Date: Thu, 28 Oct 2004 08:12:41 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Four THe Same, Part Five

FOUR THE SAME    by Pete Brown    petebrownuk @
yahoo.com

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

Part Five

I was just about to start my very early morning
meeting with my host, the Sheikh, when my mobile phone
went off.  This is very unusual, as it is my rule to
always delegate properly before I leave, and I do not
expect my subordinates to disturb me when I am
visiting a client, especially such an important client
as this.  It was my trusted personal assistant,
telling me that certain key meetings at the bank had
been altered at very short notice, and that,
politically, it would be very desirable for me to
return as soon as possible.  I explained that it was
impossible to alter my schedule as although my meeting
with the Sheikh was just about to start, the only
flights back to London were in the late afternoon.

His call caused me some disquiet, however: our current
Chairman was in the age band at which he might be
expected to retire, and it was my intention to
campaign vigorously to lead the company.  I could not
help feeling that these changes of meeting time were
designed to further the candidacy of my rival, a much
younger, aggressive marketeer, who had only joined us
from one of our rivals a few years before.

As we breakfasted on sweet fresh bread, honey,
yoghurt, figs and dates, the Sheikh and I exchanged
pleasantries.   I told him of the deception that his
slaves had played on me earlier, and he at once
ordered all four of them to be taken to be flogged for
their discourtesy - but when I explained how perfect
the experience had been for me, and how he ought to be
proud that his slaves were so utterly at ease with
themselves, and with their understanding of their
owner's guests, he broke into a huge smile and
rescinded the order.  It was instructive for me to see
how the man thought nothing of ordering a flogging or
beating for even such valuable, prize slaves as these
if he thought that they had in any way not performed
properly - truly, owning men must be the ultimate in
the exercise of power.

We went on to discuss how he had made ten million
dollars on the bet with his cousin, but that this had
not been the real reason for acting - it was the
long-standing friendly rivalry between the two
relations that had meant that these four slaves had
had their lives torn part when they were "taken" and
re-trained into their new role. How amazing to think
that these four men had been living out their regular
lives one moment, and then the next minute had their
destinies utterly altered, just to satisfy the needs
of two rich, powerful men continuing with their
childhood rivalry.

I suppose we don't realise sometimes how thin is the
thread that connects us to our comfortable lives.  We
may feel we have jobs, money in the bank, nice homes,
stable long-term relationships - but a shift in  the
world economy, a devastating illness, or even
something as trivial as a partner discovering a
sexual adventure, can bring it all crashing down.
These four slaves, living out their normal lives and
contemplating a bright future for themselves, could
not have imagined that in order to best his cousin in
a bet the Sheikh would have caused those threads to
snap and their lives to be changed for ever.

The Sheikh was in fact delighted to receive my praise,
and to hear further evidence that his trainers had
done such an excellent job in converting the four
slaves to "clones", and with this excellent frame of
mind conditioning his actions, our business was
concluded swiftly to our mutual satisfaction and
benefit.  He asked me what I was planning to do before
the London flight later that evening, and of course
offered me the use of the palace and slaves for my
further entertainment.  I thanked him, but explained
that I would be spending most of my time on the phone,
attempting to understand the "politics" that were
being played out in my absence, and sensing my unease,
asked me more about it.   He at once commiserated with
me, and smilingly told me how much simpler it was the
undisputed hereditary ruler of his country, with
complete and absolute power over men's lives:  he did
not envy for one moment the political "games" I had to
go through in order to continue to exercise the power
I had (which, in any event, whilst in some areas was
much greater than his, in others was far, far more
feeble.  I might be able to make economies shake, or
have thousands of families fear for their economic
future, but he could order the flesh of his slaves to
be used in any way that he chose, without any
hindrance).

When I explained how much easier it would be for me to
have these discussions face to face, he at once
ordered his private plane to be made ready for me, and
insisted I fly back immediately.  With a wolfish grin
he said "My friend, I think we both enjoy playing
games... For you it is the world of business, for me
it is bending the will of men so that they become
perfect slaves.  Perhaps that is why we get on so
well!"

We made certain other business arrangements then, and
a limousine rushed me to the airport, a police escort
clearing away all the other traffic as you would
expect when one of the Sheikh's cars was in a hurry.
Imagine my surprise when, on boarding, I found the
four slaves already in  the luxuriously furnished
cabin, awaiting my pleasure.

THE SLAVE'S STORY

We were all exercising that morning  after we'd fooled
the old English guy - we weren't able to discuss it
amongst ourselves, of course, but  I could tell from
the smiles on the faces of my colleagues and the
little ways they moved their bodies slightly
differently that we were all thinking about it still.
The look of surprise on his face, then the way it
changed to amusement, and finally the way that he'd
joined in with us in really appreciating the joke, had
been fun for us, too.  Some of the men that use us
just treat us like dumb animals, demanding complete
obedience from us and being completely unconcerned
about whether we are enjoying the experience or not -
well, I suppose that's what pleasure slaves are for.
But when a client really appreciates us, and truly
joins in, then for both of us the pleasure and
enjoyment is vastly increased, I think.

The old guy was a real English gentleman, and once
he'd overcome his surprise at having four studs like
us at his total beck and call, he participated with an
enthusiasm that is rare even from a man half his age.
That is what had given us the confidence to talk to
him, rather than just have him use us, and why we'd
been able to go on and demonstrate to him so
conclusively that we really were identical, as far as
any outside tests could determine.

It was rare that our routine altered, and when one of
the trainers received a message on his radio and at
once came over and told us to go and prepare
ourselves, we were all wondering what had happened.
It was the standard preparation routine that we always
went through before going into service:  an enema with
three changes of water to ensure that we were
perfectly clean inside, re-shaving by the young slave
boys to ensure our skin was perfectly smooth all over,
then a shower, a light oiling to give our skin that
agreeable sheen that only perfectly hairless, smooth
flesh can display, and finally stretching and
lubrication, to ensure that should the client wish to
fuck one of us immediately, we would be able to
accommodate him without causing him - or us - undue
pain and difficulty.

Normally we would then have gone up to one of the
guest suites in the palace, or perhaps the client
would have come down to observe us working out.
Instead, quite differently from anything that had
happened to us before, we were taken out to the
delivery yard and loaded into the back of a slave
transporter, the in-built shackles holding us firmly
in position on the narrow benches.

We could see the city speeding by outside the van
through the tiny window openings - from the noise of
sirens it was clear that we were being "expressed"
through the traffic by a police escort, and we
wondered what was about to happen to us.   We knew, of
course, that we would be taken out of the place and
sold one day when our owner decided that we were past
our "sell by" date, and we were alarmed:  it was
probable that we would be split up and sold as
individuals, rather than being kept together as a
group, as there were few men as wealthy as our owner
who could afford to provide so many pleasure slaves
for his guess.  We were all saddened as we thought of
this, as we really liked each other and had been
through so much as a group.  We sat with our arms
around each other to give each other as much comfort
as we could, knowing that, perhaps, this was the last
time that we would have such intimate contact with
each other.    We were forbidden to speak, of course,
and so we huddled there just getting sadder and
sadder.  It seemed so unfair that our master could
have such total control over our lives, and could
order that our relationship could be shattered as if
it was worthless. You know that although I like all
three of my "brothers", I've got a special regard and
affection for Marc, roguish Marc who, within the
confines of the slave's life, manages to be more
daring and innovative than the rest of us!  Perhaps,
even if the four of us were split up, it might be
contrived that Marc and I could stay together?  I
could only hope, as I was powerless to influence
events.

We were expecting to go to the major slave auction
barn that we'd been told about in the city, but
instead our transporter went up the ramp to the
freeway and sped towards the airport.  Had we been
sold to a foreigner?  Who else in the world could own
slaves like us?  Slaves all gossip about terrible
black despots in far African kingdoms, and, of course
the ever-hungry organ banks run by the South Americans
- surely neither of these were the fates awaiting us?
Our sense of doom and foreboding increased as the
transporter stopped by the rear entrance of what
seemed to be our owner's private jet -  one of the new
777s for his personal use.  We were unshackled and
herded up the steps, and I'm sure that my "brothers",
like me, now thought we were being flown off for sale.
 It was with some surprise, therefore, that we were
taken into the main cabin and not kept in the cargo
hold as we might have expected.

We'd all been on big airliners before in our previous
life, of course, but this was completely different:
the cabin was unlike anything we'd seen before, as
there were no serried ranks of seats.  Instead, it
looked like a luxurious living room in a modern,
contemporary home.  No expense had evidently been
spared in the choice of thick leather couches,
beautiful silk rugs and fine oak panelling and floors.
 Our head trainer appeared, and stood looking at us.

"Right, you boys.  Your owner's guest from last night
was going to enjoy you further this afternoon, but has
to return to London urgently.  Your owner has decided
that he deserves to be distracted from the cares of
the world during the flight, and so instead of the
normal movies, you boys are the in-flight
entertainment!  I expect you to perform to your
regular high standards, and the unusual venue should
indeed spur you on to even greater heights."

"There is a problem, of course, in that your tracker
chips will cease to function properly when you are out
of the country, and in spite of your training we
cannot be certain that you might be tempted to escape
when in London wit the thought of "freedom" so
tantalisingly close.  Consequently you are going to be
shackled to the superstructure of the aircraft, and
will need to take special care when with your client
to ensure that you do not entangle either him, or
yourselves, in the chains!"

On his command a  small silk rug was pulled to one
side by a steward, and a trap door opened in the
smooth wooden floor.  Four chains, with standard
manacles on the ends, were unreeled and secured around
our left ankles.  Our trainer then bend down to check
for himself that we were secure, then gave us a final
admonishment to behave, and left.

We crowded around the windows, and saw a large
limousine drive up to the front steps.  A few minutes
later the Englishman we'd been with the night before
was shown in, and it almost made us burst out with
laughter to see the look of utter surprise, bordering
almost on complete shock, on his face!   We of course
all knelt and salaamed in front of him, but even as we
did, the plane's captain was asking him to take a seat
for take off.

Well, what can I tell you about that flight?  After
his initial shock at seeing us, and when he'd eaten a
light lunch and taken a glass of champagne, the
Englishman sat and watched with an air of keen
interest as we performed one of our routines - not
that it was easy, as we're used to being "free" to
move as we wish, and now we had to remember to keep
checking that our chains were not becoming terribly
tangled up.  Afterwards, it didn't take much to cajole
and tease the man into taking his clothes off and
joining us, and it was a novel experience to lie naked
on the leather  of the couches as he played with us.


Whenever I've travelled before the lavatories on
aircraft have always been really tiny, but when we
were about an hour out from London an announcement
form the captain prompted the Englishman to begin to
dress, we found there was a luxurious tiled shower
area.  It seemed almost bizarre to have the four of us
washing and ministering to him as we sped over France,
then gently drying him as we began our final approach
into London.

The four of us looked out of the windows as his
chauffeured car sped him away from the plane.  We were
so close, and yet so far, from freedom.  No local
people were allowed on the plane, as you might expect,
and we just had to stand there, looking our forlornly,
as the plane was refuelled ready to take us back to
our normal life as slaves.  Somehow it seemed harder
to accept our status when we knew that "freedom" was
so close, and yet so unattainable.

THE BANKER

It was exceptionally kind of the Sheikh to offer me
his jet, and I knew that I could now make a late
afternoon meeting at our head office.  I was expecting
to work during the flight, or, as that might prove
difficult as my mind was full of the plots and counter
plots that my fellow executives were considering and
executing, at the very least  I expected to sit in
quiet contemplation of the Bank's business and my role
in it.

I'd been on a private jet before, of course - indeed
,the Bank has one for its most senior staff and I
sometimes use it.  But I was not expecting a full size
777!  Ours is just an executive Learjet, but even that
is very comfortable and luxurious.  Nothing had
prepared me for the sight of the huge, richly
furnished saloon, however, and especially not the four
naked slaves who were salaaming in front of me as I
entered!

There was no prospect of working, or even of thinking
about office politics, as the four men entertained me
after take off.  It added a new level of excitement to
see them performing chained to the floor - I suppose I
had become accustomed to the idea of slaves and
slavery, but somehow, seeing the men shackled like
this, it really brought it home to me that these were
truly "different".  I'd always wondered why some men
liked leather, chains, cuffs and bondage, as
personally I just like to feel another man's body
against mine and really only want "vanilla" sex, but
as the chains rattled and as I saw how completely
helpless the men were if they were not released, it
somehow seemed even more arousing than usual.

As in-flight entertainment I can wholeheartedly
recommend sex with four athletic studs, all of whom
have been trained to bring complete satisfaction to
their client.  All thoughts of my problems and
concerns disappeared as they lay with me and brought
me to shattering climaxes several times.  And, no, I
do not know which of the four I did actually fuck - I
did ask, but they smiled and refused to tell me!  We
played our games from the night before, and whilst I
could have commanded them to tell me, I suppose, it
seemed somehow much more erotic to continue in this
rather "anonymous" way.  After all, they were so
alike, and any of them could, and would, do anything,
so did it matter?

Having my body further pampered in the huge tiled
shower area was a further novel experience - I
shuddered to think of the cost of building this
facility on an aircraft, and in carrying sufficient
water (which weighs a lot!) To enable us to fully
enjoy it.  There must have been ingenious mechanisms
to suck the water away and allow no spillage as the
plane moved, but these were not apparent beneath the
fine tiled surfaces.  Somehow, being able to stroke
and fondle exceptional male bodies when they are soapy
and wet is even better than the same flesh dry, don't
you think?  I suspect that, had we not been about to
land, that I might have enjoyed the four slaves once
more.  I've told you that I find it difficult on
occasions to perform the sex act as frequently and
with a much vigour as I used to when I was much
younger, but today there seemed to be none of these
problems as the sheer eroticism o f the men, the
location, and their skill, brought back to me those
days of my youth.

The 777 had to land at Heathrow, of course, and I was
faced with a frustrating ninety minute journey across
rush-hour London to our HQ.  Bu here again my host the
Sheikh had thought of everything, and in a secluded
area of the airport I went down the steps and straight
into a waiting helicopter that whisked me to the roof
of our building, at Canary Wharf.  It is of course
illegal to fly helicopters so close to those office
towers, but the pilot assured me that the Sheikh was
more than adequately compensating him for the
admonishment and fine that he might receive from the
authorities, and, were he to lose his licence as a
result of this trip, that would not be a particular
problem!  Such are the ways of the ultra rich I
suppose.

My colleagues in the board room were exceptionally
surprised to see me, as it was clear that they
expected me to be "trapped" with the Sheikh. There
were embarrassed shufflings of the board papers,
discrete greetings, half-hidden signals around the
room.... And I soon discovered that the business of
the whole meeting was designed to further the
ambitions of my rival.  Indeed, had I not been there,
such shifts in power and responsibility would have
been implemented that his succession would have been
almost a fait accompli.  My skilful arguing and the
shift in politics that my presence might have
signalled to some of my colleagues, managed to get
much of the proposed agenda modified or voted down,
and, rather late in the afternoon, I returned to my
own office suite to thank my assistant for his timely
warning.

We worked on until about seven and then, as it was a
warm spring evening, I decided to walk back to my
apartment - my London home is the penthouse floor of
one of the residential towers and it is a few minutes
on foot from our office lobby.  One of the bank's
chauffeurs normally drives me, though, as this is the
"done thing" for senior executives, as it encourages
the others leaving the building to strive even harder
in their careers (or so the theory goes!).

As you probably know, the massive office and
residential development to the East of the city was
built "as a piece" in the heart of a very run down
residential an former industrial area.  On the
immaculately maintained streets you see normally only
those who live and work in the towers, dressed for
business and scurrying around as city folk do.
However sometimes local residents from the "slum"
areas who surround us do penetrate, and as I strolled
along that evening  I saw one of these, a young
skateboarder, heading towards me.

You do see these people from time to time, and the
local newspaper was full of reports of these young
men's threatening behaviour.  Cycling, roller skating
and skate boarding is of course forbidden along the
broad pedestrian walkways of the complex, but, as one
might expect, this lad was paying no heed to this.  I
anticipated that he would swerve to avoid me, and he,
oh his part,  clearly expected me to give way and step
aside for him!  As we got closer and closer our eyes
met, and I could see him trying to stare me down.
Well, that wasn't going to happen, was it?  I strode
on, and of course he gave way at the last minute - but
too late!  He lost his balance and careered into me,
knocking me off my feet.  As I lay on the ground, far
from trying to help me, he stood there heaping abuse
on me and my "type" (the rich?), and seemed more
concerned about damage to his board than any injury he
might have caused me!

Fortunately there is a private security company active
everywhere in the complex, and their operatives soon
came up.  The skater ran off, still hurling abuse, and
I was helped to my feet.  It was clear as I stood up
that I was in serious trouble as my left arm hung limp
and was extremely painful.  The wanted to call me an
ambulance, and I shuddered inwardly at being taken to
some ghastly public emergency facility.  I had to be
fairly insistent that they should help me back to our
HQ, where I ordered one of the chauffeurs to drive me
to a private hospital.

Setting my arm was not particularly painful, but it
was irksome to have it plastered up and in a sling,
even though they used the new lightweight plastic
fittings.  At a time when I was fighting a battle for
my professional life I could have done without this
distraction and encumbrance, but, as it turned out, it
ended up as a slight advantage:  younger colleagues
who might have doubted my courage and fortitude saw
how  I continued to work, and to fight my corner hard
and belligerently, and became convinced that I did
have the powers needed to lead our mighty organisation
in these troubled times.

It was about two months before  I could free my diary
so that  I was again able to visit the Sheikh, a visit
prompted, I hasten to add, by my need to have private
talks with our largest customer, and largest
shareholder, rather than by my desire to again
experience the four identical slaves (although, of
course, I was expecting to be offered their services
by my host!).

My sling was off, and my arm was only now painful if I
made certain movements, and I had almost forgotten
about the incident with the young skater.  The Sheikh
had commented about my sling when we had had one of
our regular video conference sessions, and I had
briefly recounted the story to him.  He seemed amazed
at my calm acceptance o the fact that the lad would
not be punished - even had the police bothered to
trace him, which was doubtful, his lawyers would have
pleaded "accident" and there would have been little
sympathy for a rich banker's injuries, even though the
lad had been blatantly breaking the bye-laws of the
complex by using his board at all!

We had good meetings, and my triumph was complete:
the Sheikh agreed to swing his votes behind me as the
new Chairman, and once other major institutional
shareholders knew that this was where the smart money
was going, I felt certain that I would win the
succession battle.

After our business was concluded, I expected to be
entertained, as before, by some exotic display,
probably to include the four slaves who  I was
intrigued to meet again.  But my host had not lost the
ability to shock and amaze me:  after we had dined
with a few of his confidantes, the doors of the
banqueting hall were thrown open and two armed guards
dragged in a young guy - he looked only to be  sixteen
or so.

The lad was clearly not an Arab, and was dressed in
the casual uniform of Western youth - low-slung Jeans
hanging precipitously onto his hips and threatening to
fall to the floor at any moment, grey "designer" boxer
shorts revealed by this, trainers, a sweat shirt with
some semi-obscene slogan,  and a peaked baseball cap,
worn with the peak turned to the back.  As he was half
dragged, half "encouraged" across the marble floor of
the huge room, I had a flash of recognition:  this was
the young thug on the skateboard who had injured me
those few weeks ago!  What on earth was he doing here?
  I felt a flash of anger run through me - an emotion
that I do not normally exhibit as it is simply futile:
 much better to conserve ones energies for revenge.
But this youth had been so callous, especially in
leaving me lying there as his foul mouth had abused
me, that even I could not help feeling this emotion,
briefly.

He stood in front of the Sheikh and me, and a flash of
recognition came to him as he saw me sitting there.
At once he began to shout, a torrent of foul invective
coming to us.

"Silence!", the Sheikh ordered, and when the lad did
not comply the Sheikh seemed genuinely surprised - he
was unaccustomed to being disobeyed!  As the young
punk continued to shout and swear, the Sheikh
signalled, and one of the guards cut him a stinging
blow across his exposed shoulders with a long, thin
cane.  The "swish" of the cane through the air and the
"slap" noise as it landed were immediately followed by
a cry first of shock, then of outrage, and finally of
pain, from the skater.

"Now, remain silent", the Sheikh commanded, "Or my
guards will take you out, thrash you into silence, and
then drag you back in here."

I'm sure that the lad had not even considered the
possibility of any form of physical punishment - in
England, after all, we banned the last vestiges of
this over half a century ago.  And even things like
prison sentences for young punks was now a rarity.
This lad had probably never had anyone lay a hand of
him during his whole life, and he was probably also
used to doing exactly as he wanted, when he wanted,
and quite unused to the idea of obeying orders.

"This is the young skater who assaulted you, my
friend", the Sheikh went on, turning casually to me.
"My agents studied the security tapes of the incident
and soon identified him.  We do not understand why the
police in your country did not punish him, even when
we denounced him to them, and so I have decided that
he must be punished here:  it is unacceptable for a
youth like this to injure a good friend of me, and my
country."

"Thank you, but I don't think...."

"I have decided, my friend.  The lad is to be punished
- or should I perhaps say that the man is to be
punished, as he had his sixteenth birthday last week.
I have decided.  He had been brought here, and ,after
punishment, will become one of my slaves."

"NO...!"  The skater started to scream, until a
further slashing stroke across his back silenced him.
He looked pathetic standing there in front of us,
whimpering and snivelling and trying to rub his body
to relieve the pain he was experiencing.  I felt
almost sorry for him, in a way.

"I will not tell you again", the Sheikh cut in.  "If
you say one more word, I will have your tongue cut
out."

Turning to me, he continued "In fact, as it is you he
has injured, I am gifting him to you as your personal
slave."

I reeled with shock.  It was ridiculous, of course.
How on earth could I own a a slave, in London?  But
the Sheikh was an important ally now in my fight to
control the bank, and I could not risk upsetting him
in any way.  So  I looked grateful, and said "You are
so astonishingly generous and thoughtful, your
highness!  To go to all this trouble for me, and then
to give the man to me as a gift - a youth like this,
with a pleasing body, is surely a gift whose worth I
cannot hope to properly appreciate.  But there are
certain practical difficulties...."

"Quite so, my friend.  I had imagined that you would
leave the slave safely lodged here, and would use him
on your visits...  Now, perhaps you'd like to inspect
my gift in more detail?"

He looked at the skater then, in a calm voice said
"Remove your clothes.  Your new owner and I wish to
inspect your body, and decide what further training
you are to receive..."

"No way!  You fucking perverts!  No way I'm going to
strip in front of you....."

The swish of the cane and the thwack as it again
landed across his shoulders turned his outburst into a
cry, and a set of snivels and moans as he stood there,
futilely trying to rub at his back.  The Sheikh
continued to stare at him in that way he looked at all
his slaves, so totally in control, so used to giving
orders, and in having them obeyed.

Both I and the young lad saw the cane being raised
again, and he made a kind of "fending off" gesture
with his hands.  Then, realising the hopelessness of
his situation,  he started to tug at his sweatshirt,
and, with huge reluctance, slowly pulled it over his
head.

He had a milky white body - you could clearly see the
line between the sun tan on his neck and the pale
colour of his shoulders and chest  He was quite well
developed for a lad of his age, and his dark aureoles
and nipples were perhaps enhanced by the lack of
colour in his skin.  There was a tiny patch of wiry
black hair on his chest, and a thin trail of it ran
down across his flat belly to enter the top of his
underwear, looking rather enticing as it led the eye
downwards.

The Sheikh commanded him to turn around, and I almost
gasped as I saw the three deep red stripes where the
cane had cut across his shoulders:  the skin had not
been broken, so there was no blood, but the marks that
were there certainly looked painful.

"You may continue...", I heard the Sheikh say, and
clearly the lad was very unhappy as he reached down to
undo the buckle on the belt of his low-slung Jeans.
He had to take his trainers off, of course, to be able
to ease his Jeans over his long feet, and we were
treated to the spectacle of his lithe body hopping
around from foot to foot as he did this - we could
admire the subtle interplay of the lad's musculature
as he gyrated in front of us.

He looked mildly pathetic as he then stood in front of
us in his boxers - the type favoured by young lads
because of the large letters of the brand name running
around the thick elastic waist band, which the
low-slung Jeans usually reveals.  The elasticated
cotton clinging to his thighs did however serve to
emphasise their slim muscularity, and there was a
promise of things to come as we observed the shadowy
outline of his penis and testicles, nestling in the
smooth fabric.

"Continue...", my host commanded.

"No, please..... Please don't make me do this....."

This time the cane cut viciously across the buttocks
of the lad.  Without the protection of his Jeans, it
must really have hurt as he gave a loud howl of pain.
I could see tears running down his face as his hands
fumbled at his waistband, then pushed the boxers down
over his hips.  He stepped out of them, and stood
there in front of us, covering his genitals with his
hands in that kind of embarrassed way that you
sometimes see men doing.

It took another slash of the cane, this time on
buttocks which were now completely bare, to get the
lad to obey the Sheikh's order to raise his hands, and
now the tears were indeed streaming down his face.  He
looked utterly pathetic, nude except for his baseball
cap which he had kept on for some reason, even going
to the trouble to rearrange it after he'd' removed his
sweat shirt.  His penis was however exciting - it lay
on top of reasonably low-hanging balls, and was plump
and appropriately sized.  We couldn't see his cock
head, as it was covered by a long, pale foreskin.  And
the thatch of black pubic hair that covered the whole
area made it difficult to accurately observe the full
beauty of the man.

I'm not normally attracted to very young men, as my
preferred sexual partners are in their late twenties
upwards, but somehow the utter helplessness of this
lad, forced to reveal his virgin body to us, stirred
me.  My erection was almost painful as it strained at
my underwear, and as he rotated in front of us and I
saw the really bright red marks across his perfectly
white buttocks, I knew that I would be soiling myself
with the pre-cum leaking from me.  From the rear he
had the classic "V" of the shoulders tapering to a
trim waist, and then his buttocks were proud and firm.
 He was, I saw, relatively long-legged,  and that
within his overall above-average height his body was
well proportioned and muscular.  My mind was imagining
how he would develop as he got a few years older -
although a highly desirable young man now, I always
think that it's in their later teens and early
twenties that men develop their final musculature,
turning them from the kind of erotic playthings
featured in ancient sculpture into proper,
fully-developed males capable of hard, sustained work.

"So, my friend, do you like what you see?", the Sheikh
asked.   I was so wrapped up in my observation of the
boy and my contemplation of how perfect he was, and
how much more perfect he could become, that I failed
to answer.  Yo know how it is - you hear a question,
but somehow it's too much effort to formulate a reply.

"Ah, my friend, I see you do.... "

"Yes... Very much.  Your four identical slaves are
normally the body types that I find most arousing, but
this boy, somehow....."

"Filthy perverts!", the lad shouted out, very
unwisely, as he heard us talking.

"Punish him properly, with six strokes", the Sheikh
commanded.  "And spread his body taught, for maximum
effect."

As we had been talking the four identical slaves had
come into the room and salaamed to their owner and me.
 I had been so preoccupied with the sight of the young
lad that I'd hardly noticed them, but now the contrast
between their tanned, muscled mature bodies and the
lad's pale, youth-like shape made the whole scene even
more erotic.   At once one of the four identical
slaves knelt down, tucking in his knees and elbows to
form a squat shape on the floor.  One of the others
simply threw the lad across the first slave's bare
back and held him there, and the guard proceeded to
administer the punishment - there was something very
thrilling about the sound of the cane as it flew
through the air, the louder noise as it hit the boy's
bare  buttocks, and the subsequent howl of anguish.
After the first stroke there was almost a continuous
noise of screaming and wailing from the lad, and after
the last stroke had been administered he seemed almost
unable to remain silent.  I could see his body heaving
as his lungs sucked in great draughts of air, and the
sound of his sobbing filled the chamber.

Two of the four slaves now lifted him up and held his
arms, and he was "exhibited" to us in his pitiable
state.  Not only were his buttocks now criss-crossed
wit the cane marks, causing me to be totally aroused,
but his caning had had the same effect on the boy as
observing it had had on me:  his penis, previously
just lying languid, was now erect.  Like a lot of
young men, his erection was so strong that the shaft
of the penis was raised way above the horizontal, and
indeed was almost parallel to his belly.  What was
equally exciting was that his foreskin had retracted,
and, contrasting with the milky white of his skin, his
cock head was a deep shade of pink, glistening under
the lights from its coating of sweat and pre-cum.

"See, my friend", the Sheikh said conversationally.
"Sometimes it takes a little encouragement to really
arouse a new slave....".  Turning to the four
identical slaves he continued "Take the new slave away
 and prepare him for his master.  All four of you
should take him to our guest's chamber tonight, as the
slave is not properly trained yet and some assistance
might be required."

End Of Part Five