Date: Fri, 26 Nov 2004 00:04:19 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Four The Same, Part Eleven

FOUR THE SAME    by Pete Brown    petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part Eleven

I took Andrew with me on my next visit to the Sheikh
to make a formal introduction.  I had of course had
extensive discussions with our most important
shareholder via our video link, but there is no
substitute for real-life face-to-face contact, is
there?

Andrew and I worked on the corporate jet as the long
hours of the flight slipped by, and in the limousine
towards the palace I explained that this was to be a
strictly informal occasion - we should not expect to
discuss any business that evening, and that it would
be devoted to feasting and pleasure as the Sheikh
believed that it was really important to get to know
the men in whom he was going to put his trust.

We had been given adjacent suites in the palace, and
my slave was waiting for me, as one would expect.
Although he was salaaming as I entered, his mood was
entirely wrong when I indicated to him that he could
get to his feet.  His whole attitude was one of sullen
resentment, rather than of pleasant anticipation of
being able to serve me.  He went through the motions
of helping me off with my jacket and loosening my tie,
rather than doing so eagerly in the anticipation of
being able to pleasure my body as it was revealed.

I stopped him, gripping his wrist to exert a measure
of control, and even this he resented:  he actually
dared to try to shake my hand free - not to the extent
of using physical force, as he undoubtedly could have,
given our respective ages and strengths - but by
showing quite clearly by his whole demeanour that my
attentions were unwelcome.  This truculent attitude
needed to be remedied, and I told him, quite curtly,
to adjust his attitude as it was unbecoming for a
slave to be exhibiting such tendencies.

He just glared at me, and in exasperation I demanded
to know what was amiss.  Yes, I know it's wrong for an
owner to pander to the whims and interests of his
slaves,  but my visit was again to be only a short one
and I did not intend to have my enjoyment wasted as my
slave was not properly participating in the activities
I had planned.

"Sir, it's the other guys.  I liked them, I was
getting on well with them, and they've been taken to
the mines!  You liked them too, didn't you, sir, and
yet you won't do anything to get them back.  That's
not the way you ought to treat friends, sir..."

"Stop right there!  I can see that you've been well
trained physically, but you are sadly lacking in the
understanding of the real role of a slave!  You are of
course right that I did enjoy the four slaves:  their
bodies were superb, and, in addition, they had
pleasing personalities that made it fun to be with
them.  But they were slaves, and not friends:  free
men are never friends with slaves, it's perfectly
impossible.  As you will have seen, a slave's life is
totally controlled and managed by his owner, and it is
therefore wrong for another free man to attempt to
form a relationship with them.  So whilst I miss the
presence of the four slaves, there is no bond of
friendship that makes it necessary for me to intervene
on their behalf.   In any case, such a thing is
impossible:  their owner, the Sheikh, has sent them to
the mines for his own reasons, and he is the absolute
authority here.  It is not proper for anyone to
intervene between an owner and his slaves, and this is
especially true when the owner is the supreme ruler."

"So, slave, I want no more of this nonsense. You had
better mend your ways, and mend them quickly, and
start to behave properly towards me, or there will be
trouble."

He was silent, and I could still sense a glowering
resentment in him.  I would have remonstrated with him
further, but at that moment there was a knock at the
door.  I told Darren to go and open it, and there was
Andrew.

As he came in he seemed surprised to see that Darren
was there, and started to say "...sorry, was I
interrupting..."

"No, Andrew, come in.  The servant was just about to
leave..."  I made a dismissive gesture at Darren, who
went out.

"Sir, some advice, please.... This dinner tonight....
Is it black tie?"

I laughed.  "No, far from it!  Dress comfortably and
casually, as the after dinner entertainment can lead
to a degree of audience participation..."

He looked flustered.  "Sir, I think I have a problem
then - knowing we were dining with the local royalty I
only packed my DJ, and other than my business suit, I
don't have anything.  And I'm no good at thinks like
karaoak...."

"Didn't you tell me you always travelled with your
exercise clothes, as you liked to run or work-out
wherever you're staying?"

"Yes, sir... But they're hardly suitable... Running
shorts, singlet...."

"No, that will be perfectly acceptable.  I will wear
casualk trousers and a polo shirt, but for a younger
man like you, one who is in good physical shape,
shorts and a singlet will be perfectly acceptable.
Our host does not normally like air conditioning,
preferring the natural desert air, and so he
understands that restrictive, formal clothing is
unacceptable."

"Are you sure, sir... Look there's a bit of a problem
anyway....  My kit is pretty old, and I bought it when
the fashion was for very short shorts, not like the
knee-length stuff  most guys wear today...."

"Have no fear, Andrew.  It simply will not be a
problem, as you will see as the evening progresses.
This is a social occasion, you know, as we will have
our business discussion tomorrow morning.  Now, go and
shower, and change, and I will collect you in thirty
minutes and take you down to make the introductions."

________________________

I had never seen Andrew in his work-out clothes
before, and the sight of his body now that it was more
fully revealed to me started to make my loins stir.
He was, as I had surmised from what I had seen when he
was suited and in business shirts, trim and lightly
muscled.  Now, however, I could see the interesting
thatch of hair on his chest as glimpses of it were
shown to me under his singlet, and his arms and legs,
too, had an interesting covering of tight, black
curls. His strong thighs disappeared under the shorts
- which were indeed very short - and led to buttocks
that were agreeably tight looking and which promised
much.  The elasticated waistband of the shorts left no
room for doubting that his belly was firm and flat,
and might even have those ridges of muscle I find most
attractive, and I could hardly bear to wait to see
whether his singlet concealed an interesting, sunken
belly button, or a more flat one.  Regrettably the
silky fabric of his clothing, whilst suggesting pert,
hard nipples, gave no further hint about his cock:
clearly his whole sexual apparatus was well sized, but
the outline of his cock was concealed, and so I would
have to wait to see whether he was cut or uncut.

He seemed embarrassed as my eyes scanned him - how
much more so, I thought inwardly, smiling to myself,
if he'd known that I was sizing him up and comparing
him with all the other men who I had considered as
sexual playthings.  And, I suspected, if he'd known
that he was to play a part in this evening's
entertainment, he might have been scared out of his
wits.

Our audience with the Sheikh was in his private
audience room, without the mass of advisors and
courtiers who normally surrounded him, and after the
usual pleasantries he clapped his hands to order
dinner to be served to us there - a very singular
honour indeed.  The room was furnished in traditional
manner, with very low tables, and with large silk
cushions on the floor for arranging oneself on whilst
eating, and we settled comfortably down to await the
arrival of the food.

My cock gave a sudden lurch upwards as I glanced over
at Andrew and saw that the very short shorts revealed
the presence of a jockstrap as he arranged his limbs
to get comfortable.  I could plainly see one of the
back straps on his thigh as he lay there, and I find
this very erotic on two counts:  firstly, to see a
glimpse of a man's undergarments gives you some clue
as to his likely sexual preferences:  jock straps,
very brief briefs, and so on, suggest that he is
unashamed of himself and is more likely to "play".
And secondly, there is something specifically exciting
for me about the sight of naked buttocks when the cock
and balls are still enclosed.  Of course the
conventional strap, as made for sport, does need a
fundamental redesign:  that thick part where the back
straps join the base of the pouch is positioned
directly under the asshole.  I suppose the makers
arrange it that way so that it helps to soak up the
sweat that tends to form there, but they clearly have
not considered that it inhibits sexual activity, as
the whole thing has to be pulled away somewhat
inelegantly if you are to insert your cock into that
place where it belongs.

No matter, a man in a jockstrap, especially a
thirty-something like Andrew, in good condition, was
still an exciting prospect, and I could barely focus
on the delicious food as it was served to us by the
stunning waiters.  I watched Andrew carefully, too -
like me, he could hardly take his eyes off the slaves
as they went about their duties.  They were only
wearing the very brief, short tunics that the Sheikh
preferred his slaves to wear in his private
apartments, and as they moved around the fabric
shifted and slid to reveal glimpses of their bodies.
As they were servants involved in the preparation and
service of food, they were entirely hairless, except
for their cropped heads, as the Sheikh demanded that
there be no possibility of pubic hairs falling onto
the plates - a real possibility when the very short
tunics so barely concealed their genitals.  I noticed
that as one of the tightly muscled slaves bent over to
serve Andrew he in turn shuffled uncomfortably on his
cushion, and tugged at the leg of his shorts -
evidently he was needing to adjust his clothing to
bring some relief, as I suspected that, like me, he
was experiencing a fierce erection.

There was almost a problem when the main dishes of the
evening were brought in  - a whole lamb, roasted with
aromatic herbs, carried on a huge silver salver by
four of the serving slaves.  Although I was clearly
the chief guest, the Sheikh made a special gesture of
respect to his new guest, Andrew, by personally taking
his knife and prising the one of the eyeballs out from
the carcass and offering it to Andrew, still on the
tip of his dagger.  Andrew went to refuse, and I had
to tell him that this was a singular mark of honour:
the eyeball is especially prized in the Sheikh's
kingdom, and for a guest to refuse it, especially when
it has been removed and offered by the host himself,
would be the most flagrant breach of etiquette.
Steeling himself, Andrew smiled faintly at the Sheikh,
took the offered morsel into his mouth, closed his
eyes as if in desperation, and with a mighty effort,
swallowed it.

After the feast, again as a sign of welcome to Andrew,
the Sheikh had arranged for us to watch his band of
Russian gymnasts .  I had of course seen them on
several occasions, but even so the sight of their
tanned, muscled bodies sliding over each other as they
performed their routines was extraordinarily arousing
- there's something about the gymnast's body, after
all those hours of rigorous training, that's
particularly exotic:  all the muscles are visible, and
the exercises they were doing in front of us displayed
them all to their best advantage.    There are eight
athletes in the troop, and when they entered they,
too, were in the very short tunics of the palace
servants.  They salaamed to the Sheikh, then bounded
to their feet and with a single gesture whipped off
the tunics to begin their show, wearing only the
tiniest of G-strings.  Unlike the waiting slaves they
had not been shorn of all their hair so there was a
pleasing variety of colours and hair types to look at,
although of course it was obvious that their pubic
hair had been neatly trimmed to avoid that unpleasant
sight of hairs straying past the edges of the tiny
silk coverings they were wearing.

As their act proceeded and their bodies became
drenched in sweat, the silk became translucent and we
could clearly see that, in addition to their skills as
gymnasts, they'd also been chosen for their overall
physical perfection:  their sexual apparatus appeared
to be completely in harmony with the splendour of the
rest of their physique.  As the act continued, the men
went from exercises which they performed  as
individuals to ones which involved more and more
physical contact between them.  At that point, again
in perfect unison, they all tore off their G-strings
and we were entranced to see all eight in close bodily
contact with no part of their anatomies concealed.  I
could see that Andrew was now, like me, completely
focused on the spectacle in front of us, and that,
also like me, he was massively erect at the sheer
eroticism of so much perfect naked male flesh.

The troop ended their act in a line, kneeling in front
of us with their knees wide apart and their buttocks
resting back on their heels.  We had the splendid
sight of their bodies covered in sweat, and heaving
with the effort of trying to replenish their depleted
oxygen as their chests swelled up and down in response
to the work their lungs were doing.  And, of course,
we could focus properly on their genitals - to a man
they were cut, and all seemed to have been chosen to
have those balls which hang down low underneath the
penis, like fruits just waiting to be picked.

"So, my new friend, do these men please you?"  The
Sheikh asked Andrew.

"Very much so your highness."

"And which one do you find most pleasing?"

"It's almost impossible to say - eight such perfect
bodies...."

The Sheikh clapped his hands and the eight men, as
one, got smoothly to their feet and stood there in the
classic "display" position, feet apart, hands clasped
behind their necks and with  pelvis thrust forward.

"Please examine them more closely, and then give me
your opinion...."

Andrew got to his feet, and I could now see the huge
bulge in the front of his brief shorts, and at the
same time the white of the back straps of his
supporter falling down below at the back.  He went up
and down the line, looking at the men, and I called
out softly "It would show great respect for our host,
Andrew, if you were to inspect the men properly before
giving your view...."

The Sheikh and I exchanged knowing glances with each
other as Andrew reached out very hesitantly and
lightly rubbed just the tip of his fingers over the
pecs of the first athlete.

"Do not be afraid, my friend", the Sheikh said softly.
"They are here to be admired, to be enjoyed... Feel
free to examine them fully so that you can give me
your view...."

I think Andrew was expecting the men to protest or
something, but of course they were used to the
attention of other men and all stood there perfectly
still as his hands gained confidence in stroking and
feeling their bodies.  It was  almost funny, really -
it seemed as if he was expecting to get an electric
shock when he first reached down to cup one of the
sets of balls, so gingerly did he reach out.  But when
the man's only reaction was to break out into a faint
smile, Andrew almost visibly relaxed, and after a
couple more minutes was feeling the bodies and
fondling the genitalia of all the athletes just as if
he had been inspecting slaves for years.

"So, my friend, which of the athletes most pleases
you?"

"It's simply too difficult, highness... Such
perfection in all of them..."

The Sheikh chuckled.  "I see the bank has been
teaching its managers to be diplomats!  But come, we
are all friends here, you need have no fear of
speaking your mind... .which one do you find arouses
you the most?"

Andrew went up and down the line again, then pulled
one of the men forward, taking the athlete's muscled
bicep commandingly in his hand to do so.

"A good choice.  What attracts you to him
particularly?"

"Well, Highness, I suppose it's that he is such a
perfect Slav type - we get so few of those in
London... The broad, open face, the dark blond
straight hair... It's almost like seal skin on his
head... And the eyes... Those pale grey eyes...."

The Sheikh clapped his hands again, and the other
seven athletes salaamed again, then left.

Four slaves then came in carrying what I knew from my
past experience was a fucking stool - one of the
fairly utilitarian ones that was provided in most of
the suites and rooms of the palace, in case of need.
It stood there, its leather surface glinting in the
lights from the ceiling, and at a gesture from the
Sheikh the athlete went over, lay down on his belly on
it, reached down to grasp the hand holds on the front
legs to give himself a good hold, and spread his legs
to await use of his body.  I love the way men kind of
shuffle their feet as they prepare for sex, don't you?
 I had the perfect view of the man's thighs and calf
muscles in fluid motion as he settled himself for
action.

"There!", the sheikh said to Andrew.  "He is ready for
you - part of their preparations for the display you
have seen is to make sure they are all clean inside,
and that their ass muscles have been lubricated and
stretched.  He's waiting for you...."

Andrew stood there in shock for a few moments, as if
he could not believe what he'd just heard.  "You mean
you want me to fuck the man, here, now....?"

"But of course.  You said you found this man to be the
most desirable, and he is all prepared for you."

"But I can't do things like that in public...."

"You are not in public, my friend,  You are here
amongst friends.... Friends should not be embarrassed
in front of each other..."

"Andrew", I cut in, "Our host has already shown you
tremendous respect by offering you the choicest part
of the feast , and serving it to you by his own hand.
 Now he is extending to you an honour that is rarely
offered to those outside his own family - giving a
visitor, especially a Westerner like you, the
opportunity to sample the delights of one of these
most expensive athletes.... It would be a huge breach
of etiquette and protocol to even consider turning
down such an honour....  It would damage the prospects
for the bank here in the kingdom almost irrevocably if
we were to spurn the generous offers of our host...."

It didn't take Andrew more than an instant to make up
his mind. I knew he was ambitious, and he could
plainly see that his way to further advancement in the
bank demanded that he be on excellent terms with the
Sheikh.  And, of course, I suspected that he was
hugely aroused and turned on by the muscular athlete.
In a fluid gesture he pulled up his singlet  over his
head and dropped it to the floor, then shrugged his
briefs down over his slim hips and stepped out of
them.    Sadly, he did not take off his jock strap,
but nevertheless I found the sight of his muscular
buttocks, neatly framed by the leg straps and the
elastic waistband of the white jock, still to be very
sensual.  He stood between the legs of the athlete,
and reached down and probed with his finger at the
man's ass - I could tell by the confident way that he
did this that he was no stranger to examining a sex
partner in this way, and my anxiety that he might in
some way fail us in front of the Sheikh began to
dissipate.

We did not get to see his cock at that time as he
stood with his back to us and simply pushed the front
of the jock down.  He took a step forward, we could se
his hand guiding his cock, then heard a stifled grunt
from the athlete that told us he was well and truly
home.

As I've told you, I always find it very arousing to
watch other men fucking, and the Sheikh and I had a
superb view of Andrew's thighs and buttocks as he
thrust in and out, first slowly, and then with
increasing vigour and force.  My concerns evaporated
completely as it became clear that he was something of
an expert, occasionally almost pulling out completely
to slam home immediately afterwards, then going
through passages of short, intense thrusts, and so on.
 Clearly he was hugely enjoying it himself, and,
judging from the cries and moans from the athlete, it
was indeed an epic performance.

I sensed that the  Sheikh was as disappointed as I was
when the performance finally drew to its inevitable
conclusion, with Andrew's back arching to give himself
one last thrust, and his head thrown back in triumph.
He stood there for a minute or two, then pulled
himself out, and we could see him fumbling at his jock
as he tucked his cock neatly away in it.  Coming back
towards us we could see the huge smile on his face,
and his torso was as covered in the sweat from his
exertions as the athletes' had been from theirs.

"Thank you, highness!  That was the best after dinner
entertainment I have ever been offered....."

The sheikh and I exchanged glances, and I could tell
that he was as pleased with my protégé as I was.

"Well done, friend.  I look forward to doing business
with you.  Having seen you in action, I know that you
are a proper man, a man I can trust... Not like so
many of those American businessmen and diplomats who
crowd in here so consistently, attempting to secure my
endorsement for their schemes and projects.  How can
anyone be expected to entrust men from a country where
they have such curious attitudes to proper man to man
sex?  Never has any of them offered to take part in my
entertainments - it's almost as if they are ashamed of
their sexuality!"

"Still", he went on, "The hour grows late.  I must
retire, as tomorrow I have a full day of meetings.
Will you take the athlete to your chambers for further
amusement tonight?"  And looking at me, the sheikh
continued, "And you, my friend, I imagine your own
slave is waiting.....?"

Both of us said "Yes, highness", and stood up as he
himself rose to his feet and gave us a friendly
dismissive gesture.

________________________________

Darren was indeed waiting in my room for me, and his
attitude did not seem to have improved.  I was in a
frenzy of expectation for recreational sex having
watched the eight perfect athletes, and Andrew's
performance, and was most displeased at Darren's
continuing sullen  and unenthusiastic responses as I
began to stroke and caress his body.

I again explained the problem to him, reminding him
that as he too was a slave, his only duty was to
please his owner.  But he persisted in his
block-headed obduracy, and I could see my hoped-for
evening slipping away.  Finally, in exasperation, I
went across the inner hall to the door or Andrew's
suite, and knocked lightly.  From inside the heavy
wooden door I heard the sound of male voices suddenly
halted, then the door opened a crack, and Andrew
peeked around the edge.

"I need your help..."

"Sir, it is rather inconvenient right now...."

"I'm sorry, Andrew, but I do have to ask you to stop
fucking that athlete just for a few minutes.  I really
do have urgent need of you."

He looked rather shocked, as I am not normally known
for using explicit language with my colleagues, as in
the bank we adopt a rather last-century more
gentlemanly tone.  But he obviously understood that I
must really need him, and asking me to wait a moment,
he moved away from the door.

As you do, I pushed it open, and saw his interesting
naked body striding across the room towards the bed,
where the athlete was sprawled, his tanned body making
a most agreeable sight against the stark white of the
linen sheet.   I watched as Andrew scrabbled around on
the floor, obviously looking for his shorts or
something, and I called out "Don't worry about those -
we're all men here.  And bring your friend with you,
as I think his assistance might prove invaluable..."

He seemed surprised, but the athlete slid off the bed
with one graceful movement, came to Andrew, put his
arm around his shoulder, and they both followed me
back to my room.

I sat in an easy chair, looked at Andrew, and said "As
you're to come here to this country, there's something
else you should know.  Men like this athlete are not
exactly here of their own free will..."

"You mean the slavery, sir?"

"So you know?"

"Yes.  I did some research when the possibility of
taking the job as country manager was mentioned.  I
have an old friend... Well, rather, a man I know...
And he'd spent some time here.  So it's all true?"

I guessed that the "man he knew" was one of his casual
sexual acquaintances, and smiled to myself.  "Yes, it
is.  And, indeed ,the young man you saw me with
earlier is himself a slave, a slave who, I'm sad to
say, has now ignored my warnings, and finally my
direct orders, to behave as a proper slave and
reverence his owner!"

"You're his owner?"

"Yes, it's a long story.  And not germane to the
present difficulty.  I'll tell you on the plane
tomorrow.  What is relevant, however, is that this
slave is being wilful and disobedient, and that the
time has therefore come to punish him.  I could of
course have him dealt with by the guards and trainers
on the staff of the palace here, but then the news of
that would get back to the sheikh, who might believe
that we were insufficiently tough in dealing with
simple problems for ourselves; and that might reflect
badly on the bank.  The solution, therefore, is that
you should punish the slave for me - I did a little
research of my own about you, Andrew, and I know that
in London you are not averse to playing  a little,
shall we say, roughly?"

I saw him blush, and went on  "It doesn't matter to me
one way or the other how you amuse yourself.  Your
skill with the cane will be useful to me now, however
- I want this slave thrashed, thrashed so hard that he
learns that it simply does not pay to displease his
owner."

I saw Darren start with shock as I said this, but I
knew I had Andrew - a flash of excitement had flown
across his face just for a moment, and now his tongue
was running up and down his lips in that way that it
does when there is excited anticipation of  something.

"Our host, always anxious for his guests' comfort,
thoughtfully provides these suites with everything
needed.  Here's a cane, and a tawse... And that
fucking stool, over there,  like the one you used so
masterfully before, can of course also be used to hold
the boy.  Please begin, and do not stop until I tell
you to do so."

I could now see Andrew's cock in all its glory, a
delicious sight that I had not previously been able to
observe.  He had become massively erect as I had been
speaking, and to my excitement I noticed that his
foreskin had peeled back to reveal that most
entrancing spectacle:  a dark, moist cock head, in the
way that only those normally safely enclosed by a
'skin can be.  Like the rest of his body, it was trim
and neat, and perfectly suited to him.

Andrew glanced at me again, and from my face and
posture understood that I was perfectly serious,  and
so he strode towards Darren.  Darren backed away, and
even when Andrew grabbed him by the arm, tried to
break free.

Darren's "reluctance" seemed to inflame and excite
Andrew, who had at first seemed reluctant, but now
seemed eager to proceed.  He tried to drag Darren
across the room, but the lad, toughened by his months
of training, was well able to resist.  The athlete
showed good sense, though, and after glancing at me to
ensure that I was not unhappy with what he was doing,
went to assist.

Together the two naked men dragged the slighter form
of Darren across to the fucking stool, and forced him,
belly down, on to it.  As well as the conventional
hand grips on the front legs, this one was evidently
"dual purpose" as the athlete quickly knelt down and
secured Darren's wrists to the legs with  the Velcro
bindings it provided.  All the time he was struggling
and writhing and shouting and screaming, using the
most inappropriate foul language to describe Andrew,
the athlete, and even me!

Darren continued to writhe and try to free himself,
and Andrew cleverly told the athlete to lie on the
floor and restrain Darren's legs.  He then swished the
cane through the air several times to get the measure
of it - every cane is after all different, the weight
, thickness and tensile strength making a huge
difference to the "feel" of the thing, as we know,
then looked at me again.

"How many, sir?"

"Continue until I tell you to stop.  And do not spare
his calves, thighs and back, although the primary
focus should be on the buttocks.  This insolent young
slave needs to be taught a hard lesson, before he does
something that means even harsher punishments would
become inevitable.  So let us make this a 'short,
sharp shock' of a lesson for him.... One that his body
will remember next time he even contemplates being
anything less than totally enthusiastic in obeying his
owner."

I did not count the blows that Andrew struck  He was a
powerful man, and an experienced user of the cane, and
I was distracted by the sheer volume of noise that
Darren initially made as the cane rose and fell,
raising vivid red stripes across his naked flesh.  It
was only after these subsided into an inarticulate
gurgling that I realised that we had perhaps gone far
enough, and told Andrew to stop.

Andrew was covered with sweat once again, and stood
there, harshly erect, running his hand up and down the
cane in obvious pleasure.  I understood then that I
had perhaps misjudged him, not understanding the level
to which a sexual passion could arouse him, as he said
"And can I fuck it now, sir?"

I was astonished that he could be so forward!  Until
now, I thought he had been timid, afraid of his
sexuality.  But evidently, not so.

"Yes", he went on, "I usually fuck the men I thrash.
But of course in London I really don't get the
opportunity to mete out quite so much REAL
punishment..."  As he spoke, he was running his hands
almost lovingly over Darren's body, savouring the feel
of the weal marks under his fingers.  In turn,
responding to the new stimulation, Darren had resumed
his low sobbing and moaning.

I had looked forward to fucking Darren myself, of
course, but it seemed to me that Andrew deserved a
reward for his efforts - as a manager I find that
rewarding employees for some particularly good piece
of work pays huge benefits in terms of their future
motivation - and anyway I thought it would be good for
the lad to see that I considered him as just something
that could be given to other men, as I willed.  I
suppose my decision was tempered, too, by the thought
of once more being able to watch Andrew in action, and
so I gave a nod of assent.

Andrew mounted the boy violently and harshly,
relishing in the agonised shouts that burst out afresh
as he simply fucked the boy with abandon.  When he
pulled out, Darren just stood there, his hands still
restrained, and now quietly whimpering like some
wounded animal, which, I suppose, he was!  The athlete
got to his feet, and he too ran his hands over the
very visible marks criss-crossing Darren's body as it
lay there.  I saw that he was sexually aroused, as
Andrew had been, and decided to give Darren one more
lesson in understanding how life as a slave was at the
whim of  his owner.

"You fuck it now, too", I commanded.

The athlete was no more gentle with Darren than Andrew
had been, and once he had finished and I had dismissed
them back to their own room for the rest of the night,
I stood there and looked at Darren's body as he still
lay there on the fucking stool.  "Now, slave, perhaps
that will help you understand the power I exercise
over you", I commented to him as I undid the bindings
holding him down.

He got to his feet, staggered for a moment or two, and
I confess I did feel sorry for him.  Gone was much of
the arrogance he'd displayed earlier, and in front of
me now stood a dishevelled, vulnerable young lad once
more.  So what was I to do?  I was desperate for
sexual relief myself, having watched the extraordinary
display of virtuoso sexuality by Andrew and the
athlete, but I do not like intercourse when the man's
ass is already running with another man's cum.  And, I
knew, I did need to use Darren myself anyway, to
reinforce to him my mastery and control.

I pushed him towards the bed, and told him to lie
down.  Painfully, because of the bright red marks all
over him, he lowered himself gingerly down on his
belly, but I slapped his buttocks hard, causing him to
wince and cry out as my hands pummelled his tenderised
flesh, and told him to roll over.  Almost sobbing with
the pain he did as he was told, and lay there, looking
at me with tears streaming down his face.

It was in his own best interests that I should show
him no mercy now.  He did need to learn the lesson
that a slave must obey his owner, and it was, I
considered "being cruel to be kind". To press on with
a harsh lesson now would save him many difficulties
later.  I therefore climbed onto the bed and straddled
his body with mine.

As I let my weight down onto his belly I was rewarded
by that wonderful feeling of warm, naked man flesh
pressing into that sensitive region between the balls
and ass, and my cock, whose tip was lightly brushing
his body, started to ooze pre-cum.  Darren was
whimpering, and his body was attempting to twist to
relieve the pressure on his battered back and ass, but
I pressed on.  I "waddled" on my knees up his body,
took hold of his hands and pushed them above his head,
and finally rested on his upper chest, with my knees
pressing his biceps down into the bed.

He clearly was in deep distress at this treatment of
his injured flesh, and was moaning and crying out,
imploring me to get off him and leave him alone.  But
my need was urgent now, and I simply ignored him.
Gripping his jaw firmly, I commanded him to open his
mouth, and then I raised myself slightly and pushed my
erect cock into the delicious moist warm cavity of his
mouth.

Frankly, he was not good at assisting me to my climax.
 He failed to tease me with his tongue, and failed to
suck enthusiastically as I moved my cock head in and
out of his lips.  Ordinarily I would have been cross,
as I like a man to minister properly to me, but my
excitement, and my determination to demonstrate to him
who was in control, tempered my anger.  I simply
rammed my cock deep down into his throat, feeling his
whole body behind me start to thrash on the bed as he
began to choke.  Even though he was fit and strong,
with my knees holding his biceps down and my body
firmly planted on his chest, there was no way he could
escape.  His frantic movements only served to add to
his problems, as I could imagine that all the marks
from his beatings were now sending  messages of pain
to his brain.

He needed to understand that I was his owner, and that
I could do what I liked with him. With my cock firmly
down his throat, I therefore reached down and pinched
his nostrils together - it was rather distasteful, I
suppose, as his face was slimed with his tears and the
snot that had poured out from him as he began to gag.
Once he realised that his breath was totally cut off,
his thrashings became even more frantic and I could
hear him attempting in vain to cry out.  There was a
look of complete terror and panic in his eyes as I
stared dispassionately down at him, suffocating him,
and gradually I saw them dim as he lost consciousness.

I allowed him to come back to life, withdrawing my
cock and letting go of his nose, then, as he lay under
me, tears running down is face, I said, calmly and
coolly to show that I was dispassionate about it "See,
Darren.... I own you, and I control you.  Had I chosen
to, I could have simply allowed you to die then, and
no one would have cared.  There would have been no
punishment for me at all as an owner has the right to
dispose of a slave in whatever way he wishes.  I have
had you beaten tonight to teach you that you need to
obey me totally and completely, and this further
demonstration should drive the lesson home to you.
Now....."

Gently this time I pushed my cock, now even harder, if
such a thing was possible, back into his mouth, and
was rewarded by the kind of proper attentions that I
expect from another man.

Once I had climaxed I got off Darren, and allowed him
sit up - he moved incredibly slowly, to avoid hurting
himself more - and then to lick me clean.  The bed was
a wreck, with the sheets all crumpled, with huge wet
patches from Darren's sweat and mucus further
disfiguring it.  I considered calling in slaves to
have it changed, but instead lay back, rather enjoying
the moist coolness of it.

Darren stood looking at me, and I commanded him to lie
beside me.  Because of the pain his body was causing
him he was very reluctant, but my whole demeanour
showed him that this was not a time to offer even
token resistance to my will.  To show him that I was
however a compassionate owner, I opened my arms for
him, and allowed him quite a lot of wriggling and
squirming so that he could make himself as comfortable
as possible as we prepared for sleep.

I ran my hands lightly down his back and over his
buttocks as he lay there in my arms, and he moaned and
whimpered at even this light touch.  I have told you,
I believe, how erotic I find it to be able to feel the
marks of a slave's brand on his body, and as my finger
tips probed the ridges and valleys left by the caning,
I was immensely aroused.  The heat radiating from his
battered flesh was an extra bonus for me, and I
slipped into a deep, refreshing sleep.

THE SLAVE'S STORY

Things went from bad to worse down the mine.  We soon
got used to being completely and utterly filthy - the
only water provided was for drinking, and there was
precious little of that.  We were all covered in grime
from the shale, which produced a lot of dust as we dug
into it, and this clung to our bodies as a result of
the sweat we were producing as we worked desperately
away.  And, of course, three were no provisions for
sanitation - we simply squatted down and crapped in a
pile of the shale rubble, and there was no way we
could then clean ourselves properly.

Within two days we all stank, but we ceased to notice
it.  We did however begin to feel the hair that was
again growing all over us - it was worse in our ass
cracks for the first couple of weeks, as the sharp
spiky hairs there stuck into our tender skin.  But as
we all gradually grew beards, our head hair gradually
formed a shaggy, unwashed mass around us, and our
pubes re-grew, we knew we were no longer the pampered
display objects that we had previously been.

Other changes were taking place in us, too - we had
all been heavily muscled form the constant exercise
and training that we underwent, and now the achingly
hard mining work that we absolutely had to do in order
to get food kept up this regime.  But we were simply
not eating enough, as it was all but impossible to
find enough opals to "buy" enough food and water from
the guards each day.  We were always faced with the
agonising choice of trading our precious stones for
batteries for our lamps, or water, or slave chow.
And, of course, we knew we had to have light - even
though we only kept one small light burning, without
it the stygian blackness would have rendered any work
or movement totally impossible.  Likewise, a body
needs water, especially when you're sweating away.  So
in the end we always had to compromise and only buy
small quantities of slave chow, and gradually the big
muscles we had built up melted away, to leave us lean
and rangy.  As I lay next to my brothers in the brief
periods we allowed for sleep and "recreation", I could
feel their ribs now very prominent through their skin,
and their asses had a much harder feel.  There wasn't
much sex, actually - the combination of the exhausting
work and the reduced diet meant that we were rarely
able to achieve erections.

We did wonder why they simply didn't give us food -
after all, there was no benefit to them in having us
die from starvation.  But we decided that the regime
was nicely balanced, with a "normal" slave needing to
work very, very hard to get enough to survive.  We
were very badly hit, though, as there were only three
of us working, and we had four bodies to maintain.

Marc continued to be a catatonic disaster, just lying
there, curled into a foetal ball, and not contributing
anything.  We shared our food and water with him, of
course, but that only made it worse as  I had to spend
time, precious time when I could have been working,
forcing the nourishment down him as he would simply
not help himself.  Our meagre rations simply would not
stretch to four when one was not working, and I became
more and more worried as time went on.

It was Matt who bought matters to a head.  We were
lying together one "night" when he said to me "It's
got to stop, Steve, you know that, don't you?"

When I said nothing, he went on "Look, Marc's killing
us all.  He doesn't work.  We have to feed him. And
you spend time looking after him that ought to be
spent working.  It can't go on, can it?"

I whispered, very quietly and calmly, as I knew deep
down that he was right,  "But he's our buddy, one of
the band of brothers... We can't let him down...."

"Steve, what's it to be?  All or us, or three of us?
There's no choice, is there?"

"We can't leave him to die... What do you want to do?
Just leave him lying here in this cave, whilst we go
off to another one and carry on as normal?   He can't
move by himself, he can't feed himself...."

"Steve, calm down.  I understand he's your special
buddy.  We all like Marc, we are all buddies and
brothers.  But what's the choice?   He's not going to
get better, is he?  And we're all slowly dying because
of him."

"You can't leave him just to die, alone, in the total
dark..."

"No, Steve.  We can't.  I wouldn't wish that on a dog.
 But he's not really Marc, not the Marc we knew and
loved, is he?  He's just a piece of almost inanimate
slave flesh.  Don't think of him as Marc... Just think
of him as something we have to deal with..."

To my surprise, Ray chipped in.  Ray, who normally
didn't contribute much, but who listened, and only
occasionally guided us.  But when he did have
something to say, it was usually pretty relevant.
"Steve, there is no choice.  We can't continue to
'carry' Marc.  It's killing us all.  I know that life
down here isn't much, but at least, whilst we're
alive, there's some chance of rescue.  Who knows -
there might be a revolution or something in the
sheikh's kingdom.  So we've got to stay alive, whilst
we can.  And it's not doing Marc any favours to keep
him like this - think about it:  either he doesn't
know what's going on, as he's totally catatonic and so
it doesn't matter;  or he does know, and he's so
afraid, so totally terrified of the enclosed space and
the dark, that his brain is in agony.  Either way,
it's kindest to end it.  And end it now, whilst we can
still recover our strength."

"No!  We can't just leave him to die...."

Then Matt pulled me closer to him, to comfort me as I
guess he knew how I would feel. "You're right, Steve",
he whispered to me. "We can't just abandon him. So
I'll put him out of his misery.  One quick pull whilst
I've got the strength, and I'll break his neck,
quickly and painlessly.  He won't feel a thing."

End Of Part Eleven