Date: Fri, 1 Sep 2006 22:59:02 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Tables Were Turned, Part Seven

THE TABLES WERE TURNED

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

The Tables Were Turned, Part  Seven


I don't know how long I was kept toiling in the
fields, chained to my fellows in the coffle.  There
was no way of registering the passage of time, as
every day was exactly like another and the climate was
almost unchanging.  We went through cycles of digging,
planting, hoeing and picking, but there was no real
pattern to it - one day we'd be digging, but another
day picking a crop:  under the hot sun, providing
there was irrigation, the crops seemed to grow
continuously.  I had no calendar, and even the normal
way that traditionally prisoners are supposed to
register the passing of time - making "tally marks" on
the walls - was denied to me as our coffle was not
always put into the same pen every night.

If anyone had asked me if I could have been fitter or
stronger when I was living a normal life I'd have
laughed.  I ate well, exercised a lot, and thought of
myself as in really good shape.  But after working in
the coffle, I knew that it had all been an illusion:
with the unvarying diet of vegetable stuff I was now
much "leaner" and with the constant toil my muscles
were now all "stringy", and every one of them was used
and honed.  I'd gone from having the body of a man who
looks after himself "artificially" to having one of a
true worker, an animal who does nothing from morning
to night except use his muscle power in the service of
his owner.  And it was continuous, too - we could
never stop, or else the cane or tawse of the overseer
would fall on out naked bodies;  and this constant
working had enhanced my heart and lungs so that even
though I was dog tired and exhausted all the time, I
could continue to work without ceasing until I was
allowed to stop.

Given that I was strong to begin with, it was only the
combined force of the boss man and his henchmen that
had been able to overpower me so they could use  me
for sex. Once the novelty of fucking a white guy had
worn off they mostly left me alone, though (indeed,
they preferred to sit and laugh as the young water boy
used me, as I have told you).  Of course I couldn't
refuse the young lad as otherwise he had his method of
"bringing me to heel" by denying me water the next
day.  But I had my own urges, of course, as I was
still young and was now leading this healthy life -
untroubled by thoughts of "the world" or of needing to
make decisions or anything like that, my brain was
free to focus on the only thing still available to
give me pleasure - sex!  I soon gave up solitary
wanking and entered the "hierarchy" amongst us of who
could fuck whom.  My natural strength and my general
like of being in control soon taught me that taking
one of the other servants, either in the mouth or
arse, was so much more satisfactory that wanking.
And, of course, as in any collection of men, those who
like me enjoy "topping" were in relatively short
supply so I never lacked an almost endless succession
of willing, eager blokes willing to kiss and caress my
cock, or to lie there as I entered them and fucked
them properly.

I suppose I'd really given up all hope of escape
(impossible, chained in  the coffle), and was making
the most of my life as an animal whose only purpose
now was to work and to fuck.  I'd forgotten that I had
been a civilised man, with a house ,car, bike, clothes
and all that stuff, and now I "knew" that I was just
an animal, nothing more than a human machine whose
only function was to toil away, day after day, in the
service of my owner.

It all changed though when one day, as I was being
unchained from the coffle and pushed into the pen for
the night one of the guards came over and instead
marched me off.  They took me to the "dip" place where
we were disinfected and shaved once a week, and it was
kind of eerie to go through that all by myself - I
realised I'd never truly been alone (well, apart from
the watching guards) since I'd been here.   They led
me outside then and I watched as a truck arrived with
a cage on its back carrying its human cargo of new
servants, just as I had been all those months before.
But then the guards herded me into the now-empty
travelling cage, and once more locked the gate of it.

The straw on he base of the cage was damp from the
piss of the human cargo who had just arrived, but I
really no longer cared - I was almost used to that
from where we were penned every night.  And it was
almost a luxury to spend the journey away from the
farm complex all by myself, with no other blokes'
bodies pressing against mine.  I was so used to being
totally naked now that when we reached the town I did
not  feel even the slightest twinge of embarrassment
as I crouched there watching the faces of the crowd as
they looked at me as we edged our way through the
narrow streets and market places.  I recognised the
palace as soon as we got close - and remembered how
many times before I had driven in through the huge
gates in his Highness's limousine that had collected
me from the airport (a limousine that had held one of
my captives securely bound in the trunk).

Inside the handlers - yes ,that is what they were, as
they were completely used to dealing with the new
"imports" - rapidly took me through a process of
showering, and then cleaning my insides out thoroughly
with a series of enemas.  I was so used to being
fucked now that taking the metal nozzle of the enema
pipe up my arse was no real problem, and I was totally
unembarrassed by being there naked in front of the
men;  and, indeed, the times when I had been forced to
crap in the fields, or in the barn overnight with all
the others watching, had long since rid me of any
feeling of shame about my own excrement.  But as they
worked away I couldn't help wondering what it would
have been like for a bloke like Tim to have been here
experiencing this:  although by then he would have
been used to being naked in the cage in my basement in
front of me, this whole new environment and all the
"handlers" working on him would have been utterly
devastating to him.

Once I had been showered again and scrubbed all over
with a brush by one of the handlers who seemed pleased
to be able to strip off and get close to me under the
streams of water (well I noticed them arguing about
whose turn it was!), they took me to a  hamman, or
steam bath, and locked me in.  I sat there sweating
away, trying to remain calm and breathe steadily in
the turgid atmosphere, and when I had had enough I
tried to leave - but it didn't matter:  however much I
pounded on the door and shouted, they clearly had a
scheduled time for me to remain in there, and that was
it!  Still, afterwards, I was clean - it felt
absolutely wonderful after all those months of having
my skin caked with dirt to be really deeply and truly
clean once more.  I ran my hands almost in wonder over
my muscles, feeling the smoothness of my skin and
almost marvelling at how dirty and grime-encrusted I
had been.  They took huge pains to shave me, too,
going over my entire body three times with their soap
and razors, so that there was absolutely no trace of
hair on me.

I couldn't believe it when they gave me clothes!
Well, not clothes exactly, but a short white cotton
tunic that left my shoulders bare and finished half
way down my thighs so that my cock and bum were
covered.  I hoped they might feed me as I'd missed the
normal feeding time at the farm complex and my stomach
was rumbling with hunger, so used had it become to the
regular pattern of my life, but when I asked one of
the handlers for something, I got a mild slap on the
face and was commanded to remain silent unless spoken
to.

I was led through the place as I had been on my last
visit and into the vast audience chamber.  The
handlers told me that I must now lie in the
"obeisance" position until commanded otherwise by his
Highness, and they instructed me on how to kneel there
on the cold marble floor, my body right forward so
that my forehead touched the ground and my arms were
straight out in front of me on the ground to.  It's
actually pretty uncomfortable, as normally you only do
it for a few seconds, but I was told to lie like that
whilst his Highness and his guest finished dinner, and
I was acutely conscious that the tunic had fallen
forward so that my bum was now exposed to all the
guards and general "hangers on" who were lining the
vast room.

My muscles were cramping and my knees and toes were
sending messages of pain to me as I knelt there, but I
did not dare move as I had been told that if I did, I
would be taken out and beaten.  So I had to suffer,
and to make things worse, I could not even see what
else was going on as my face was directly downwards as
my forehead had to remain in contact with the floor.
Finally, though, I heard a lot of commotion and
guessed that his Highness had entered the room, and
shortly afterwards his voice rang out "On your feet,
Steve!".

I've never been so glad in my life to be allowed to
move again, and I scrambled to my feet, tugged at the
hem of my tunic to make myself as respectable as
possible, and stood there.  Standing next to the man
who had been my best customer was Tim - but a changed
Tim, someone who now looked like a properly mature
man, rather than someone in the last stages of his
teenage years - it wasn't so much his body (although
that seemed to have filled out and matured a bit, as
far as I could see), but his whole attitude:  he stood
there calm and confident looking, the understated
elegance of his expensive clothes all underlining the
fact that he was a friend and confidante of his
Highness.

"He looks good, doesn't he?" His Highness remarked,
and I saw Tim nod in agreement.

"But let's see all of him", he went on, and his voice
changed instantly to "command mode" as he snapped at
me "Unclothe!".

The tunic had obviously been designed for quick
removal as it was very loose around the neck, and I
only needed to reach up and pull it over me head in
one smooth fluid movement - even so I felt my cock
jerk upwards as my stomach muscles tightened with the
action, and I somehow felt that the eyes of all the
men in the room were looking at me as stood there
totally and utterly bare.  Even those of you who are
used to stripping off in front of other men should try
to imagine how I felt now - I was the only one naked,
and it wasn't at all like the communal changing rooms
at a gym or sports club, or even an army barracks with
all the blokes living together.  No, here were twenty
or thirty clothed men all feasting their eyes on me -
and I wasn't just naked from removing the tiny tunic:
you should remember that there wasn't a scrap of hair
anywhere on me, so every plane of my body was revealed
to their gaze.  Only the big "S" on my bum and his
Highness's mark on my chest detracted from the acres
of bare skin I was revealing to them.  I felt utterly
wretched and miserable, the more so as I remembered
that I'd been 'skinned, and so even my cock head was
exposed to them.  Still, after all, a few moments
before they'd all been gazing at my arse, and I ought
to have been used to it all by now after months of
utterly naked toil.  But somehow this was all
different - out at the farm complex I'd just been one
naked guy amongst many, and here I was the only one,
surrounded by all these men in their mixture of
traditional Arab robes and expensive western suits.

His Highness and Tim came across the floor towards me,
and I saw Tim "ask" his Highness something by raising
an eyebrow, and his Highness nodding in agreement.
Tim then came and put his hands on my shoulders, and
ran them down over my body, his fingers lingering on
my brand, then both hands gliding down the sides of my
ribs.

"So, Steve, even a man like you who was always going
on about his body can be improved".  Tim's tone was
calm and even.  "I see you're now very lean, and your
waist is much better defined.... And I like he way we
can see your ribs properly.  I think you were perhaps
running just a little towards having a small layer of
fat there.... And now you're superb!".

I stood there, and, strangely, felt myself starting to
blush at the thought of being "inspected" and
commented on like that.

Tim went around behind me and once more I felt his
hands, now running all over my powerful shoulders,
then down to cup my bum.  His thumbs went into my
crack so he could squeeze my bum firmly with each
hand, muttering "So solid, so strong.....", before the
hands danced down, almost caressing my long, lean
thighs.

I stood there as Tim said to his Highness "You were
right, sir!   When you told me over dinner about the
way Steve would have 'improved' I doubted you as I
thought he was pretty good when I left him here.  But
now....."

The Arab laughed.  "Well we do have some experience in
these matters - he's not the first, and I doubt he'll
be the last!  But the biggest change is not in him
physically - although I agree with you that he is much
better even than he was before - but in his whole
attitude.  You'll find him totally compliant and
obedient now."

I saw Tim nodding, and the Arab went on "Do you
remember last time?  He had to be tied down on to the
horse before we could avail ourselves of the delights
of his body?   Well, perhaps a little demonstration
will show you....."

He clapped his hands and barked out orders, and the
room cleared of the watching men, as servants once
more positioned the golden "horse" on which I'd been
raped into the centre of the room.  I watched as once
more his Highness dropped his outer robes so that he
stood there with his huge cock tenting out the front
of his thin cotton under garment.  Mentally I
shuddered as I remembered the agony I had suffered as
his cock had battered my arse - but even worse, the
terror, anger and shame I'd experienced as he'd raped
me and taken my virginity.  Now though, when he
commanded me to lie once more on the horse, it didn't
matter - I was completely used to being used by the
boss man and his henchmen, and knew that my arse was
there for the pleasure of other men.

The cool leather of the horse felt almost calming to
me as I positioned myself with my head turned to one
side, and rested it on my folded arms.  I spread my
legs and positioned my feet to be comfortable, and
heard his Highness tell Tim "See - last time the
guards had to hold him down as they fastened the wrist
and ankle cuffs, but now he understands that he is
here to serve us, and accepts it willingly."

I heard the rustle of the Arab's shift fall to the
floor, and then his strong fingers prising my bum
apart.  I didn't care.  It no longer mattered.  And as
the hot tip of his cock pressed at my arsehole, I
almost welcomed it into me - the sooner this man had
used me, the sooner I would be out of here, and might
even get fed.

It wasn't an epic fucking, as the boss man had given
me so many times, but his Highness's thrusts were hard
and vigorous as he cared only for his own satisfaction
and was not at all concerned with me.  I took them
well, though, lying there knowing that there was a
natural limit to the pain and discomfort I was feeling
as even the hardest fuck sooner or later ends in an
orgasm.  And when he was done and I was left lying
there as I saw him pull his robes back on, I really no
longer felt anything:  all the anger, all the rage,
all the shame, all the humiliation, had long since
been worked out of me and I now understood that I was
just a piece of flesh whose only purpose was to serve
my owner.

His Highness was of course an excellent host, and he
therefore at once offered me to Tim, and I'm sure I
saw a note of triumph in Tim's face as he approached
me, pulling down the zip on his trousers as he did so,
and said curtly "On your back, boy!"

I didd as he commanded, and realised that Tim was
going to fuck me so that he could watch me:  in turn
he picked up each of my feet and pressed them back
towards my head, commanding me to grasp my ankles.  I
lay there looking down the length of my body, knowing
that my arse was totally exposed and open to him, and
saw that my cock was flopped forward, not even vaguely
erect, lying there on my belly.

I don't suppose it was being ashamed of his body that
stopped him from undressing - after all, he had done
so on the previous occasion.  No, I think it was to
emphasise to me that I was nothing more than a mere
naked servant, whereas he was a master.  His cock
jutted through his fly and he came forward and rested
his hands on the back of my thighs, pushing them down
and forward even further.  He had the glimmer of a
smile on his face as he reached down to 'skin himself
back, and then, in one savage thrust, he was in me,
buried as deep as he could go.  I could feel the wool
of his trousers scratching at the sensitive area
between my spread-eagled thighs, as he began an
unmerciless pounding of me:  deep and hard and fast.
Soon he was panting wit the exertion and drops of
sweat were flying off  him on to me, and I could hear,
faintly, my own body making grunts of effort in
synchronisation with him  as he worked away.  I had to
endure it, but I was somehow detached, knowing that he
was in total charge and that I simply had to lie there
and experience it to the end.

When he did cum finally, his back arching as he
strained to get the last millimetre of his cock buried
in me, there was a smile on his face.  Then, still
buried in me, he leaned forward so he was close to my
face.  "So, Steve - how many men like me did you leave
here to be fucked like this?  Now you know what it
feels like".

 He and his Highness went off then, and the "handlers"
came back to take me away to the depths of the palace
where I was caged in a cell which at one time I'd have
felt was small, but which now felt like luxury
accommodation.  And they even pushed a bowl of some
sort of food into me, which I devoured hungrily.  I
lay there, their cum still gently trickling out of me,
but somehow I didn't care - they'd used my body, but
their usage was no worse than the way I'd become
accustomed to being a mere animal, working and toiling
away in the fields, I suppose.  In both cases I had no
choice, no freedom to act - so why was taking my
owner's cock any different from slaving and toiling
away for him?

The next morning I was again cleaned both inside and
out and shaved again, given one of the tunics, and led
once more through the palace.  His Highness and Tim
were breakfasting when I was led into the room - the
smell of coffee was heavy in the air and I couldn't
stop my mouth watering as it wafted towards me - I
had, after all, only drunk water since I'd been
brought here.  There were piles of big, buttery
croissants, lavish platters of fresh fruit, and silver
chafing dishes with little lights under them filled
with sausages and tomatoes and eggs, and the two men
were evidently just finishing.  I looked longingly at
the food, but knew I would be offered none even though
there was an excess available.

At a gesture from his Highness I shrugged my tunic to
the floor then stood with my head bowed and my hands
clasped behind my back.

"See, Tim - total obedience.  He has been properly
'broken' now, and is tame and docile, anxious only to
satisfy and please his owner in every way possible."

"What are you going to do with him now, sir?  Return
him to your farm?"

"No, Tim.  I intend to give him as a gift, to you!
You have given me much amusement by overcoming this
man and bringing him here, and now that he is broken
he is no longer of any interest to me as I prefer to
take men against their will.  Fucking him last night
was really only like masturbation - I like my men to
scream and shout and buck and resist.... This one is,
as I said, 'broken'.  Of course I could return him to
the pool of servants on the farm complex, to live out
his life in my service, but it seems a waste - he has
such a perfect body, and as a white man is relatively
rare.  I'd like to present him to you as a token of my
continuing regard and friendship."

"But what could I do with him, Highness?"

"Take him back to England with you - surely a young
man like you needs a servant?  He can be trained to
look after your clothes,  your house, chauffeur you
around... And, of course, to give you satisfaction
when you have not lured another man into your
bedchamber...."

"He's broken enough to make that possible?"

"Oh yes, believe me!  But haven't you got that DVD you
made of his previous exploits, that you can always
show to the British police if he causes trouble?  I
suspect he would prefer to work for you as a servant
rather than spend the rest of his life in one of your
British jails.  And I can offer you something else,
too.... The ultimate 'calming' of  servants where
their 'breaking' fails....."

"What's that, sir?"

His Highness imperiously beckoned for me to move
closer to the two men, and then reached out and took
my cock in his hand.  His thumb teased  the flange of
my cock head, causing me to start to stiffen, and he
said quietly "Observe, Tim - the head of a man's cock
is the most sensitive part.  He has already lost some
sensation when we had him 'skinned - men like you
always tell me  that you enjoy your foreskins, but of
course the Prophet dictates that all servants must
lose them.  However we can take it one stage further:
imagine a cigar cutter, to take the ends off a fat
cigar.  Now imagine Steve's cock here inside it, and
squeezing it shut... So that his cock head falls
neatly to the floor like the discarded tip of a cigar.
 Once he had been cauterised to stop the bleeding, he
would still be able to function as a male, but he
would have no pleasure, no excitement, no
stimulation....  If you want to breed from him his
shortened cock could still be inserted into some woman
and he could fertilise her.  But as a man, his life
would be over:  no pleasure from his sexual organ, and
other men, seeing him, would know this and would see
him as a pathetic, unmanly creature."

I saw Tim nodding, his eyes shining, and felt a chill
go through me as I wondered if he'd ask for that to be
done to me.

"Of course", his Highness continued, "If you do not
want to breed him, there's a slightly more radical
procedure.  At one time men who could not be 'broken'
were castrated, and we could still have that done to
him if you wanted.  But it has undesirable side
effects as he will start to gain weight and lose that
hard, sharp edge of manliness in his musculature that
we all so admire.  So nowadays we leave the balls, but
remove his cock - totally:  instead of taking the head
off, we take off the whole cock, leaving perhaps a
half-inch stub.  His balls are still intact so his
male hormones keep his body in proper shape, but he is
totally unable to ejaculate in the normal way.  Every
man will see that his is no longer a man, without a
cock.  He can still urinate, but will have to sit,
like a woman! "

"But, sir, if he's in England....."

"Do you not believe, Tim, that my power extends there?
 We have a large staff of guards and others at our
embassy in London.... And they can hunt him down.
Removing the cock is a simple operation - in the
cellars of the embassy we can soon have him strapped
to a horse ,and then you can even do it to him
yourself if you are so minded."

With a wave of his hand his Highness dismissed me then
and the handlers took me back down to my "cage" in the
cellars.  Later that morning as I lay there on the
straw I heard a rattling of keys, and Tim was there at
the bars.  "I understand that it's customary for
servants to get to their feet when their owner comes
in", he said quietly, and I scrambled to my feet.

"So, Steve.... Do you want to go back to England?"

"Sir, yes, please ,sir."

"Well things would be very different, you know... I'd
expect absolute obedience.  You will work as my
servant, and have no life of your own."

"Sir, please, sir.... Yes."

"Bu perhaps you'd be better off left here, working on
this Highness's farm, living a good, healthy life....
I can use you on my visits.... I've been asked to work
as one of his advisors, you know..... With that money
of yours I invested in the markets, and got the hang
of it - I was telling him how I've become quite an
expert, and when he learned how I've increased that
little pile of yours, he has asked me to consult and
advise him.... So I expect I'll be here two or three
times a year....."

"Sir, please, no, sir... Please take me back.  I'll
work for you...."

"No, Steve.  You won't work for me, in the
conventional sense.  You will not be paid - and you
are a pauper, remember?  I have your money, your
house... Everything.  And you will remain utterly
dependent on me for housing, food, clothes....
Everything."

"Sir, yes, sir."

"And if there's the slightest hint of disobedience to
my authority, or of any attempt to run away... Well,
there's always the DVD to go to the police, isn't
there?  And those cellars at his Highness's embassy
don't sound such a nice place... I wonder how it would
feel to have a cock without a cock head, Steve?  Or
even just to have a little tiny stub nestling on top
of your balls?  So you understand what I will be
expecting?  Total and utter subservience and
obedience."

"Sir, yes, sir."

"I'll think about it, then!"

With that Tim turned and left, and I spent the rest of
the day lying there wondering whether I'd ever see
England again, or would spend the rest of my life in
this place as a naked servant.  But as I lay there, I
couldn't rationalise why I cared  really:  a servant
to his Highness was hard work but on the other hand I
had no responsibilities, and endless sex.  What would
Tim be like as a master?  After he fucked me yesterday
he had gone on again about how I was now experiencing
what all the other lads I'd captured had been
experiencing - would he continue to take it out on me
for the rest of my life?    I basically fretted away
at these things, until I realised I was being stupid
as it didn't matter:  what would be, would be.  Que
sera, sera.  I had no choice in the matter, no freedom
of action.  It was Tim who would decide, and no one
would even ask for my opinion.  I was there only to
obey.

The next morning they gave me clothes!  Proper
clothes.  Jeans, and a T, and socks, and boots!  I
felt so odd, having my skin covered.  I itched and
scratched, and it felt so uncomfortable at first.  And
as the fabric of the jeans teased my cock, I was
almost constantly erect.   Then they led me out to the
car, and I was got in and sat there - until Tim came
out, said his farewells to his Highness, and joined
me.

"I've decided to take you back, Steve", he said
curtly.  "But remember - total obedience.  I have your
passport still.... Here....."

I took the red book, and idly flipped the pages.  The
face that stared out at me seemed so different - there
was a hard, cold, confident stare that was no longer
me.  Tim saw me looking "They won't stop you at
Heathrow as a British passport holder, but if they do,
you've been doing a contract out here in the Gulf and
are coming home at the end.  That will explain the
tan.  And they are unlikely to strip you and notice
that you have lost all your hair.... And your
'skin.... I don't think they record that at all!"


I was in the back of the plane, of course, whereas Tim
had been booked in first class.  I hardly dared taste
the food and drink they served me, as it seemed so
strange and exotic after all this time.  And I had no
interest in the newspapers and magazines, as the lives
they told me about were so different from anything I
had experienced recently.  And at Heathrow Tim went
through immigration and customs with me - not that I
was stopped, as it happened.

He had hired a car to take us to Cardiff, and we
picked up what used to be my old van there to drive us
"home".  It seemed to be so odd arriving at "my"
cottage again, and I felt like crying when I realised
it was no longer mine.  Inside, I assumed that Tim
would make me sleep down in the cage in the cellar,
and, indeed, he at once ordered me down there and told
me to strip.

I stood there, naked in front of him, and he muttered
"It's your turn now, Steve.  How many lads like me did
you keep down here?  How many of them were naked in
front of you? And now you're even more exposed that we
were.  Still, I have decided that you can grow the
hair on your head again, and I'll let you have pit
hair and pubes, too - but shave your balls, and keep
everything else neatly cropped, understand?"

I smiled.  "Great...."

"OK, Steve!  That's it!  I think you're slipping -
remember, I can turn you over to the police, call in
his Highness's goons..... I never want to hear
anything other than a proper servile response in
future."

He looked at me expectantly, and I cast my eyes down,
hung my head, and said "Sir, thank you, sir."

"Good!  Now, put some shorts on and get out there and
start tidying the grounds.  The vegetable plot is over
run, the grass needs cutting, the leaves are to be
swept from the entrance....."

"Sir, yes, sir."

I'd never really liked outdoor work, but now, after my
time at the desert farm complex, it felt good to be
able to work out of doors like this "decently" clad,
and my own master.  I could hardly believe that I
could move around freely, without having to bother
about keeping the coffle chain free of obstructions.

I worked away diligently, and could see Tim
occasionally looking through the window at me, and
when he finally called me in he told me he was pleased
with my progress, and that I should go and shower
before dinner.  I was allowed to sit opposite him at
the table, although he reprimanded me when I started
to wolf down the food before he had given me
permission to begin.  I had to clear away and wash up
the plates and stuff, and then stood there
uncertainly.

"It's been a long day - time for bed", Tim stated,
giving me no choice.  I expected him to tell me to go
down to the cage in the cellar, but instead I had to
follow him upstairs, then stand there and watch as he
undressed and threw himself into my bed and pulled the
beautiful goose down duvet over him - how I remembered
the caress of that against my bare skin, and now, like
everything else I had once owned, it was his.

I could see him stretching his body as he lay there,
then he pointed at the mound forming where he was
clearly having an erection.  "On your knees, boy, then
get under there and get rid of this for me", he said
calmly, his eyes locked on mine.

I did as I was told, tunnelling my head under the
duvet and locating his cock almost by the strong male
smell that was coming from his pubes.  I nuzzled it,
kissed it, teased my tongue under his 'skin, and soon
had him writhing and moaning with pleasure as I worked
away.  I tasted his salty pre-cum, and then my mouth
was full  of his cum as he shot into me.  He cried out
as I carried on sucking and licking, but I knew by now
that a lot of blokes find attention to their cocks at
times like that gives them that exquisite combination
of pain and pleasure that you can't really describe,
so I carried on sucking him until he was empty.

Tim told me to get a blanket and sleep on the floor by
the side of the bed in case he wanted further
attention during the night, and it seemed somehow good
to be there in the cool rather than the desert heat,
with only the sound of Tim's breathing as he slept,
rather than that of all my coffle mates.  I lay there
feeling the scratchy wool all around me and was
somehow glad to be "home", even if it was no longer
mine.

In the morning, as dawn broke, I heard Tim commanding
me to get onto the bed, and he threw the duvet aside
to reveal his morning hard-on.  This time, though, I
was ordered to squat over it and lower myself so that
he could enter me, and then I had to fuck away as Tim
moaned and reached out for my powerful thighs almost
in ecstasy, as he enjoyed seeing and feeling them
power my body up and down on him.

After breakfast Tim looked at me.  "One final test,
Steve.  Do you accept that you belong to me totally
now?  And are you prepared to be mine for the rest of
your life, as punishment for what you did to all those
lads, and tried to do to me?"

"Yes, sir", I said quietly.

He led me down to the cellar, and told me to lie on my
back on what had been my horse.  "You wear the
ownership mark of his Highness, Steve.  Now you belong
to me again.  So You must have my mark on you.  Are
you prepared, or shall I cuff you?"

I remembered the searing agony of my branding, and at
first thought I should be held down.  But I had born
it before, and I was tough.  So I said quietly "I am
prepared, sir."

Tim had fashioned a big "T" from the end of a wire
coat hanger, and he used a blowlamp to heat it to in a
bright cherry red.  He sat astride my belly, looking
down at my eyes as he pressed it into my skin, next to
the existing mark.  I screamed, but managed to hold my
body still as the brand seared into me, and then Tim
pulled it away. "Good boy, Steve!  I do believe you
have learned to obey!"

So I was his, totally and completely.  As he explained
frequently during the next few weeks, I was to atone
for my errors for the rest of my life by living a life
of total obedience to him.  So I did all the chores,
ironed his clothes, and acted as his sexual plaything
whenever he chose - usually sucking him off at night,
and learning to "ride" his cock, to prolong his
pleasure, in the morning.  Tim meanwhile worked at the
PC, growing his financial holdings, and occasionally
went into the local town for supplies, and even
occasionally off for a night or two to London.
Somehow it was satisfying for me, as I had learned at
the farm complex to totally subdue my natural desire
to be in charge, and now it was Tim who decided
everything, and as long as I obeyed him, I was happy.

But things are never as simple as that, are they?  And
although my conscious mind had accepted that this was
to be my life from now on, deeper down some more
primitive part of me was stirring and wanting to - no,
needing to - assert itself.

Tim had fucked me "properly" one morning - that is to
say instead of me "riding" is cock and doing all the
work, he'd commanded me to kneel down with my arse in
the air so he could fuck me properly.  As usual, he
was energetic and enthusiastic, pumping me vigorously
and hard until he was satisfied.  He had fallen
forwards, his sweaty body along my back, and something
inside me welled up and made me do it:  I threw him
off me, and before he could react I had him on his
back and was lying on top of him, my face next to his
and my cock stabbing at his belly.  His knees were
banging my side and his feet kicking at my bum, and he
was futilely scrabbling at me with his  hands -
something I soon stopped as I gripped his wrists and
pinioned them above his head.

As he shouted and threatened me, I wriggled by body
down a bit, and then moved forward so that my
rampantly hard cock was nudging at his arse.  He
shouted more, and I smiled down at him.  "There's no
one to hear,  Tim!"

"You'll regret this, Steve.... The police....."

I didn't care, though.  That primeval thing in my
brain was driving me.  I was no longer rational.  I
was a man, a man who liked to be in charge.  Who
needed to be in charge.  A man who needed to prove his
domination and control of another by using his cock
for the purpose it was intended. But actually I was
gentle.  Well, as gentle as a bloke can be whose
natural sexual desire is to be on top, in charge,
making the running.  It was really hard to force my
way into Tim, especially without any pre-stretching or
lubing, but I managed it.  And then I enjoyed his
arse, going through the whole repertoire of fast and
slow, long and short,  hard and soft, to give myself
finally one of the biggest climaxes I had ever had in
my entire life.

I fell forward on to him again, now biting his neck
and shoulders to mark him as mine, and forcing my
tongue into his mouth as if it was a replacement for
my cock which I had now pulled out from him.  We were
both breathing incredibly hard, and covered in sweat
and cum.  Finally I stopped, and lay there, his head
by the side of mine, with him still pinioned under me.

"You know what I said, Steve", he murmured.  "I reckon
it's prison for you for the rest of your life."

I shrugged.  "Sorry, Tim.  Something.... Something
snapped.  I agree with you that I ought to be
punished.  I wanted to work for you.  But I am a man,
you know - and a man who was used to being in control.
 I can subdue it most of the time.... But when it
comes to sex....."

I saw a glimmer of a smile forming on his face.  "That
was an ace fuck though, wasn't it?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

"Reckon you could do it again, Steve?"

"Well, not immediately...."  As I said this, I felt an
emotion flooding through me that I'd never felt
before.  I'd subdued myself to serve his Highness and
had learned to obey.  And I could obey Tim, as I did
need to be punished.  But as I saw that smile on his
face I realised I wanted to obey him,  I wanted to be
with him - be with him all the time.  When time I'd
captured him I had felt that there had been
"something" about him that was different from all the
others.... What it was, I don't know.  But I felt a
rush of desire, of longing, of needing him.

"So if I ordered you to do it again tomorrow, you
could?"

"Sir, yes, sir!", I snapped, smiling as I did so, and
once more thrusting my tongue into his mouth so we
could start again to enjoy the closeness of two males
who knew there was some special bond between them.

He broke away.  "So perhaps I had better keep you a
little longer, Steve."

"Thank you, sir", I said, smiling back, as I once more
bit into the delicate softness of his shoulder and
tasted the sweetness of his sweat.

THE END

Pete Brown, London,  August 2006