Date: Sat, 17 Nov 2007 22:18:32 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Instrument, Part Seven

THE INSTRUMENT

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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


Part  Seven


I didn't see all that much of the new slave for the
next three weeks -  one of the Sheikh's nephews was in
residence at the palace and he decided that he would
enjoy training the slave, and so after the first
morning when I generally supervised the cuffing of the
slave into the rickshaw, I left him to it.  I did of
course have to remind him that in training he needed
to use the whip sparingly, as being a whitey the slave
was particularly valuable, and his uncle the Sheikh
would not appreciate having permanent marks made on
the slave's back and butt!  He laughed at me, and said
not unkindly "As ever, Steve, you're protecting my
uncle's interests - but you don't have to worry - I
have a pony of my own, not as good as this one,
actually, but I am used to driving him and I am aware
of the damage that savage beatings can do.  But it's
not necessary - a thin carriage whip like this does
all that's needed:  a quick slash across the buttocks
really stings, and I find it encourages the pony
sufficiently."

I nodded, and went on "Shall I gag him the first time,
sir?  I know from experience that they don't take well
to it initially....."

"Oh no, Steve - I can put a ball gag in without
trouble."

"His Highness does not allow the use of ball gags,
sir.  He believes they spoil the 'look' of the slave,
having that thing disfigure his mouth and face
generally."

"So how do you keep the pony silent?   Surely you
don't allow them to speak!"

"Indeed not, sir.  And these early days of training
are vital, so that they learn from the outset that it
is not permitted for them to use human speech at all
anywhere outside the stables.  They have to  be
gagged, but we use the throat-opening ball."

"You'd better show me...."

I strode over to the new slave, who'd been listening
to this as he stood there manacled between the shafts.
 I have to say he did look a lot better than when I
had left him the night before - the stable boys had
given him a proper "pony trim" so his body was now
totally devoid of hair, except for the four inch wide
strip across his head which would eventually be
trained into his mane.  It's a real advantage to have
all the body hair removed when a slave is to be used
for display, which is, after all, a pony's primary
purpose:  you can "see" all the muscles so much better
as he moves.  And, of course, without that forest of
pubic hair, his cock and balls are revealed in all
their magnificence - and given even greater prominence
by the cinch ring and ball holder, his were
particularly fine.

"Kneel!" I commanded him.

"Fuck you...."

I could see from the marks on his body that they must
have already given him a pretty fair beating this
morning - bruises were very apparent, and I thought I
could see a black eye, too.  I suppose he tried to
prevent them shaving him, but of course the stable
boys are used to that and would have responded
quickly.  Still, he was probably very sore, so I said
quietly "If you want to be beaten again, simply
continue to disobey.  We are skilled at teaching
slaves to be obedient, and as you have already
experienced, we do not hesitate to use force to
achieve our ends.  You are even more powerless now
than you were earlier, cuffed as you are into the
rickshaw.  So if you do not do as I say, you can
expect further pain.  Now, accept that you are
powerless, and kneel!"

The conflict raging in him was evident as he stood
there flexing his muscles, but finding himself utterly
impotent.   I could imagine it was hard for a man like
him, used to being strong and free, used to being
afraid of nothing physically, to have to accept that
he now needed to yield.  To encourage him, I flexed my
own muscles and clenched my fists to signal to him
that I could easily beat him as he stood there, and
after a few seconds, he finally knelt - although with
an obvious reluctance.

It took me a few moments to manoeuvre into position -
I had to straddle his shoulders as he knelt in the
dust, so his head was clamped between my thighs with
his face to the front.  "Right, boy....  Open your
mouth wide", I commanded.

He hesitated again, and I grabbed his nose, squeezed
his nostrils together, and then painfully pulled it to
one side.  He cried out, and he tried to struggle free
- but I clenched my thighs harder, and with his hands
manacled to the shafts, he had no chance..

"See?  Now, do as you're commanded, and it will be
better for you.  This next part's not pleasant as it
is, and if you resist it will only be harder, and much
worse, for you....  So open wide...  and then keep
your fucking mouth open!"

The bit we use in training is just an adapted form of
the regular bit - the stainless steel bar about the
thickness of a pencil with a ring at either to attach
the reins, and  steel chains a little inside that
which pass around the pony's head to fasten at the
back to hold the whole thing in place.   Once a pony
is properly trained so he knows it's forbidden to
speak, we find that  the bit is sufficient, by itself
to stifle any things he might inadvertently try to say
and to remind him that he must stay silent.  But in
training, it's different - the pony has such a
temptation  to shout real words as his exercises tire
him, and as he begins to experience the utter
subservience of the tug of the reins, and his body
reacts to the encouragement of the whip.

The "training attachment" is a small steel ball, not
much bigger than a pea, joined by a short chain to the
centre of the bit.  Once the bit is positioned in the
pony's mouth, the ball falls to the back of the pony's
throat and its weight is sufficient to cause the
throat to "spasm".  When first fitted the pony
splutters and wheezes and attempts to cough
convulsively as his throat sends signals to his brain
that there's a danger of him choking - but after a few
rather unpleasant minutes for him, he can generally
get his reflexes under control.  The ball does however
have the effect of keeping his throat "open", and
normal speech is impossible.

I always expect difficulty when fitting the ball for
the first time, and this occasion was no exception.
As soon as the ball hit the back of his throat he
started to convulse, and had my powerful thighs not
been clamped tightly around his head I'm sure he might
have done serious damage to the rickshaw as he tried
in vain to free his hands.  Still, expecting this, and
having experience of doing it before, I was prepared.
And eventually I had the bit holding chains secured
around his head and the clasp fastened.

I allowed him to get to his feet then, and he stood
there glaring angrily, tears running down his face -
you can't help that, can you, when your body thinks
it's choking?  Still, he could no longer complain, and
I helped the sheikh's nephew into the rickshaw as one
of the stable lads attached the leather reins to the
end of the bit, and gave the other end into his hands.

Look, I probably don't need to describe to you how to
go about "breaking" a pony and training  him to
respond to the reins, and to the regular commands such
as "whoa!", "trot", "run", "canter", and "sprint".  I
did watch for a few minutes as the sheikh's nephew
began to encourage the slave to pull the rickshaw,
then turn to the left and to the right, and so on -
but, ultimately, it's not all that interesting and I
went off to pursue my other duties about the demesne.

During the next few weeks I noticed that the two
slaves - the pony, who, it turned out was called
Jason, and the boy Marc, seemed to be responding to
their new status in different ways.  I saw Jason being
driven around the place by the sheikh's nephew, and
over that time he definitely improved:  his skin got a
rich, dark tan all over (which his driver chose to
enhance by having him lightly oiled with slave oil
every morning), and his already impressive musculature
got "tweaked" towards the pony ideal - this thighs and
butt muscles became even more powerful, and the
combination of the deep breathing he did when running
and an hour or so specifically working on the upper
body on weights machines, made his torso even more
desirable.  In consultation with the sheikh's nephew I
agreed to him wearing only a regular bit after a few
days, so easing his throat, on the clear understanding
that the first time he uttered a recognisable word
when out in the rickshaw, it would be fitted again.

Towards the end of this time I visited him in the
stables and stood looking at him as sprawled casually
on the straw.  There's something very erotic, I find,
to see a magnificently muscled naked male lying there
in the straw, with a chain holding him down:  it shows
the utter helplessness of a slave, and I think he
recognised this as he did not make even the slightest
effort now to conceal his "private" parts from me.
"So: we're pleased with you.  Your training is almost
over, and we're going to put you to work properly.
The Sheikh selected you personally, and he's looking
forward to using you as his special transportation as
he reviews all the activities here on his estate....."

He sprang to his feet, and lunged at me, only to
stumble humiliatingly as the chain tethering his ankle
cuff to the wall jerked taut.  "It's not right!", he
began to shout.

"Now look, Jason.... Stop all that!  I thought you
were becoming reconciled to your new life.... This
won't do you any good at all, you know!"

"Look, please... Please get me out of this!  I'm a
free man, a soldier...."

"No, you're a slave.  How many times do I have to tell
you?"

He sagged almost visibly. Then his tone changed, so he
was almost pleading.  "Please... At least let me call
my wife... My mom and dad...."

"You were married?"

"Well, divorced.  But she has my son...."

I felt my cock give an involuntary twitch.  There's
something special about seeing a beautiful, muscled,
"straight" man sprawled naked in front of you,
especially one as powerless as he was now.  I was
extremely tempted to have him taken and put on a
"horse" so I could again sample the pleasures of his
ass, but, regrettably, decided I had no time.  I
marked it down in my brain though as something I could
look forward to.

Two days later Jason disgraced himself, though:  it
was his first introduction to being used by his owner
the Sheikh, and the groom slaves had taken particular
care to make him appear as splendid as possible:  his
skin shone in the morning sun from the slave oil on
his body which had been scrupulously freshly shaved
beforehand, and they had taken immense trouble in
polishing the collar, cuffs, cinch bands and bit, so
that they too sparkled in the sun.   As soon as the
Sheikh appeared, however, the slave began to shout,
protesting that he was not a slave but a free man, and
actually daring to tell the Sheikh that the Sheikh was
wrong to use him like this!

His majesty stood there for a few moments, at first
rather startles by all of this - well he was not used
to having slaves protest, was he?  Particularly not
pony slaves who are forbidden to speak outside the
stables.

"I'm sorry, Highness....", I began.

"It's not your fault, Steve.  That nephew of mine
believes he knows all there is to know about slave
training, and although he seems to have worked well on
this slave's body, clearly he has had little effect on
his mind!"

The Sheikh looked at Jason as he stood there tugging
at his manacles in a vain attempt to free himself, all
the time continuing to shout at us.  "Order another
carriage for me", he said, "And personally take charge
of this one - he is a magnificent brute, and I will
relish seeing those magnificent butt muscles and
thighs in action as he pulls me.  But he needs to
learn - and learn soon - about proper behaviour for a
pony slave."

I at once gave orders for Jason to be taken back to
the stables, and for a two-man landau, pulled by a
couple of our regular "work" ponies,  to be brought
around for his highness.  Once all was settled and I
had done my morning "rounds" to ensure all was running
smoothly, I myself returned to the stables.   I had
ordered that Jason be taken out of the rickshaw and
put into the "chin restraint" position, and as I
looked at him I could clearly see that this was
already putting him under considerable stress (For
those of you who do not punish your slaves this way,
I can recommend it as a way of making it physically
very unpleasant for them, without causing permanent
damage to the flesh:  the slave's wrists are held
apart by a short spreader bar somewhat narrower than
his shoulders, which is in turn attached to a chain
and pulley so that his arms are pulled above his head
and he can be suspended with only the tips of his toes
touching the floor.  This is in itself a very severe
punishment, as if he tries to stand flat on his feet,
his arms and thorax are stretched too far and
breathing is very laboured;  if on the other hand he
relieves the pressure on his body by continuing to
stand on the very tips of his toes, he soon gets very
severe pains in his calves and thighs.  All in all he
is in a terrible dilemma - which pain should he choose
to suffer?  The additional feature of the chin
restraint is of course that a pole is thrust between
his head and his up-stretched arms as he hangs there,
forcing his head backwards - as well as adding further
discomfort, it also means that he can no longer see
what is going on around him at all, and he can take
not the smallest scrap of comfort from being able to
observe his surroundings).

He could hear, but not see, my approach, and so he was
almost totally unprepared for the pain as my
punishment cane first struck those magnificent
buttocks of his.  I had to be careful then of course
as I needed to inflict very, very severe punishment on
him with the cane, but I did not wish to permanently
mark his skin - there is, as you are I am sure aware,
a fine balance to be struck between effecting the
maximum hurt whilst minimising actual marks on the
skin. Some marking and bruising for a few days is of
course inevitable, but one does not want to actually
break the skin and cause bleeding and possible
scarring:  well, not with an expensive slave like this
one, anyway.  So my punishment cane is somewhat
thicker than that generally used for this type of
thing - I'm so strong and powerful that if I strike a
hard blow with a thin cane, it's almost certainly
going to cause blood to flow.

I did need to really hurt him, though, so I did not
confine my beating to his buttocks and thighs as I
would usually do for a slave like this.  Instead, as
he danced around on tiptoe, desperately trying to
avoid the blows, I struck at the front of his thighs
(extremely painful, as there is so little flesh to
cover the bones), at his belly , his back and
shoulders, and finally I gave each of his tits a
couple of strokes.  He began by swearing and
blaspheming at me, but as the beating progressed this
turned into a continuous wail of unintelligible noise,
and finally to silence broken only by the occasional
shriek as I hit some particularly sensitive part of
him.  Needless to say he was unable to control this
bladder as his punishment continued, and as he twisted
and slewed violently around in a futile effort to
avoid me, I had to take care not to get sprayed by the
liquid hosing out of him.

When I did eventually decide that he had received
sufficient punishment for his transgression, I
stopped.  All that could be heard now was the moaning
of the slave and the occasional rattle from the chains
as he vainly tried to ease his suffering by
repositioning his body  as he hung there.  I went and
stood behind him, wrapped one arm around his waist to
pull him close to me, and then ran my other hand over
his nips and pecs.  I could feel the sweat from his
tortured body leeching through my own clothes (and in
truth I was myself anyway already rather sweaty from
my own exertions - beating a slave is hard work), and
the combination of the heat radiating from him, and
the intoxicating smell of this sweat, was arousing:  I
could feel my cock straining against my shorts, and
was almost tempted to drop them so that it could press
closer into his naked flesh.  I put my mouth close to
his ear as he hung there, and whispered "See, Jason?
This is what defiance gets you.  In your training you
were told that it was forbidden to speak outside the
stables; we made it 'easy' for you to remember this by
using the training ball initially, and assumed you had
learned the lesson.  That outburst to your owner was
utterly and completely unacceptable, and if this
beating has not taught you a lesson, let me warn you
that should you attempt such a thing ever again, it
will be the last time!  Your owner is unlikely to
order you to be gelded, as I believe he intends to
breed from you as you have told us that you are
fertile and have already sired offspring. But we will
have your vocal chords cauterised - indeed, it is only
your owner's mercy that has not resulted in this
already - he believes that when not performing his
duties, a slave should be allowed a measured amount of
freedom.  If you wish to be able to continue to speak,
perhaps to share intimate moments with some of the
other slaves, you would be advised to obey the rules
and to remain totally silent outside the stables.  Is
that understood?"

Instead of replying courteously to me, Jason continued
to writhe and squirm, in some vain attempt to escape
from me.  I suppose I felt a little sorry for him as
it must be hard for a free man to find himself in this
predicament, so I temporarily let him go, and even
pulled the pole out so that he could at least let his
head resume a normal position.  You would have though
he would have been  appreciative of this kindness,
but instead he managed to hiss "Bastard!"

I grabbed him again, and his time used my free hand to
tweak his nipples - he screamed again now, and once
more I pressed my lips to his ear and said calmly "You
need to learn, slave, that defiance will get you
nowhere.  We hold all the cards.  And we are
experienced:  we have tamed slaves for years, and you
should not believe that for some reason you will be
the one who will not succumb eventually.  Make it easy
for yourself, and obey.  We do not enjoy punishing a
man's body, as I have just punished yours...."

He managed to get out, although it was laboured as he
was having difficulty in breathing "I think you do!  I
met bastards like you in the marines, who enjoyed
causing the young recruits to suffer."

I bit his ear lobe, causing him to give a little sharp
cry.  "Believe what you like, Jason.  But to me, it's
just work.  You are a slave, a slave who needs to
learn discipline and obedience, and I am your owner's
instrument for delivering the training you so
evidently need.  And the sooner you accept your new
role in life, the easier it will be for your body.
But I am not a cruel man, and I think you have
understood enough of my power for the time being, and
so I am going to stop now.  And I am going to be
merciful, and let you lie in your stall tonight like a
proper pony slave, and not leave you strung up here,
as I easily could."

Shouting orders to the other slaves to carry out these
instructions, I then turned back to him.  Just two
things, Jason :  firstly,  you may think I'm being
cruel now, but it's kinder to you in the long run -
the sooner you accept your new role, the less you will
suffer.  And of course tomorrow, when you are taken
out to your owner's rickshaw, I expect complete
silence.  Anything else, and I will order your vocal
chords to be cut."

I have to say that later that night I found it
difficult to sleep:  the image of the naked slave
sprawled on the straw was powerfully erotic.  And when
I have been punishing slaves, that too makes for an
arousing experience.  I lay in my bed, my cock as
stiff as a a poker, and thought about summoning one of
the palace slaves for some relief.  But it's a lot of
effort, isn't it, even when the man you're fucking is
co-operative?  Personally I don't like to have my cock
"ridden" as I lie there and prefer to be very active
in my fucking, and I particularly like to hump the
slave doggy-style - that night my body was tired and I
just couldn't be bothered to do it all.  Of course I
could have one of the slaves blow me, but it's not
something I'm particularly keen on as I prefer
fucking.  And I did think of just jerking myself off,
but instead chose to lie awake just occasionally
sliding my hand up and down my dick, enjoying the
sensation as my 'skin pulled off my head and then slid
luxuriantly back.

The following day I again attended for what was to be
Jason's first  real "outing" with the Sheikh, and
stood there close by him tapping my punishment cane
menacingly in my hand  as he was shackled in to the
shafts.  He seemed to have learned his lesson, though,
as he remained silent (although his general demeanour,
and  the expression on his face, left a lot to be
desired - I decided I might need to give him further
"instruction" on this, as an owner likes to see his
slave performing their tasks freely and joyously,
doesn't he?).    The Sheikh shared a few pleasantries
with me about the amusing pattern of "stripes" that
were clearly showing all over the slave's body, but
even though he clearly hated to hear himself being
discussed in this way, Jason remained silent.  I was a
little surprised, though, to see that the young slave
Marc was to accompany his owner - the surprise being
caused by the fact that he had appeared wearing one of
the short tunics that are the standard dress of the
household slaves.  It's absolutely not necessary for
the slaves to wear anything, of course, but the Sheikh
favours these short tunics on the more mature slaves
as he enjoys seeing brief flashes of the men's cocks
temptingly revealed as they hurry about their tasks;
and of course if you do decide to use one of them for
more intimate pleasures, it is more exciting to have
the slave reveal himself as he strips off the tunic.
None of this applied to a young slave like Marc,
though:  the essence of the enjoyment of a young slave
is surely to have him revealed  totally all the time
in the innocence of his youth, and to be able to
savour the less  developed musculature and imagine how
this will soon transform itself into the strong, firm
body of an exercised mature slave.

I grabbed hold of the tunic and pulled it sharply up
and over Marc's head, leaving him totally naked.  He
began to protest, and I slapped his butt hard to
remind him who was in charge.   To my surprise,
though, the Sheikh appeared to side with Marc and
allowed him to retrieve the tunic and dress.  "Leave
the boy alone, Steve", he told me.  "You've had your
enjoyment now, seeing his body - don't you think he is
exceptionally good looking for a young man?"

"Yes, Highness.  He is indeed pleasing....."

"Well keep your cock out of him, Steve!  He's mine."

"My taste lies elsewhere, Highness, as you know.  I
prefer older, more mature men.  Men with hard muscles,
properly developed."

"You mean like my pony here?  Have you fucked him yet,
Steve?"

"Only when he was first brought her, Highness, and we
were inducting him."

"Well feel free to use him any time you want - I fear
that that big body of his would be too much for me."

As this conversation was going on I could see Jason
looking really angry, and I began to fear that at any
moment he might make some totally inappropriate
comment - indeed, any comment at all, using speech,
would of course be totally wrong.  If he had done so
then his punishment would have to be very severe
indeed, and it would be difficult to avoid permanent
damage to his body.  So to avoid further difficulty I
gave a little bow to the Sheikh, and walked away.  I
watched from a short distance though as the Sheikh
gave the command to move off, and was pleased to see
that Jason performed well - although it was perhaps
unnecessary for the Sheikh to begin striking at his
buttocks with the carriage whip when they were still
in the stable yard and Jason had not yet got to that
point where any pony needs "reminding" that he needs
to continue working hard, however tired he feels.  The
boy Marc trotted alongside the rickshaw, and   I
suppose the Sheikh enjoyed seeing his lithe body
revealed as the short tunic rode up and down in time
to his steps.

A couple of weeks later I decided that the time had
come to avail  myself of some of the privileges of my
rank, and after my work was over for the day  I
sauntered over to the stables intending to fuck a
slave - generally I use one (or several, if I'm
energetic!) of the big nigga drays as I find the
combination of their hard muscle and their large
bodies to be very appealing: there's something
especially satisfying about having a bigger, stronger,
more muscular guy impaled on your cock I find, and
this is not always easy for me as I am big and strong
myself, and many slaves are in fact smaller than me.
The drays are of course selected for their size and
power, and having several of them in one place to
choose from is particularly convenient.  I'm not at
all prejudiced, and so fucking a nigga is not a
problem for me -  indeed, I kind of like the contrast
between the blackness of their skin generally and the
way that their assholes are still almost pink, and
sometimes when I'm fucking it gives an additional
erotic charge to the proceedings to see my "white"
body wrapped around their black one.

The harvest was almost over and the drays had been
working exceptionally hard that day, though, and they
were all huddled together in a group in their stall
looking utterly exhausted.  Although they got to their
feet respectfully as soon as they saw me, I could tell
that fucking  any of them was not going to be a whole
lot of fun as they lacked the energy to respond
properly - I'm a guy who likes the slave to take an
active part in the proceedings, and I really do
dislike one who just lies there almost supine and
simply "takes it".  Nevertheless my cock was excited,
straining the front of my shorts, and I knew that if I
went to bed without a fuck sleep would be impossible.
So I decided to choose one of them; but then I
remembered Jason, and walked a little way along the
stables to where his stall was.

He was sprawled out on the straw as he had been  the
last time I had seen him, and he continued to lie
there, glaring up at me, as I stood over him.

"It's customary here for a slave to stand up in the
presence of a free man", I told him.

"Fuck you!", he muttered, and kind of settled down
even further into the straw, defiantly.

"I've had good reports on your performance as a pony",
I told him. "I think you're beginning to adapt well to
your new life.  Now don't spoil it, by making me
punish you."

He continued to glare at me, but then, slowly, seeming
to hate it, he uncoiled his body and casually rose to
his feet.  I have to say  I was impressed - the
constant running, and the additional exercises, had
turned him from the merely extraordinary to the
superb.  Unconsciously, he even reached down and
flicked his cock free from where sweat had stuck it to
his thigh.  My cock was now really straining the front
of my shorts, and I knew I was feeling pure lust for
this magnificent specimen standing in front of me.

"Get down on your knees and press your head into the
straw" I commanded him.  "It's time I had a second go
at that ass of yours....  A 'second bite  of the
cherry', as you might say."

My attempt at trying to be nice with him was a dismal
failure.  He lunged at me, almost screaming  "No
fucking way!',  and it was fortunate that we kept him
tethered in the stall so that he was brought to a
jarring stop and fell to his face as the tethering
chain attached to his ankle jerked tight.  Fortunately
I was just out of range, even when he thrust his arms
forward and tried to grab my ankles.

Look, you know I'm not unnecessarily cruel to slaves,
and Jason's behaviour was clearly unacceptable.  Added
to this was my urgent need for sexual relief, and the
fact that the drays and the other ponies in the
stables had seen this disgraceful exhibition.  Jason
had to be punished, in order to show them that proper
discipline was going to be maintained.  So I
unsheathed my slave prod from my belt, and, leaping
nimbly to avoid his hands, I touched it to Jason's
bare skin - it was set to the highest setting which
does not generally result in the slave being knocked
insensible, rather than to full stun.

Well, as you can imagine, Jason let out a howl of pure
agony, and continued to scream and blaspheme as his
limbs thrashed and twitched uncontrollably - on that
setting of the prod, any slave is simply incapable of
rational action, and Jason was no exception.  It took
several minutes for his body to calm itself, and
whilst he was still supine and incapable of any real
reaction, I took a plastic cable tie and cuffed his
wrists behind his back.

He was now totally helpless, or, at least, cuffed like
that he could resist, but it would be futile.  I
quickly stripped off my clothes, and threw myself down
almost on top of him - he was face down, and I put my
arm around his neck and hauled his head up so I could
look at him, tightening my grip so that he almost
choked, to show him the power and control I had over
him.

"I warned you that you needed to learn to behave
properly as a slave, Jason", I hissed.  "I don't like
having to hurt you like that, but you need to
understand that I will not hesitate to do so again
unless you co-operate fully.  Now, you and I are going
to get better acquainted - I like a strong muscular
ass, and yours is perfect!  I'm going to fuck you...."

I never managed to finish my sentence, as he spat at
me - a huge gob of spit landed in the middle of my
face and I could feel it trickling over my upper lip.

"I like a slave with spirit, Jason!  Perhaps not quite
as much as that, but you've relieved me of any
concerns I might have had about taking you hard - this
is only your second fuck, I believe, and I had
intended to take it slowly, to introduce you to the
pleasures of my cock smoothly and easily.  But as you
like to play rough, it seems, I've got no need to hold
back...."

"Bastard!  Cunt......" he started to shout, but his
words turned into a scream as I thrust my hand between
his powerful thighs and grabbed his balls, giving them
a good hard squeeze.

"Now, my bronco, let's see how you buck when you feel
a man's cock....", I shouted - my own sexual desire
was now almost overwhelming, and any thoughts of being
gentle had evaporated.  I was almost out of control,
and a whole lot of things I'd usually do with a new
guy simply went out of my head.  I hauled Jason's ass
into the air, controlling him by his balls, and with
my other hand forced his butt cheeks apart.  He was
still struggling a little, but this only added to my
frenzy as my legs struggled to properly straddle him,
and then I had that exquisite sensation in my cock,
that sensation that all men crave, as it slid between
his buttocks and I got that exotic combination of heat
and sweat on it.  I could barely contain myself - I
knew that my 'skin must have pulled back as I was
getting so much sensation from my cock, and I knew I
was drooling pre-cum.  There was no time to waste, and
I positioned my cock on his pucker - giving a moan of
pure pleasure as I did so - then savagely thrust
myself in to him.

Jason's body went almost rigid as I violated his ass,
and he gave a loud cry of anger and pain.  But once he
was impaled on my cock, there was no escape for him -
I started to fuck him hard - really hard - revelling
in the slapping sound as my body crashed repeatedly
into gorgeous ass muscles.

It was over all too soon, of course -  I was in such a
frenzy of excitement that there was simply no way that
 I could prevent myself from cumming after only a very
small number of strokes.  I gave a great shout as my
semen pumped up into him, and I let his body collapse
onto the straw so that I could lie along it, still
keeping my cock nestled in the hot, sensual, slimy
moistness of his hole.  His cries of outrage and pain
had subsided, and as I put my head against his, I
could see that there were tears running down his face.
 I genuinely felt sorry for him then - very sorry.  It
must have been physically painful for him as I had
fucked him without any preparation, but I sensed that
the tears were not for that reason - he was, after
all, a tough ex-marine.  No, they were tears because
he had recognised that his life as a free man were
irrevocably over.  I had shown him that I could use
him as an object to satisfy my sexual desires, and he
must know that this was only the first time:  he would
be available to me whenever I chose to use him.

It's a pity, really.  A man's initial experience of
sex ought to be pleasurable.  Still, it was his own
fault.  And I had enjoyed it - indeed, had enjoyed it
more than if he had co-operated!

End Of Part  Seven