Date: Mon, 2 Jul 2007 23:20:38 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Instrument, Part One

THE INSTRUMENT

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part One

The problem with new boys is that they just don't lie
still at night - I've often found that, and this one
was no exception.  He was moving almost constantly,
crying nonsensical words aloud as his dreams flickered
across his brain, and occasionally his arms or legs
would twitch so violently that it was actually painful
if they hit me in the ribs, or genitals.  Finally,
around three a.m. I could stand it no more, and I
slapped his bare butt hard a couple of times, so that
he would wake up.  He sat up in our bed, looking
around in terror as if he had no idea where he was,
and then rubbed his eyes in a kind of forlorn gesture
as he realised that everything he could see was indeed
real and that it was his dream from which I'd woken
him that was the fiction.

"Lie still, you young fucker!", I snapped.  "I need my
rest, and with you thrashing around beside me it's
difficult.  You've got to learn to lie still so as not
to disturb the other guy."

He looked at me, and  I could see he was only half
awake.  "....and what's more, when you do get woken
up, you'd better learn to be wide awake immediately -
who knows, there might be some service you need to
perform."

It was as if he was still in some semi- somnambulant
state, as he just sat there, staring at me almost
dumbly.  He needed a lesson, if he was not to get into
more trouble later on.  So I lay back, put my hands
behind my head so that I could look along my body, and
said calmly "Get down on my cock, boy."

"No, please....", he whimpered.

"You heard me!  Get down on my cock, and don't fucking
argue with me, unless you want another of those
thrashings on your ass that I had to give you
yesterday."

Very reluctantly he stretched his body, moved down the
bed and lay alongside me - I threw one of my powerful
legs across his body to give him the sense that he was
then trapped and under my control totally.  His skin
was so smooth (he'd been totally shaved when he
arrived and it had not yet been decided whether he'd
be allowed to re-grow his body hair), and his flesh
felt hot even through the hairs on my leg as I rubbed
it up and down him.

"Please....", he whispered, and I snapped "Get down on
it, boy, or else....."

I knew he hated taking my cock in his mouth.  I was
teaching him the proper way to really pleasure a man's
cock, but he was one of those boys who are really slow
to learn - he'd told me when we first met that he was
used to sex and had had a lot of girl friends, but
somehow I doubted that he had got very far with them:
well, he didn't seem to know how to give a really good
blow job, and most young guys with a girl would surely
have had some experience.  Still, it wasn't a blow job
 I was after tonight - I was planning on doing some
fucking later in the day, and even though I'm only
thirty two, I do feel the effects of getting older and
like to "save" myself a bit when there's a marathon
session in the offing.  But I wanted to teach the boy
a lesson about proper behaviour in bed, so as he
gently (or do I mean timorously?) took my half-hard
cock in one hand and lowered his head slowly towards
it, I reached out and put both of my hands on his head
and pushed him down almost brutally onto my hard
erection.   He began to gag a little, and I snapped
"Remember what I told you - relax the throat!  And if
I feel any teeth on me, even the faintest scraping,
I'll tan your hide."

I could feel his skull hot and sweaty under my hands -
he had the standard very, very short crop that now was
the only remaining vestige of his body hair, and yet,
being a natural blond, it was kind of silky to my
touch.  I pressed down firmly so that his nose was
buried in my pubes, and he did indeed calm down a
little - he'd started to thrash around a bit when the
gagging began, but he seemed to have got himself under
control. The only remaining sign of the panic his body
had gone in to was the fact that I could feel sweat
soaking my leg where it lay across him.  He hated
sucking my cock, and hated it even more when I shot my
cum directly into his mouth, so I knew he was going to
hate what was about to happen!  slowly and carefully I
began to squeeze my bladder muscles, to start my piss
flowing and yet to try to keep it under control.  I
had a bladder full, and if I wasn't careful, once I'd
started there'd be a whole lot more than he could cope
with and I didn't want to wet the sheets as it spilled
out of him (well, it's not a total disaster, I suppose
- you can always make the boy lie across the wet
patches and then lie on top of him).

As he tasted the first drops of my piss, even though I
was controlling myself so it was a mere trickle, he
began his thrashing around again, and he tried to
shout "NO!" - well, that's what I think it was, but
with my cock filling his mouth and throat, it was very
indistinct!  I clamped my leg around him but it didn't
seem to be enough to hold him down, so keeping one
hand firmly on his head to hold him on to me, I
reached down the bed and slapped his butt hard -
really hard - a couple of times.  Of course as I did
this I lost the concentration  I was putting in to
controlling the flow of my piss, and I knew I'd really
let go.  And you know how it is - once your piss is
really running, there's no way of stopping it, is
there?

If you've ever drunk another guy's piss fresh from his
cock - or been made to - you'll know that it's a real
effort to swallow fast enough to keep up with a really
strong, fast piss.  When you're chugging a beer or
something you think you drink fast, but when a guy's
cock is hosing piss into you at high speed, there just
doesn't seem to be a way of keeping up with it.  I'd
hoped that the boy's first experience of taking piss
would be relatively gentle and that he could more or
less allow it to trickle down his throat, but now all
this had gone by the board - he was choking and
spluttering as he struggled to breathe and swallow
simultaneously, and now I was getting soaked as my own
piss flowed out of his mouth and down on to me.
Still, there was nothing  I could do about it now, as
there's just no "turning off" for me once I've started
(well, I suppose I can, but it hurts!).  So I just lay
there and let it happen until I'd finished. I let go
of his head then and threw my leg off him, and he sat
up, choking and spluttering.  There were tears in his
eyes, and through his choking and coughing he muttered
"Bastard!  Fucker!...."

Well, I couldn't let that go, could I?  His ass was
out of reach, so I pulled back my arm and slapped him
across the face, hard - so hard, in fact, that it
knocked him sideways so that he was lying across my
naked body, where he lay, still choking and now
sobbing.

"How old are you, boy?", I demanded.

"You know that - I'm sixteen" he snapped back, and I
was tempted to slap him again for his insolent tone.

"Well as you're a mature man, start acting like one,
and stop this stupid snivelling."

"You bastard....", he muttered.  "Pissing in my
mouth..."

"Listen, boy, I do what I like.  You're a slave in
training, and you've got to learn to service your
owner in whatever way pleases him.  You didn't like
taking my cock at all when you first came here, then
there was all that fuss when I shot a load of cum down
your throat...."

"...but piss.... It's disgusting...."

"Don't they teach you anything at school these days?
It's perfectly OK to drink piss - it's more or less
sterile.  Just be grateful that eating shit has gone
out of fashion:  that's really disgusting, and
dangerous, too.... Thinking about it, it might not be
fashion at all, but prudence - most owners don't want
their expensive slaves to have their guts churning
around with disease."

"It's vile...."

"Listen, boy, you're going to learn to drink my piss
whenever  I choose to give it to you.  So you may as
well get used to it.  And you've spilled a lot this
first time, so get busy cleaning me up:  get that
tongue of yours working around my belly and pubes...."

"Please, no....."

Well, I slapped his ass hard again, very hard (I'm a
big guy, and physically very strong with it, and  I
can tell you that you don't want to be on the
receiving end of one of my hands!).  He seemed to get
the message, especially when I rased my arm to hit him
again, and slowly and reluctantly began to lick at my
body in a very half-hearted way, and I could see his
body trembling and kind of shuddering with disgust as
he did so.  I've had a lot of new boys like him,
though, and I know from experience that most of them
adjust - although this one seemed to be taking longer
than most.

When he'd finished - or, at least, done enough so I
was no longer very wet -  it was still only about
three thirty and in a gesture of forgiveness, and to
try and make him feel a bit better, I pulled him up so
that he could rest his head in my arm pit as I lay
there.  "Lie against me and put your leg over me, so
that your cock's close to mine", I whispered, and as
he did so I wrapped my arm around him to hold him
close.  "Now, let's get to sleep, OK?  And try to stay
still, so you don't wake me up again.... Or I might
need another piss!"

He seemed to be shivering slightly, so I reached over
with my other hand and began to stroke his flanks and
ribs slowly, then I turned my head towards him and
kissed him - although, as usual, at first he tried to
resist by not opening his mouth until I tightened my
grip on his body and he knew he'd be hurt if he
continued to resist me.  It wasn't a great kiss,
actually - the sharp, acrid remains of my piss
completely spoiled that nice fresh taste of a really
young guy's spit, and as usual he was unenthusiastic
and not properly responsive - my tongue explored his
mouth, I gently bit his lower lip, and yet he lay
there almost totally unreactive.  Still, I felt kind
of sorry for him, so I let my hand move so I could
fondle his cock and balls as they lay next to mine,
and that had the right effect:  I felt him begin to go
erect, and then, as I held his cock against mine and
stroked them together, be began to move against me
almost sensuously, he started to moan with pleasure,
and then his sharp tongue flickered against mine.

I broke off after a couple of minutes and looked down
at him.  "Not so bad, is it?  Being with another guy?
Do you want to cum?"

He shook his head and muttered something, but I was
holding his cock and I felt it stiffen, probably
involuntarily, giving a lie to his words.  "I think
you do.... So what's the problem?  Shall I jerk you
off, or would you like me to blow you?"

"I'm not a fag...."

I just laughed, quietly.  "Listen, boy, I don't care.
You're not anything now - you're just a slave.  And a
slave does what his owner wants.  Sucks his dick,
drinks his piss, gets fucked...."

"NO!"  He almost jerked upright as he said this, and I
pulled him down to lie against me again.

"Listen, you will get fucked.  It's inevitable.  Why
do you think you were snatched and brought here?  It's
so that men can enjoy a hard, firm young body like
yours.  And by 'enjoy' I mean possess - possess it
totally, use it in any way they want to.  We've
started on cock sucking and drinking piss, but I'll be
opening up your ass later in the week....  Didn't you
fuck those girlfriends you were telling me about?"

"Yes...."

"And fucking's fun, right?  So You can understand why
you're gong to get fucked.... I can tell you, there's
nothing as good as a good firm ass clamped around your
dick as you fuck...."

"I told you, I'm not a faggot..."

"And I told you I don't care, and it doesn't matter
anyway - you're a  slave."

This futile conversation might have gone on longer,
but I'd been teasing and playing with his cock all the
time, and now I could just tell he was right on the
edge.  I raked my thumb across his head, letting my
nail catch slightly on his piss slit, and he moaned
audibly with the pleasure.

"Come on, boy.... You like this, don't you....", I
whispered, lowering my voice to add extra intimacy to
the moment.  And at the same time I allowed my hand to
stray across his firm young butt, and then to slip
gently between his clenched thighs so I could stroke
his asshole.

He moaned again, very audibly now, and I felt the
first hot splash of his cum against my body as he
fired in that way that only the very young can - hard
and fast!  I carried on stroking his cock, and he
began to struggle against me - I had to curl my arm
tight to hold him.  "Please.... Oh, fuck, no....
Please.....", he gasped as I continued to play with
his cock.  Then his body was thrashing around and he
was almost shouting as I carried on stimulating him,
until I relented, stopped, and kissed him deeply
again.

We lay there then, the smell of his cum mingling with
that of my piss and our combined sweat. I smiled down
at him.  "You're like me, you know....  I can't bear
to have someone touch my cock after I've shot."

"I don't want anyone touching my cock at all,
ever...."

"I used to be like that.  I didn't even like my
girlfriends touching it - but now, well....  You'll
learn!"

"But I don't want to...."

"Look, Marc - that is your name, isn't it?  Look,
Marc, it doesn't matter what you do and don't want,
can't you understand that?  They snatched you, brought
you here, did all those things to you...."

"Why?  That's what I don't understand!  Why?  I never
did anyone any harm...."

"Look, Marc, you're sixteen.  They'd have been
watching you for some time, waiting for your birthday
so sex would be legal with you.  Some of those people
who turned up at your school to watch you play those
matches wouldn't have been parents - they'd have been
assessors, and they'd have spotted your long legs,
your nice round butt, your classic body shape of the
inverted triangle.... And you're fit, and a blond....
So they arranged for your abduction."

"But why all the other stuff?"

"Look, all new slaves are always shaved smooth,
especially sixteen year olds.  It makes you look even
younger:  I reckon when you saw yourself in a mirror
after they'd clipped your pubes and shaved you clean
you thought you were twelve again?"  He nodded his
agreement.  "Well, it helps to display you better,
gives potential buyers a better view of your muscles,
and your cock, of course...."

"But why... Why.... Why did they do that thing to me,
use that iron to burn me.... It hurt...."

"All slaves are branded.  If you're ever tempted to
think of yourself as a free man, just run your hand
over your left butt cheek and feel the scar!  You're
marked as property now, and the fact that this can be
done to you tells you once and for all, conclusively,
that you are no longer in control of your body.  It
belongs to someone else, someone who has the power to
have his mark burned into you."

"No, I mean.... The other thing as well, the thing to
my cock...."

"Being circumcised?  All slaves are 'skinned, as we
call it.  An owner likes to see his slave, see all of
him.  And they don't like the thought of your cock
head hidden away, all secretly, underneath your 'skin.
 And you'll be living mostly naked for the next few
years, you know - and you must admit that it's a bit
aesthetically unsatisfying to see a long droopy bit of
skin hanging down from the end of the cock - much
nicer to see all of the cock, and the head, all the
time...."

"But they just did it, held me down.... It hurt like
hell... Not even a pain killer...."

".... So you'll remember it for the rest of your life.
 It's another part of becoming  slave - knowing that
your owner has such power over you that he can have
you 'skinned.  Every time you hold your cock it's
another reminder - and the memory of the pain as it
was done only serves to reinforce that."

The boy was silent then, and I went on "It's like the
collar, and the tattoo - the collar is a signal to
everyone, even when your owner has allowed you to be
clothed.  And the tattoo, with your SIN... Well, if
you ever were so foolish as to try to escape, the
police unit that found you could just rip off your
shirt and look for it above your left nip."

"But I'm not a slave..."

"Boy, you are!  You're branded, collared, tattooed,
and 'skinned.  You're someone's property just as
surely as if you were a puppy dog, or a horse, or
something.  And you have just as many rights - or,
rather, just as few!  If you fail to obey, your owner
can have you beaten or whipped, and in extreme
cases... Well, let's not go there..."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if a slave runs away, he can have his
hamstrings cut - then he has to crawl for the rest of
his life, and that's pretty effective.....  And a
slave who strikes his owner.... Well, they cut off the
offending hand, or even the arm.... "

"That's barbaric...."

"...it's effective!  Once you've been out a bit and
seen some of the other slaves, you'll think twice
before doing anything foolish.  And most owners take
their new slaves to see a public whipping, one of the
ones where the public whip-master flays the skin off
the slave's back....  That's a powerful disincentive
to disobey, too.  But don't worry - just forget about
trying to run away, and focus on being obedient, and
it will be OK."

"But getting fucked...."

I shrugged.  "It's no big deal, is it?  You didn't
like touching my cock when you first came here last
week, or having me touch you... Now think about where
you are - you actually enjoyed having me jerk you off,
didn't you?"

"No..."

I laughed.  "Don't lie!  You're like a lot of
so-called 'straight' guys, who never had any fun with
their buddies when they were growing up - once they've
tried it, they start to find they like it.  It's
perfectly natural, after all - why do you think guys
get turned on by having another guy jerk them off, or
feeling his cock up their ass?  Thousands of years of
evolution have evolved men's bodies so that they are
enjoyable to each other.  It's just that mostly we
deny it these days in our societies, and some guys
find it's a real freedom to be enslaved, and to get
given the opportunity of experiencing what men are
designed to do!"

"You're bullshitting me....."

"No I'm not.  It's true, as you'll find out.  Now,
stop worrying about being fucked - I'll go easy on
you, at least at first....."

"Look, can't....."

"Shhh... Come on, get to sleep.  We've got a long day
tomorrow."

"But...."

"You want to stay awake?  If you do, we may as well
get on with it, and I'll fuck you now...."

The boy stopped talking then, and, I was amused to
see, actually wrapped his arms around me so he could
pull his body closer to mine:  so much for his
concerns about "being a fag"!  Actually, it's pretty
typical - I've had these boys before, and I know what
they're going through.  One day they've got nice
homes, moms and dads, girlfriends, a "life".  The next
they're stripped naked, being transported in a slave
crate half way around the world.... And when they
arrive, the branding, 'skinning, collaring....  Mostly
they're pretty traumatised, but it mostly wears off
within a week or so as the physical pain fades, and
then they're kind of "lost":  everything they knew
seems to have disappeared.  They're shaved of all
their body hair and kept naked to enhance their
feelings of "difference".  The kind of boys who are
taken, though, are usually the attractive, strong ones
with well-formed bodies, and going along with that
seems to go a general attitude of inner confidence -
they were not used to being social misfits in their
past life as a result of their general physiques, and
this seems to carry them through.  Once they get to
understand that things have changed irreversibly, but
that their pleasing bodies and physical charms can be
harnessed to make their new lives at least tolerable,
most of them adjust.  And, as I've said, after denying
the pleasure of other men's bodies for their entire
lives, most of them are agreeably surprised to see
just how great "proper" sex is (i.e. sex for the sheer
enjoyment of another guy's body, when you both know
what turns the other on, rather than performing a
process that was primarily designed for breeding).

Our little bout of amusement seemed to have calmed him
generally, though, as he was soon asleep, and
seemingly sleeping peacefully.  So much so that a dawn
broke I had to slap his butt to wake him up - not
hard, just the kind of friendly tap on the bare skin
that any guy might give another.

"Come on, Marc:  exercise time!", I told him
cheerfully.  " You want to keep that body of yours in
good shape, don't you?  In fact, you want to improve
it:  I bet you were a real jock at school, spending
time in the gym...."

"I needed the strength for the team..."

"Well you need it even more here!  And it's a run
morning - a good long one, to really work the heart
and lungs, and that butt of yours....  Come on, before
the sun gets too high...."

I pulled on a pair of running shorts and a loose
running vest, but the boy was of course going to run
naked.  It's part of the training, to get him to
realise that his body is there to be stared at, if
that's what his owner wants.  And, of course, it
really helps with getting him that perfect, even,
all-over tan that handsome young slaves like him need.


"Look, let me have something to wear.....  Please."

"There's nothing wrong with a guy like you being
naked.  In fact you're not naked at all, really -
you've got your collar on, and that's all a slave
needs.  Now a slave without clothes and without a
collar... that really would be naked!  But with your
collar on, as a slave you're perfectly respectable.
And we know you can't take your collar off as it's
riveted on, so you need never bother ever again about
being improperly dressed!"   I laughed as I said this,
showing him I was kind of joking, but only half
joking, I suppose:  it is after all the fashion to run
good-looking male slaves naked, as most owners like to
feast their eyes on handsome slave flesh. And the laws
here explicitly state that whereas it's obligatory to
have shirts and shorts as a minimum when a free man is
out in public, then a slave, properly identified by
the presence of a collar and a SIN, can be naked.

"It's not that.... Well, not entirely.... My balls are
sore!"

I nodded.  "It happens.  You spend all your life
exercising in a jock strap, or in those shorts with
built-in support....  Once your balls are hanging
loose they flop around, hit your thighs, get bashed by
your cock.... But it passes, things adjust.... A
couple of weeks of discomfort, and then you'll never
notice it."

"Just today, please....  We had that run yesterday,
and my balls are aching...."

I looked at him and he looked so appealing as he stood
there, one hand resting on his balls as he spoke.  I
felt like calling off the run there and then, and
spending the morning teaching some of the finer arts
of fucking instead!  But you know how it is - at that
age a boy's body is really developing, and you need to
work it hard if you're going to properly develop a
nice ridged belly, good well-developed pecs carried
high and firm, "tennis ball" biceps, and of course
that all-important well-muscled butt carried high
above long, muscled thighs.  I really couldn't afford
to give up a long, hard exercise session for him this
morning if we were to maintain progress. But I was in
a relatively good mood so I rummaged in a drawer and
tossed him a small "training" string:  you may have
seen slaves in them around the town - they're not
designed to conceal the slave's genitals as they are
made of a fairly coarse mesh and are really only big
enough to barely contain the cock and balls (slaves in
such training strings are of course usually shaved, so
there's no need to bother about the pubic hair).  The
small triangle is held in place by strings fastened
around the hips, and a third one passes between the
legs, and up through the ass crack to join the others
at the rear.  Marc looked pleased with it, but,
frankly, I think they're a mixed blessing - they might
stop your cock and balls flying around and give them
some support, but on the other hand the string
underneath can "saw" at your tender asshole and leave
it quite raw.

We set off, and, like me, Marc was initially shivering
a little.  People tend to forget that with the clear
skies the temperature at night can drop a great deal,
and just after dawn it can be very cool in the desert.
 But we were going to run eight miles, some of it
across the desert sand which is really gruelling, and
before long we were both sweating and I almost envied
Marc as my running vest and shorts quickly got
saturated with my sweat and clung unpleasantly to me.
Mind you, after some further time I suppose I had the
best of the deal as the sun struck at us and even
though Marc was now quite tanned, I suspected he would
be burning slightly from the fierce rays.

It was almost as if Marc was trying to challenge me,
by setting a strong pace when we set off.  But I've
been doing this for a long time now, and I know how
totally exhausting it can be when you get off the
paved surface and on to the sand - the different
action it forces on you really works your calves and
thighs, and soon he realised that by pacing myself, I
was in a more advantageous position.  And after about
six miles Marc was really flagging, and I had to
resort to running just behind him and slapping his
shoulders, and his butt, to make him maintain the
pace.  When we got back he sank to the ground, utterly
exhausted, and kind of lay there with his legs
twitching and his chest heaving as he attempted to
recover.  Mind you, I wasn't all that much better, but
I've learned to hide it as it's important to be seen
to be in good shape.

After a few minutes I dragged him to his feet and led
him back to my quarters so we could shower - I was
teaching him how a slave boy behaves in the shower,
and so although he wanted just to lie on the floor for
a bit, I insisted he join me so that he could practice
soaping me sensuously (there's an art in rubbing
another man's nips so that it's stimulating, but not
so hard that it's painful, especially if they're erect
from sexual arousal, for example).  In line with last
night's lesson I also gently pushed him to his knees
in front of me, then commanded him to "open wide" so I
could stand there and spray my piss into him.  He
clearly hated it, but he knows enough by now not to
cross me at times like this - as I've told you, I'm
big, tough and strong, and Marc didn't want to feel
the power of my hand slapping his face again.

When we got out of the shower I allowed him to towel
me dry - again, there's an art to this, so that the
soft, luxurious towels cover every inch of you, but
not so hard that it's unpleasant.  And a well trained
slave boy should be able to dry you whilst you're
moving around, to answer the phone, or take a cup of
coffee, or whatever.  Marc wasn't there yet, but he
was improving:  he'd lost most of the shyness and
embarrassment he'd initially felt when he'd first been
made to tease the towel around my cock and balls, but
he hadn't yet fully mastered the art of drying between
my butt cheeks without unduly disturbing me.

He watched me then as I changed into my "working"
gear:  a loose white polo shirt that showed off my
dark tanned skin, dark hair and blue eyes, and loose,
reasonably short shorts - no underwear, of course, as
it's just too hot:  you need the sweat to be able to
evaporate freely.  I mostly went barefoot as the soles
of my feet are really tough, but it was kind of a
"formal" day so I pushed my feet into loose leather
sandals, too.  One advantage of this simple working
"uniform", of course, is that it's relatively quick to
get out of - just kick off the sandals, undo the
button at the waist so the shorts fall to the floor,
pull the shirt over your head, and you're stripped for
action!

I shouted for one of the slaves to come in then and
take Marc off to work:  although he's clearly a
"favoured" slave being trained for pleasure duties in
the palace, it never does boys like him any harm to
see some of the other things that he might have to do
if he does not perform well.  Today I'd arranged for
him to act as a water boy for one of the agricultural
coffles - he'd spend all his time running up and down
the line of chained slaves as they toiled away in the
fields carrying the water skin.  It doesn't sound
much, but under the scorching sun the niggas get
desperate for water as they toil away, and the water
boy has to keep a very fast pace up and down the
coffle if they are not to suffer unduly - and the
water skin isn't light, either:  it can only be
refilled from the irrigation pipe in the far corner of
the field, so it's pretty large capacity to save too
many journeys, and most water boys get very tired from
the effort of carrying it.  It makes for excellent
exercise, though - the running across the sandy soil,
the weight of the water skin, the need to reach up and
water the niggas - it really means that every part of
the boy's body gets properly exercised in a way that
you usually do, I suppose, in a gym with a lot of
expensive machines.  But then you run the risk of
turning a boy's natural physique into one of those
"muscle boys" you see around, and here the Sheikh
prefers men to be "natural":  in perfect condition, of
course, but that condition is to be arrived at through
hard work, not from artificial exercises.  For that
reason he generally commissions the taking of suitable
young men and we train them ourselves, rather than
relying on "buying in" pre-trained slaves for pleasure
purposes from a dealer.

After Marc had left and I was about to set out on my
daily inspection tour of the estate, a slave came in
and told me that I was needed in the interrogation
chamber in the basement.  I sighed inwardly - it isn't
good to show the slaves that you are disappointed when
told to do carry out an order - because although I
know it's part of my function to assist in the
interrogations, it's not the favourite of my tasks.
Mind you, some guys would think I'm lucky:  I mean,
it's not that often that you get to fuck virgins, is
it?

I set off through the palace, went down the grand
staircase and then through the administrative parts to
the rear "utility" staircase.  I went down two levels,
then had to pass the guard post where two armed guards
watched the barred door that opened onto the staircase
down to the third level.  It's pretty grim down on
this level - deliberately so, to induce a feeling of
terror and despair on all those who are dragged down
there.  The lights are dim, the ceilings low and the
corridors narrow, all to add to the feeling of
oppressive dread that helps  soften up the victims.
Being so deep in the earth it's pretty cool, too, but
there is air conditioning  and it's kept turned right
down as that adds to the general feeling of menace -
and as many of those down there are of course naked,
it makes it very uncomfortable for them.

The usual purpose of this lower level is to hold
slaves who are to receive more severe punishments than
we normally administer - it's pretty rare, as
generally discipline is good on the estate, or,
rather, slaves don't have many opportunities to offend
seriously as the majority of them are kept permanently
chained in their coffles.  When you're attached to
your fellows by a short chain joining your collar to
your neighbour, there's not much chance of seriously
offending, is there?  The most serious punishments are
reserved for attempted escapes, or for attacking an
overseer or other free man, and all of this is simply
impossible for most of the coffled niggas.  Some of
the slaves have to be relatively more free, though:
the ponies and dray slaves clearly have freedom of
movement, and whilst the slaves who work in the
quarries are chained to their work positions, they are
equipped with pickaxes and shovels, which can make
pretty effective weapons of attack.  The "domestic"
slaves present a particular problem, of course, as
they have free movement around the palace, and cannot
really be constrained at all.  They are also in
intimate contact with  free men, and if they break
their conditioning and training, are clearly in a
position to escape, or assail a free man.  I suppose
we get five or six instances a year of slaves who
offend so seriously that we need to take serious
corrective action, and it's these slaves who are held
in this lower level awaiting the arrival of the public
whip master, or the veterinarian who will geld them,
or even the public executioner with his grim mallet
and spikes, to nail them to the cross.

Normally, of course, we handle punishments ourselves.
Most often this is withholding food for a minor
offence, then going on through a tawsing and caning,
up to a "session" with me!  Well, that's not quite
right - I do all the caning and tawsing of unruly
slaves anyway, but the "session" I am referring to is
the punishment for more serious crimes that don't
warrant the public whip master, gelding or
crucifixion.  Before I came here I was a marine, and I
learned to fight - really fight - in the special
forces.  My life here has made me even fitter and
stronger, if you can imagine it, and so when we really
want to punish one of the slaves he has to endure a
"session" with me:  effectively we go against each
other, and I beat him up.  Most of the slaves involved
are the domestic slaves so they have little conception
of fighting anyway, but even some of the tougher
outdoor slaves ,who might themselves have been
soldiers in a former life, have little idea of just
how much I can hurt them as my fists pound into them.


We need to keep the slaves destined for this
punishment as  the Sheikh thinks it a particular
pleasure to see the slave pitted against me, and he
seems to relish the sweat, snot and blood that flies
as I mercilessly pummel the other guy into a pulp.  As
the Sheikh is often travelling, the slaves sometimes
have to wait for a week or so down in the lower
levels, and this itself tends to weaken them and make
them less of a threat to me.  Of course I'm not
supposed to permanently injure the slave - slaves are,
after all, an expensive asset for the Sheikh - just
hurt him so much that he'll never think of disobeying
again. Mostly I manage this although occasionally
there's a broken arm or something like that.  And on
one occasion, when the slave was mostly beaten into an
unmoving bloody mass, he did turn unexpectedly so my
fist slammed into his kidneys, and he subsequently
died.  The Sheikh was not at all pleased by this as
the slave in question was a valuable pony who had
"turned" one day when, in grossly oppressive heat,
he'd been "encouraged" by the carriage whip to run
well beyond any reasonable expectations.  He'd grabbed
the whip and pulled at it, causing the driver to
become unseated, and so simply had to be punished
severely.  I suppose he thought he was lucky not to be
crucified - but, as  I said, I know what I'm doing,
and I usually avoid accidents like that.

Today was different, though:  they'd found six
foreigners lurking on the borders of the Sheikh's
estate, and they'd been brought in "for questioning".
At first, they'd pretended to be locals and had even
used some words of Arabic, but it was quite clear that
they were foreigners, and that, coupled with their
attempt at deception, clearly showed that they had
something to hide.  The Sheikh was eager to know what
that was, and so it was, as usual in such cases, to be
my task to assist him in finding out their secrets.

End Of Part One