fucked.

Although it's not strictly necessary, I prefer to
"warm up" the butt of the man I am about to humiliate.
 And, when there's an audience as we had now, it does
of course add to the general humiliation and
apprehension that they will experience.  I don't use a
punishment cane - those are reserved for when the pain
itself is the object of the exercise, for instance
when a disobedient slave is being punished.  Instead I
use a leather flogging strap, about three inches wide
and just under two feet long on the end of its
polished hardwood handle:  flicked at the
unfortunate's butt it really hurts, but does not leave
semi-permanent marks as the cane does.  The victim
ends up with a very red, very painful, butt, but there
is no possibility of breaking the skin.

I went and stood by the man's butt, and draped the
leather end of the flogging strap over his buttocks,
allowing it to linger there for a few seconds, and
lodge in the prominent cleft between the cheeks.  He
moved his legs uneasily as I did this, and began
blaspheming and swearing, but I ignored him to show
him that all such pleadings were useless: it was now
his destiny to be used for my purposes.  The remaining
men in the cage had gone silent through all of this,
but as I raised my arm for the first stroke, and as it
hit and the sergeant screamed, their voices too joined
in the general mayhem.

It's generally acknowledged that because of all the
practice I get I'm something of an expert with the
cane and flogging strap.  And I saw the Sheikh's eyes
glittering with anticipation and excitement as, acting
as his instrument, I systematically reddened the white
buttocks in front of me -  I know that he would like
to do this task himself, as sometimes, in bed, he
enjoys slapping the ass of young slave boys; but of
course it would be improper for a ruler such as him to
actually do it in front of others, and so I act as his
agent, his instrument.  I carried on the strapping of
the sergeant,  sometimes beating one buttock,
sometimes the other, and sometimes laying the stroke
across both.  It's also important to vary the tempo,
of course, so that the man can't anticipate the
arrival of the next blow and thus the suspense is
heightened - it makes it much worse for the victim
when you do not rain down blows one after the other,
but halt periodically and allow the leather of the
strap to slide across his flesh, before restarting the
beating proper.

After his great shout when my first blow struck,  the
sergeant had gone resolutely silent, although I could
tell by the way his whole body jerked as if not
totally under his control, and the way he shuffled his
feet between strokes, that he was in very considerable
discomfort from my attentions.  But, as you probably
know, these things build up, and after about ten
strokes he began to shout as each successive blow
struck, each time starting with a shout as the leather
stung his butt, and then, perhaps to show his anger,
or perhaps to cover up his shame at having cried out
again, a great cry of "fuck!", or "Jesus Christ!".

I continued to thrash him, and as his ass got more and
more tender and the blows hurt him more and more, his
cries and shouts merged into one continuous noise.
His men in the cage seemed too shocked, too stunned,
to do anything other than stand there, gripping the
bars.

The point of this initial beating is to humiliate the
man as much as to hurt him, and personally I am always
eager to progress to his ultimate degradation when his
virgin ass is fucked.  But, as sometimes happens,
there is an intermediate stage, and this occurred on
this occasion:  there was a splashing sound, and I
looked down to see piss hosing from his cock as he had
lost control of his bladder.  I stopped beating him
then, so that his loud cries of pain could subside
into a general sobbing, as he understood that his body
had betrayed him, sobs that sounded all the more
humiliating as they did not drown out the sound of his
piss hosing down.  Fortunately the floor of the
punishment chamber is bare concrete so the piss is no
particular problem, but as he lay there whimpering
quietly to himself I could see his men looking utterly
shocked at what had happened.

I went and stood by his head, and said quietly "So,
Joe, are you now willing to tell us the details of
your mission, or must I proceed to the next stage?"

I have to say I was rather pleased when he stopped his
sobbing and spat out "Fuck you!" again.  It's rare for
anyone to confess of course, but there's always the
possibility that they might and then I am denied the
pleasure of using their ass.

Turning to the men clustered behind the bars, I said
calmly, as if it was the most normal thing in the
world, "Your sergeant has had his rump tenderised, and
the next step in persuading him to speak is to fuck
him.  I assume he is a virgin, so this would be a
painful process at the best of times - but with a red
ass, and with a man like me with a thick, hard cock,
it will be particularly difficult for him.  One of you
men can however help him, if you wish:  we will let
one of you out of the cage so that you can come over
and wank him. You can see his cock and his balls
hanging down invitingly between his thighs as he lies
here, and you can use his spunk to massage his
asshole.  That will ease the passage of my cock
through his passage, so to speak, and will be doing
him a very, very great favour.  Now, which of you
wants to volunteer to help him?"

They seemed speechless, so I went back over to the
sergeant, ran my hands down his butt, slapped it -
hard - as he tried to close his thighs together to
prevent me going further, then stroked his cock as it
hung there.  Not many men can suppress their natural
bodily functions in these circumstances, and the
sergeant's cock began to stiffen and jut forwards
towards the horse.  As it hardened, I pulled it
backwards between his thighs so his cock head was
facing the men in the cage, and his balls were
displayed sandwiched between his cock and the base of
his muscular ass.

I flicked his foreskin back so that his cock head was
fully revealed, glistening  in the light and already
moist from the remains of his impromptu piss - and
perhaps from some pre-cum?  "See", I called out to the
men, "He's ready!  Right on the edge!  Which of you is
going to help out your sergeant?  Surely a group of
men like you must be used to jerking each other off?"

It was amusing to see the men all looking at each
other.  I think one or other of them might have
actually done it, except that I heard some mutterings
of "fag" and  "queer", and they all then remained
silent.

"So be it", I remarked casually.  "Your sergeant is
going to experience his first man on man sex
unprepared!  I hope you men understand what you are
about to make him undergo.  And that tomorrow, when I
move on to the next of you, that you will be  little
more considerate to your fellows."

I undid the button of my shorts and pushed the zip
down, and let them fall to the floor and stepped out
of them.  I left my polo shirt on, as I know the
Sheikh finds it a little more erotic to see the hem of
it just touching the top of the flare of my butt, and
he also likes the view from the front, too - somehow
having a man naked from the waist down is more
exciting, don't you think?  I stroked my cock to
erection - not that it needed much encouragement - and
strode up to the bars of the cage.  "Take a good
look", I told the men, "Imagine this forcing its way
through your sergeant's most secret portal.  And then
think of how he is going to feel as I fuck him.  Have
any of  you ever taken your wives or girlfriends up
the ass?  Did they cry out as you forced yourself in?
Did they scream at you to stop, but perhaps you were
too excited, or too drunk, to do so?"

They shouted things at me like "Bastard!", but I
didn't care.  I slid my foreskin back so that my own
moist cock head appeared.  "I'm ready, as you can see!
 Now, is one of you going to help out your sergeant,
or is my cock here going to batter him asshole with no
prior stretching, and no lubrication other than the
pre-cum which you can see is already preparing me?"

There were lots more cries of "Bastard!" and "Fucker!"
and even worse - men like these seem to prefer
referring to the female genitalia at times like this,
but it seemed none of them was prepared to risk his
fellows thinking he was a fag by actually coming to
his sergeant's aid.  I smiled inwardly, as although
it's much harder work, and in some ways  it's not so
satisfying sexually as feeling the silky smoothness of
a well-lubed hole, there is a certain satisfaction to
be gained from actually truly raping a man, taking him
totally without preparation, when he is utterly unable
to prevent it.

I slapped the sergeant on his beefy butt a couple of
times more to alert him that the ordeal was about to
begin, then reached down and casually pried apart his
butt cheeks.  The curly hair covering a lot of his
body was much in evidence here too, and I suppose
that's kind of exciting - well at least for me it is,
as most of the men I get to fuck at the Sheikh's place
are shaved smooth down there.  It's a bit of "six of
one and half a dozen of the other" as far as I am
concerned, as I think there are merits both ways:  the
rough feel of the hair in one case, and the rather
more silky sensation of a smooth hole in the other.
Mind you, I was beginning to wish that the sergeant
had been shaved down there - he hadn't showered for
some days I guess, and there was a fetid, rank smell
coming up from him.  And  I wasn't too sure, either,
if he had been properly clean when he'd last crapped -
still, no point in worrying about that, is there?
Unless you've given the guy an enema, there's much
more of that waiting for you inside, as we know.

I slapped my hard heavy cock against his butt several
times, and then let it slide up and down his ass crack
as I held it open - my excitement was mounting rapidly
now, but I do like these little hors d'oeuvres to the
main course as it's not only pretty exciting to me,
but it again signals to the other guy that  he is
under my total control and  I can do what I like to
him.  The sergeant was attempting to struggle and free
himself- utterly futile and pointless, of course, and
he was continuing to scream and blaspheme and call me
all the vile names that a career in the military had
taught him.  I slapped his butt a couple more times -
excruciatingly painful, given the tenderising that had
already gone on, but it did nothing to stop him.

My cock was so rigidly hard that I didn't have to use
my hand to position the head on his hole as it lay
there all puckered and dark, surrounded by its fringe
of dark hairs -  I cold just bend my legs a little and
shuffle slightly to one side to position myself
properly so that I was almost "docked" into the
depression in his hole.  My own excitement was almost
unbearable now as the sensitive tip of my cock felt
the warm, moist skin of his pucker.  And there was no
time to waste -  I was positively drooling pre-cum and
I was worried that I might actually climax if I
delayed too long!

Keeping myself kind of positioned properly, I pulled
back a little and then thrust forward very vigorously
indeed so that my cock stabbed at his hole and then
with that rush you get, went in.  The sergeant's
swearing and blaspheming abruptly turned into a loud,
terrible scream as the pain struck him.  I gave him no
time to recover, though, and thrust forward, sinking
my cock deep into him, and feeling the prickle of the
hairs on his butt and thighs rubbing against my own
skin.

I rested there then, revelling in the feeling of power
that I had, and enjoying the way that the muscles in
his hole gripped my cock.  I waited until his cries
and sobs subsided, and then pulled out, and thrust
back in, causing him to start his cries once more.  I
knew that for a strong man like the sergeant, used to
being in charge and giving orders to his men, this
inability to control his own signs of hurt and terror
would be especially humiliating.

It's funny, really - there's an utterly fantastic
delight in actually raping a guy, I always think:
knowing that you're forcing your cock into him when he
absolutely does not want it, and when he's totaly
powerless to prevent you.  It's absolutely the best
sex that your brain can have. But, on the other hand,
whilst there's this huge jag of pure sensation
thrilling your brain, your poor old cock is actually
taking a fair bit of punishment:  I think we all  get
so used to the idea of a guy's hole being nicely
stretched, relaxed, and lubed properly that we forget
that without all that there's a lot of friction at
first, friction that's especially grim for us uncut
guys whose cock heads are so sensitive.   Still, it
doesn't take long, I suppose, for things to get a bit
better:  I thrust in and out really hard, as I like to
hear the slap of my flesh against his as I slam my
body against him (and there's that special sensation
in your balls as they fly forwards and collide with
him - it's quite unlike any other feeling you get from
them, I always think) - all this makes me sweat, and
he was too of course, and soon your cock is moving a
lot better with that lubrication.  Mind you, it's not
always that pleasant as some of his shit starts to
come out, and I reckon that if  I wasn't so fired up
by then and almost incapable of stopping, it might be
rather different and I'd give up.

The Sheikh likes to have a bit of a show, so I needed
to slow down a bit then or else I would have cum much
too quickly.  So I did a lot of little, short, fast
strokes:  quite a different sensation for me, and of
course for him - he'd been shouting in time to the
thrust of my cock, before, but now he changed to one
long continuous wail again.

In spite of my efforts though I just couldn't control
my body.  My brain was so fired up with the sheer
eroticism of it all, and my cock so stimulated by the
feel of his hole, that I knew I was about to shoot.  I
pulled away, almost popping my cock completely out of
him, then thrust forward one last time, arching my
back and throwing my head backwards as I did so as my
body tried to get the last millimetre of my cock into
him.

They all saw my body jerk then, of course - I couldn't
help it as great shudders went through me as cum shot
out of me up into him.  I managed to regain a little
control and pull out totally so that they could see
the last few small spurts of my cum emerging from my
cock (I think  I turned slightly so they could all get
a good view), and then so as to emphasise to all of
them that my seed was deep in him, I simply plunged in
for one last glorious thrust, allowing my body to fall
forward onto his sweaty back as I did so.  It's good
to feel the other guy under you then, isn't it?  And I
took the opportunity of biting the side of the
sergeant's neck, so that he would be marked with a big
hickey as a reminder, at least for a few days, of what
had occurred.

It was time to pull out then, though, and, as I said,
I find it a bit disgusting:  my cock was covered in
his crap, and already there was a thin trickle of
crap, sweat and semen trickling down the inside of his
thighs.  With as much dignity as I could I walked
across the room with my cock now not nearly so rigid,
and stood at a small sink and washed my cock, then
walked back (now totally flaccid) and pulled my shorts
on.  I slapped the sergeant a couple more times on his
butt, just to remind everyone that I was still in
control (he shouted again as my hands fell on him),
then walked over to the Sheikh and bowed slightly.

"Was that satisfactory, Highness?"

"Oh yes, Steve, eminently so:  your usual excellent
performance.  I do particularly enjoy seeing your
thighs and that muscled ass of yours in motion like
that - perhaps I should insist that you always go
around without shorts, so that I can feast my eyes
more often on those sublime parts of your body."

As he said this, the Sheikh reached forward and
allowed his hand to rest on my butt, then slide down,
very gently - not exerting as much pressure as you
would if you were testing the musculature of a slave,
but perhaps indicating his desire to possess me.

"I'm a free man, Highness....  Only slaves go bare
assed."

"Quite so, Steve.  Still, I might hope."

With that he got up and left, and then I, helped by
the guards (who, judging by the bulges in their shorts
had also found the spectacle very erotic), undid the
shackles holding the sergeant and almost threw him
back into the cage.  We did not, of course allow him
to dress again - what was the point?  He was going to
be a slave, and you don't need to worry about things
like that for slaves, do you?

I watched with a faint amusement as the men all
clustered around him, trying to comfort him, but some
of them drew away as their nostrils picked up the
smell of the shit that was now liberally greasing his
inner thighs.

"Tomorrow I will be back", I told them.  "I will beat,
and then fuck, each of you in turn until one of you
confesses."

Their shouts of defiance were amusing - there's always
one weak one who breaks sooner or later.  In fact I'd
got one marked out already - a young blond, probably
only twenty or so, almost certainly on his first
combat mission.  After he'd seen me attend to one of
his stronger colleagues the next day, I'd let it be
known that he was to be my choice for day three - with
a night to think about it, and imagine the pain and
degradation he would suffer, I felt almost certain
that he would break when he was stripped and taken to
the horse.

I went out then to do my routine inspection of the
general work on the estate, glad that once again,
acting as an instrument for the Sheikh, I had been
able to satisfy my own desires.

End Of Part Two