Date: Sun, 28 Nov 2004 01:47:10 -0800 (PST) From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com> Subject: Four The Same, Part Twelve FOUR THE SAME by Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories Part Twelve It was a very odd atmosphere on the corporate jet back to London the next morning. Andrew kept looking at me, as if he wanted to say something. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, and finally I broke into the inconsequential chit-chat that had been the mark of our conversation so far. "So, Andrew. You meet with the sheikh's approval. You certainly meet with mine. So are you going to agree to my plan, take the job running the business there, as part of your overall development?" "Sir... Last night...." "Yes?" "Well.... Those naked athletes.... The sex... The thrashing... The man you said was your 'slave'..." "Quite. Interesting, isn't it? Remember, Andrew, the old saying 'When in Rome....'? These are the ways of the country, and one of the reasons why the bank is doing so well is that the sheikh understands that we understand his way of doing business. Some of the big American and German banks tried to set up there, but they foolishly tried to impose their own standards and ethical business guidelines.... I expect you'll have a most delightful time, as you seem to have adapted already.... As a trusted confidante of the sheikh, a major customer and our biggest shareholder, I will expect you to grow our business very rapidly, and ensure that he understands the major initiatives I intend to pursue elsewhere in the world." He looked at me again. "But, sir, you yourself... The slave.... Watching sex...." "Yes, Andrew. Sadly for me, I decided to pursue my career at the expense of my sexual fulfilment. I've had a pretty covert existence all my life, just the occasional fuck, on a completely casual basis, with labourers and so on that I pick up in a pub. You've always been open about your sexuality, I know, but you have not, as I understand it, practised it much in recent years." "So let me give you one further piece of mentoring advice: work hard, and enjoy your work. But don't let that become the totality of your life. Now, take this opportunity, and indulge the other side of yourself for three years. I'm sure that a man who enjoys beating slaves as much as you obviously do, might even find an 'evening job' as one of the sheikh's whip masters!" I smiled as I said this, and it broke the somewhat strained atmosphere between us, as the prospect of Andrew actually whipping a slave seemed to be so remote. We spent the rest of the journey back to London discussing the reorganisation that his move would entail, and deciding on when, and how, we would announce it. ____________________ It always amuses me when I read "insider" stories in the newspapers, purporting to explain the whys and wherefores of corporate actions. We announced Andrew's move from the Internet bank operation almost as a footnote to our annual results - results that were, by any standards, spectacular. The huge additional profits that the Internet bank turned in, which had continued to grow exponentially under Andrew's firm leadership, boosted our results to the extent that there was a twenty percent rise in our stock price - something that might normally happen to a small start-up company, but which is exceedingly rare in the Fortune 500, and especially in the banking sector! "Sacked", the headlines in the financial sections screamed once the "fine print" about Andrew was seen, and "knowledgeable insiders" claimed to have details of plots and schemes which were so far from the truth that they were risible. I was even asked a question about Andrew at the Annual General Meeting, and, as a good Chairman, I stuck calmly to the line that "He has been an excellent director and innovator for our most important Internet operation. Now he will bring that same enthusiasm and success to an area of our business where we have been under represented. One of the bank's greatest assets is the wealth of management talent we employ, and I'm confident that his successor....." I was, of course, frantically busy a this time, but in those precious moments before sleep at night I let my mind wander, and could almost feel the sensation of allowing my finger tips to nestle in Darren's slave brand, and the excitement that the ridges from his beating brought to me. At the same time, I couldn't forget the four slaves - they were all such exceptionally handsome men, perfectly in tune with my ideals for a man to fuck. And having four of them so identical simply increased their desirability - not just fourfold, but a thousand fold! I could only imagine the pleasure I would get form sinking my cock into such amazing pieces of male flesh - so much better than the rough labourers I had to content myself with (and then only occasionally), and, actually, so much better even than Darren: although he was developing a proper man's body, there was still something of the less-developed "youth" about him that made him not quite so desirable. As I fantasised about the four slaves, wanking myself for relief so that I could eventually sleep, I wondered if it was worth making another approach to the sheikh to see if I could buy them. But then, where would I keep them? It seemed that even if he could be persuaded to bring them up from the mine, the sheikh would not allow them to remain in the palace because of his cousin's spies. Even if Andrew acquired a suitable house, with a large slave quarters, I somehow doubted that the Sheikh would change his mind and allow the slaves back up to the surface - I had, after all, asked once, and been rebuffed. The more I thought about it, the more I realised it was a hopeless case - there would be severe loss of face and embarrassment if I asked again, and if the sheikh then had to refuse me. All my business plans could easily be set back, and my efforts to date wasted. No, I would have to give up on the idea of taking these slaves' bodies, and find some other plan that would engage me as much sexually as the thought of them did. On a personal note, life at home had settled back into our normal routine. We both enjoyed the new path down to the beach, and my wife's lavish expenditure on the gardens continued, something which, I suppose, I could easily afford as long as it was confined to shrubs, trees, fertiliser, and the like. I did however give her the most strict instructions that there was to be no more major capital expenditure, as I was reserving our savings for a major project of my own. This caused a little friction between us, but as the expenditure continued to mount on all the new planting in the valley leading down to the sea, my wife relented a little. I had one or two casual encounters with the blue-collar men that I select for the odd night of fun, but my life in London was depressingly boring. I invited Andrew around for dinner, but both of us knew that it would be most improper for me as the senior executive to take advantage of one of my direct reports, and so whilst I could feast my eyes on his body (He had thoughtfully worn very tight threadbare jeans and a stretch T-shirt for our meeting, rather than a business suit), that was a far as it went). We discussed plans for his further advancement in the bank, and for his imminent departure from London, and I decided that I would find time in my schedule to accompany him and re-introduce him to the sheikh. I had of course been observing Darren's progress via video link, and was now contemplating what to do about the boy - should I give him to Andrew as a welcome present, or should I retain ownership in the hope that I might find some way out o the dilemma of how to keep a slave in London? As the corporate jet took off for the Gulf two months later, I was therefore in a high state of sexual arousal, looking forward to, as a minimum, being able to fuck Darren in whatever way I wished. THE SLAVE'S STORY After Matt had first dared breathe his plan to simply kill Marc, or, as we now referred to it "put an end to his misery", I had objected, and pleaded with him and Ray for more time. After all, perhaps the continuing exposure to that which he feared most might ultimately sensitise Marc to his new life, and he could perhaps begin to recover. But when I could see that this was not so, as he remained in his catatonic state, and as we all continued to deteriorate. Things came to a head several "days" later: the opal harvest had anyway been bad, and after we had "bought" one battery for our lamp, and the minimal necessary quantity of water, we were left with a depressingly small pile of slave chow to share amongst the four of us. Watching me intently, Matt scrupulously divided it into only three piles, instead of the usual four. I remonstrated with him, but he said, firmly, but not angrily "No, Steve. Enough is enough. The time has come. We can't go on starving ourselves to keep Marc going - he isn't going to recover, and you know it, don't you, mate?" "No...." "Yes, Steve." "But we can't just let him starve..." "We're all starving now. We have to keep going, as whilst there's life, there's hope. And I said I'd take care of Marc.... I was taught killing in the marines: it will be a quick snap of the neck, he'll never know... He won't feel anything." I knew Matt was right, and that the current situation could not continue. And yet the thought of losing Marc was more than I could bear. I told Matt I needed one last chance to be with Marc, and I held him close to me all that "night", and even though his autonomic systems were still functioning so that his hard erection stabbed at my belly, there wasn't really a "Marc" there. I didn't sleep at all; I just went through over and over in my mind all the happy times we'd had together, and tried to think of some plan - anything - that could get us out of this situation. I was exhausted by the time we all agreed it was time to start work again, and I hadn't been able to think of anything. Matt was in favour of doing the deed then, but I didn't want to let Marc go. I pointed out that we might as well do it at the end of our work "day", when we'd traded that crop of opals. We wouldn't give Marc and of the food or water, so we wouldn't be any worse off. I really don't know why I was trying to give him these few extra hours - it really wouldn't make any difference, would it? THE BANKER It turned out that we only really had time for a business meeting with the Sheikh on this trip - as a leader of opinion in that part of the world he'd been prevailed on by the United Nations to go to the General Assembly to address them on the importance of human rights and the freedom of choice, and was leaving o his corporate jet (a 777!) later that day. So there was none of the usual excitement of some exotic entertainment after feasting, and I decided to shorten my trip and took the corporate jet directly back to London in the afternoon - I suppose I was really tiring of Darren, interesting though his body was turning out to be as he matured, as he was not really my "type" at all. Even the prospect of fucking his hard muscular ass could not compensate for the prospect of gaining precious hours in which to catch up on some of the more pressing issues in my business life. So it was not for another two months before I next went to the Gulf, a two months in which I had really discovered the penalties that attach to being a "public figure". When I was just number two in the bank, my private life was very much my own, and you know of my proclivities for casual liaisons with the rough working men who were still building the huge office complex where the bank's head office was. Now, as Chairman, a chairman who had been given a hero's welcome by shareholders as a result of the vast increase in our profits at a time when others had theirs falling, I was "known" to the press. I found that I was being interviewed in the newspapers and on television about how I had turned around the bank, and there were always journalists eager to learn the secret of my business success for their feature articles. My press people in the bank were of course delighted, as my calm, thoughtful presentation of our strategies and policies rang a chord with both potential customers and investors alike, so that our business continued to prosper and our share price to rocket. The downside of this public fame was that I no longer dared risk frequenting any of the gay haunts in the area where I had picked up my casual liaisons: the prospect of being seen by a journalist, or even of being recognised by one of the labourers, was not worth the risk. Equally, although I considered the use of male prostitutes, these too were such an obvious risk that I felt it was my duty not to partake. Consequently I was left with the sad and lonely use of my hand for sexual relief, accompanied by the images and film clips I downloaded from the Internet as I sat in my penthouse high above the city. As a result of this, by the time I next landed at the airport in the Gulf, I was more than ready for any actual, real-life sex, even if it was "only" with Darren. In a change from the normal routine, where a car from the palace met me at the steps of my jet, this time there was a huge luxury limousine bearing the bank's crest on the door. My mind at once went to question who had approved such an expenditure - the huge vehicle, with its obviously stretched wheelbase and darkened windows must have cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. As the steward opened the door of the plane, the door of the car opened, and an Arab got out. As I went down the steps I saw, with a little shock, that the "Arab" was in fact Andrew - he'd "gone native", and was no longer wearing the conservative business suits to which I was accustomed, and now had the long, flowing robes more usual in that country. He welcomed me warmly, and before I could question him, ushered me into the limousine. I was now totally amazed, as kneeling and salaaming near the partition that separated us from the driver's compartment were two naked slaves. Before I could question him about this, Andrew suggested we buckle out seat belts, and gave a command - in Arabic, I noted - to the driver to move off. "Sir, I thought this would be a more interesting journey for you", he began. "Would you like either of the slaves to relieve you after that tedious flight? Actually fucking them in the car is against the law, which requires the use of seat belts here, but they can of course provide you with oral pleasure...." One of my irritating habits, I will admit, is to pick holes in arguments being put to me, even when this is not necessary or less important than other issues. "Surely they can't do that, if they have to put seat belts on...." "Oh no, sir - the law only applies to men, of course. There's no reason for a man to be injured in a car crash. But those two are slaves, so they're not covered and can comfortably service you whilst we're in motion." "Andrew, who authorised all this expenditure? This limousine, those slaves.... I'm not sure which would have cost the most! I really must caution you about spending the bank's expense funds on things like this...." He laughed, staring fully and openly at me as he did so. "Oh, sir, you didn't think I'd squander our profits, did you? I am most careful of my reputation, you know - after all, if I am to assume your position one day, there must not be even the tiniest breath of scandal in the bank about my attitude to costs. No, sir, they are all presents from the Sheikh, personal presents to me, or, rather, to the Bank, as I am not allowed to own slaves directly as I'm not a citizen. They haven't cost us a penny, and when I tire of them and they're sold, they'll go a long way towards defraying the running costs of the operation here. I think I can promise you increased profitability.... Even if the Sheikh does not finally agree to the deal which I am brokering with him, and which I hope your visit will cement, sir." I knew Andrew was a most intelligent and hard working person, but I found it difficult to understand how he had managed to get himself into the Sheikh's good books to such a large extent is such a very short space of time. After all, the giving of gifts has a high ritual significance in the culture there, and I wondered what he had had to give in return - what facet of the bank's business had been handed over to the Sheikh? Before I could ask him that, the limousine stopped for a moment in front of a huge set of wooden gates, then drove into a courtyard - this was not the usual way into the palace, and I looked quizzically at Andrew, who just smiled back, enigmatically. The gates closed, and at once the car door opened and there was Darren, kneeling on the marble floor, salaaming. Even at this first glance I could see that he had changed quite astonishingly - no longer even vaguely boyish, his totally naked body now showed all the signs of the musculature and vigour that men usually only achieve in their very early twenties, and yet I knew he could now only be seventeen or so. I told him to rise, and could then see other changes, too. His arrogance and defiance that had so displeased me on my previous visit was all gone. He stood there with head bowed, meekly subservient and waiting eagerly for some sign from me. Andrew gave me no chance to react, though, and took me by the arm to lead me in through two more enormous wooden doors, this time elaborately carved in their rich wood. I was totally amazed, though, to see that as we passed the doors were closed by two slaves - huge blacks, their skins looking almost as if they had been polished, and wearing just the very briefest of loin cloths to cover their sexual organs. We progressed around a vast courtyard planted with exotic shrubs and flowers towards the interior of the place, and at every one of the pillars supporting the colonnade there was another of the big black slaves, all briefly and revealingly clad, and standing their with heads bowed. My suite, when we eventually got to it, was enormous and luxurious, and with a dismissive gesture Andrew signalled that the slaves who had been salaaming as we entered (four of them!) were to leave. "Andrew.... All this...." "A gift from the Sheikh, sir." "Andrew, please do not play games with me. I still have the power to break your career...." "No, sir, it's true. The Sheikh is providing this residence for me as the local director of the bank..." "But there are more slaves here than in the palace, even...." "Perhaps so, sir, but he spends most evenings here now, so I suppose he thinks it is worth it..." "But the Sheikh never accepts invitations to attend functions outside the palace... Even the British Embassy has not had him at their events. I was at the Queen's birthday cocktail reception last year, and he was not there, even...." "Ah well, sir, I think you'll find things have changed. Now, let me leave you to shower and change after the journey, then you and I need to talk before the Sheikh arrives for the evening's entertainment...." Before I could utter another word he turned and left, the door to the room opening seemingly by magic as he approached, but in fact pushed by one of the big near-naked muscular blacks who must have been watching, or listening most attentively. I stood there for a moment, and then there was Darren, crawling towards me on the floor, his forehead pushed against the cool marble. "Get up, Darren...." He stood there then in front of me, and again he was different somehow, not just in his now superbly muscled body. All his defiance had gone, and he stood with head bowed meekly in front of me. I went to take my jacket off, and at once he sprang to assist me, so eager, so very eager, to help: so different from the sullen unwilling compliance with his duties that he'd shown before. Once I was totally naked, he fell to his knees in front of me, and I knew that he was waiting for some further order, so I simply whispered "It was a long and tiring journey, Darren. You should stimulate me with your mouth...." He fell upon my cock with enormous enthusiasm and total reverence. As he sucked away he kept his eyes open and looking up at me, imploring me, almost, to give him some sign that he was doing the right thing. And he was - his lips and tongue so inflamed and excited me that I was pushed very quickly to the edge of my control, and reached down and pulled his head right into my crotch so that I could fire my semen deep into his throat. And all the time he never complained, never tried to pull away, and kept looking at me to make sure that he was still in my favour. I do like it when men look at me when they're sucking me - the upturned staring eyes do add that little extra, compared to a man who keeps his eyes down, looking at what he's doing. His attentions in the shower were equally enthusiastic and skilful, and then I decided to rest in bed for an hour or so before my evening's activities. I motioned for Darren to accompany me, and it was almost like having a special dog, one who slavishly follows his master's orders, as he kept checking with the way my body was moving and the expression on my face as he tried to position himself in the way that I wanted. We lay face to face, and as I ran my fingers down his back so that I could again finger the deep impression that our brand had made on his buttocks, and I felt something completely different: the skin was no longer silkily smooth, but everywhere, just under the surface, there were hard ridges and lines. We had of course thrashed him that last time I was there, but surely these would have healed by now, I mused? Nevertheless, the thought that his body bore marks of his beating inflamed me, and even though I had only come to a climax a few moments ago, I felt my cock stirring. Darren was the same, although his cock was monstrously hard - he almost had to bend his body to keep it from stabbing into my belly! I stroked his balls, then pushed his cock upwards towards his belly, so that our bodies could come closer together. Darren groaned and almost squirmed as I did this, and I thought at first I must be hurting him - but as I touched his cock again I found that my hand came away covered in pre-cum: he was leaking copious quantities of it, all over us as we lay there. "So you're pleased to see me, Darren?", I said, smiling at the implied reference in my phrase to all those jokes about pistols and bananas in men's pockets. "Sir, a slave is always pleased to see his owner..." He whispered, with a faint groan at the end. "Is something wrong, Darren? Are you hurting?" "Not now, sir.... It's just that my cock is so sensitive, and I'm scared that I will make you angry if I cum...." "Nonsense! Not even a vigorous strapping young man like you could cum just from the touch of my body against your cock..." To emphasise my point, I moved myself slowly up and down against him a couple of times, delighting in the slippery feel of the pre-cum on his rock-hard cock as it moved against my body. "Ahhhh....", he moaned, and the next instant I felt his whole body tense against me, and my belly and chest reported the wet warmth of something between us. The intoxicating smell of fresh semen floated up to my nose, and Darren began almost to cry. "I'm sorry, sir..... Please don't punish me.... Please, sir, I didn't mean to.... " "Nonsense, Darren, that was the best welcome I could have. To be so excited by your owner that you cum, without a lot of stimulation, is a welcome indeed. Of course I'm not going to punish you...." "Master Andrew does, sir. He doesn't allow me to wank or anything, sir, then he plays with my cock, and if I cum, he beats me. Well, he beats me anyway, but he's specially harsh if I cum without his permission, sir. Please don't tell him...." "He beats you?" "Yes, sir. I'm only allowed to cum occasionally, and if I fail, then he uses the cane, the tawse.... And, after you left last time, the whip...." As he said this, I could feel his whole body tense, as if it was remembering for itself some particularly unpleasant experience. "Yes, sir... Master Andrew says that a slave only learns through pain, that his whole body has to know that any failure to please a master will result in pain and suffering. He's given me many lessons, sir. I have been a good slave this time, haven't I, sir? You won't let Master Andrew use the whip on me again, will you, sir? Oh please, sir, I couldn't stand the whip again... I'll do anything, sir...." I could only imagine the agonies a young man would go through if he was forbidden to cum - after all, at his age most young men cum two or three times a day, I believe. Darren was obviously terrified, and I hugged him reassuringly, and whispered "Calm yourself! You have behaved like an exemplary slave since my arrival. If you remain on your best behaviour like this, there's no chance of Master Andrew whipping you! You have certainly improved since my last visit, both in terms of your attitude, and in your physique. Was that Master Andrew, too?" "Yes, sir. I have targets for the amount of hard exercise I have to do, and he periodically monitors my progress - if I can't do so many push-ups, or if I fail to run five miles in a certain time, it's the cane at the very least, or possibly the tawse... And he even threatens another whipping if I'm very far away from the targets he's set...." "I see. And does he beat the other slaves here, too?" "Yes, sir. Of course! That's why the place runs so perfectly All the slaves here are afraid of Master Andrew, and it's why the Sheikh enjoys visiting so much...." I found this last remark interesting, and would have questioned him further, except that the alarm on my mobile phone beeped at me to remind me that it was time to begin to dress. Covered in sweat and cum as we were I decided that a relaxing bath would be more refreshing than a shower, and even here the extravagance and opulence of Andrew's domestic arrangements left me amazed. At the Sheikh's palace the bath attendants were "normal", run of the mill slaves - nothing very special, but well trained in bathing and massaging the master. Her in Andrew's place, though, the two bath slaves who attended on us were actually American college boys - stunningly handsome men of about twenty, who spoke English with an appealing Yankee drawl! I could seethe bank's logo burned into their buttocks and arms as they worked away on Darren and me, but their most amazing feature was the thick band of gold that had been fixed around the root of their cocks and under their balls - it had the effect of thrusting their whole sexual apparatus upwards and outwards to emphasise the elegance of their long penises and the size of their balls. And, of course, with the blood flow being somewhat restricted, they were semi-erect before they began, which soon turned into rock-hard full erections the moment they started to work on us. I was sorely tempted to fuck one of them there and then - the beauty of their tanned skin, the flow of their muscles, and the prospect of discovering what the hole of a typical college jock was like were almost too much for me, but, equally, I was a little short of time and I knew anyway that I could always summon them after dinner, should I wish. In a county where even ordinary slaves were expensive, I did however wonder exactly how much these two men were worth (especially with a small fortune in solid gold wrapped around their cocks!). It was not usual to have "Western" slaves at all, I suppose, and they must attract a premium price as I suspected that the Arabs enjoyed the idea of having Americans under their complete and total control. I could only wonder, again, what Andrew had agreed with the Sheikh to result in such lavish gifts - and I began to fear for the future of the bank! The business meeting with the Sheikh was astonishing. For one thing, he came to see us as Andrew's residence, something that I believe was probably unprecedented when doing business with a Western company. As custom dictated, though, we sat for half an hour over coffee, with Andrew's slaves sliding in and out serving us completely professionally and perfectly, giving us entrancing views of their bodies whilst remaining properly unobtrusive in the background. With both of them smiling knowingly at each other, they then revealed to me the astonishing news that in future all the kingdom's business would be conducted through the Bank, and that in effect the country's own central bank was being disbanded. In addition to our normal business transaction processing, we would become the central bankers for an economy which , although relatively small, had a totally disproportionate effect on global finance because of its central place in oil dealing. Our power and influence, compared with our rivals, would be immense: we would have a seat at the table at the IMF and the World Bank as a result of this, something that was denied to all our mere commercial competitors! "My friend", the Sheikh said to me, bending close in a gesture of confidentiality and respect, "I enjoyed working with you, but I must insist that in future all our business is done through this most exceptional young man that, in your wisdom, you saw fit to appoint as your resident director here. It is a tribute to your intelligence and understanding of our needs, my friend, that you were far-sighted enough to invest in us by sending us one of the stars of your organisation. None of your competitors would have done such a thing - indeed, I doubt that any of your competitors have a director with such undoubted talents. You deserve the rewards of your investment!" Even by what I had come to expect, the feast was lavish and long, and it was almost as if it had been designed to show off Andrew's power and wealth - the servers were of course naked, but there were so many of them: I counted twenty, before my senses were reeling and I could no longer remember which handsome male body I had already seen! And all bore the bank's logo seared into them. The after dinner entertainment had dark undertones to it, though. I wondered what might be presented to challenge the splendour of the gymnasts that the Sheikh had shown me last time, and at first was disappointed when just two muscular men came in and bowed low. I was told that these men were boxers, but when they began, I saw why this was going to be a special match: not only did they fight totally naked, without jockstraps or cups to protect their sensitive parts, but they were bare-knuckled. This was not boxing, it was fighting: real, roughhouse, no hold s barred fighting. Soon, the floor was slimy with their blood and mucus as their fists began to pound each other into a pulp. They appeared to be doing serious damage to each other, and the fight only finished when one was utterly vanquished, lying there in a broken heap on the floor. It was bloody, violent, and gory, and utterly fascinating - I had never seen men fight like this before. As a kind of "interlude" we then had wrestling - tag-team wrestling with two teams of two. They seemed to follow the rules of wrestling in that they were not allowed to gouge or punch, but again, there was no sham, no pretence, and the four men were soon covered in their own sweat as their bodies slid over each other in a most erotic way. The match was only over when one team was so defeated that the other team was able to fuck them. The final act left me amazed, and rather revolted. As I chatted to the sheikh, Andrew slipped away, to re-appear just a few minutes later, transformed. Gone was his long traditional robe, and now all he wore was a wide, black leather belt which served as a base for a small pouch of thin, soft leather that barely concealed his genitals. Around his arms, just under his shoulders, there were black leather arm bands, and he wore thick-soled tough looking black boots on his feet. For our "edification" Andrew proceeded to punish the slaves from the Sheikh's palace and his own house who had infringed some of the many rules that day. The mildest punishment of all was caning, but caning with thin, long canes that Andrew wielded with such force that the slaves thighs, buttocks and backs were left with red lines across them as the blood flowed. The Sheikh seemed mesmerised as he watched Andrew's sweating body working away, scantily concealed by the leather, and the swishing of the canes and the screams of the slaves only seemed to add to his absorbed concentration in the scene in front of us. After that, though, there were two whippings, and I felt completely nauseous at the amount of blood that flowed as Andrew used a six foot long bull whip to turn the backs of the slaves into a red, pulpy mass where you could no longer distinguish the parts where the lash had fallen and those where it had not. He came and stood in front of us, breathing hard from his exertions, his body covered in sweat, and splashed with the blood of his victims. The tiny pouch covering his genitals was almost pushed aside by the force of his erection. The Sheikh got to his feet, and I of course followed. Resting his hand on one of Andrew's sweaty biceps, the sheikh shook my hand with the other, and wished me a cordial goodnight. Andrew turned aside and whispered to me to retire, then, to my astonishment, actually put his hand the back of the Sheikh and began to guide him, not towards the exit, but further into the house. End Of Part Twelve