Date: Mon, 31 Dec 2007 02:51:33 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Instrument, Part 10

THE INSTRUMENT

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part  Ten

For the next few months then this was my life -
pulling the cart with either Marc, or the Sheikh, or
both (very hard indeed, given the huge bulk of the
Sheikh!), around the demesne, and then, most evenings,
having Jason fuck me hard, whether I wanted it or not.
 Perhaps I should say "especially if I didn't want
it", as Jason seemed to take a particular delight in
fucking me against my will.  You all know how it is -
some nights you're just so totally exhausted that you
don't want sex, and all I needed to do was to flop
down on the straw and crash out.  But Jason seemed to
be indefatigable - he wanted to fuck every night. I
suppose it was his age, as I remember I was more like
that when I was younger.

I didn't like Jason all that much, even though we were
fellow slaves and in the same desperate condition.
Apart from the forced fucking of me, he wasn't
particularly clean in his habits - I've told you how
we were expected to piss in the straw in our stall,
and crap there if we had to, and it seemed obvious to
me that it would be best to reserve one corner for
when we needed to piss, so only that part got to stink
of it.  And as for crapping - well, we were fed
regularly, and always fed the sale slave chow and
fruit, so I found it easy to establish a "routine"
whereby I crapped in the morning as they were cleaning
us for the day in the showers.  But not Jason, oh no:
he just crapped whenever he wanted to, and some nights
therefore I had to endure lying there with a big pile
of his droppings on the straw that was our bed.   This
whole casual attitude to pissing and crapping extended
to when he was "working", too -  I always tried to
hold my piss in until the cart was free and then tried
to do it discretely (not always successfully, as I've
told you when I was tethered at the entrance to the
palace - but at least I tried!). And as for crapping
in public - well, as I've said, it was easy to get
into a routine and this was never necessary.  Jason
though just pissed whenever he wanted to, even if he
was walking or trotting along, and didn't seem to mind
his piss spraying anywhere and covering his legs.  And
on several occasions when we were tethered together I
watched in horror as he casually dropped a big turd
where we were standing!

He didn't make any effort to be a "buddy", either.  I
know he wasn't all that bright as he'd gone into the
marines straight from school and hadn't gone to
college, but, even so, a couple of guys can always
talk a bit, can't they?  But once he'd fucked me he
hardly even bothered to grunt replies to my efforts at
conversation, and just lay there with a smile on his
face.

Strangely, he seemed to want to be "close" to me when
we were sleeping.  When he did speak he was always
telling me he wasn't a fag, and that there was no way
that he'd fuck a guy like me if there was a woman
available.  And yet, when we did lie there to sleep,
he kind of "spooned up" to me, pressing his hairy
chest into my back, nestling his cock into my ass
crack, and putting one of his strong arms across me,
with his hand resting on my belly.  It did seem a bit
strange, frankly - I mean I used to enjoy lying with a
guy if  I chose to sleep with him, but I've never made
any secret of liking guys (well, that's not absolutely
true, as I'll tell you later, but once I'd "come out"
it certainly was).

The only time Jason ever spoke much was on those
weekly occasions when we were put in with the drays.
For some reason - perhaps they thought having the six
big niggas fuck us would further humiliate and control
us - once a week we were not tethered in our own
stall, but our ankle shackles were instead fastened to
the loop in the stall where the drays usually slept.
When the drays came in it must have been thought that
they'd fall on us and fuck us, and we'd be powerless
to resist.  The first night this happened and Jason
and I were there waiting for them, I was pretty
worried, I can tell you - the drays had looked really
fierce when they'd seen me enslaved, as I've told you,
and I thought they'd take revenge on me for having had
them under my complete control before.

When the drays arrived, though, Jason turned to me and
growled "I'm having that one first.  Which one do you
want?", pointing at the biggest dray as he said so,
the one I usually thought of as being the "leader" of
the drays.  To my utter amazement he then snapped at
the dray to get down on his hands and knees and get
his ass up in the air, and the dray obeyed.

"Fucking pick one, and get stuck in!", he snapped at
me.  "I know you like fucking guys as you're a fag, so
this must be fag heaven for you."

That night I was so tired as Marc had driven me hard
and, frankly, I didn't want to fuck.  I'd have been
happy just to sit there and shoot the breeze a bit
with the drays - any kind of conversation would have
been a treat actually.  So I shook my head, and
without any warning Jason leapt at me and smashed his
hand hard across my face.

"Look here, fag - when I tell you to fuck one of these
niggas, you do it, OK?"

He saw me hesitating and hissed "Look, fag, I've got
these niggas trained to understand that a white man's
cock is all a nigga can hope for or expect.  And I'm
not going to have you upset all that.  When you first
made me a pony and they put me in with these niggas,
they tried to fuck me - can you believe it?  These
niggas thought they had the right to fuck me, just
because I was a slave like them.  It took me a whole
lot of fighting to convince them that a whitey is
always superior to a nigga, even if the whitey and
nigga are both slaves.  So show them, fag, that even a
a white fag is better than a nigga - pick one of them,
and fuck him until those big nigga eyes pop out of
their sockets!"

Look, I wanted to do the right things by these guys,
but I was really worried that if they got out of
control they'd attack me.  So I looked at the other
five niggas - who were really quite alike, especially
as we kept them all shaved totally smooth - and just
picked one of them arbitrarily.  Jason was now fucking
the lead nigga just as if he were a rutting animal,
the nigga on his hands and knees, and Jason half
crouching over him, just thrusting away.  I did it a
bit more civilised - I told my nigga to lie on his
back, and then I lay beside him and teased his cock
until he shot a load, so I could use his cum to lube
him and stretch him a bit.  Then I took him as he
still lay there, gently pushing his legs up towards
his head to give me access to his ass, and, actually,
it was really good:  I'd not fucked since I'd been
made a slave, and once I'd got started my tiredness
seemed to melt away.

When I'd finished and my shuddering ejaculation has
pumped my cum up into him, the nigga seemed to have
enjoyed it, too.  He reached out with his arms, and
wrapped his powerful legs around my waist, and pulled
me down onto him.  I lay there, our sweaty bodies
sliding slightly on each other and feeling our racing
hearts as we gradually cooled down.  The nigga pulled
my had down towards his and seemed to want to kiss -
but I wasn't so keen.  I mean, it's OK to fuck a
nigga, I always think - I mean, if you were in a dark
room you really couldn't tell whether it was a nigga
or a white guy you were fucking.  But kissing one is
different - somehow those big lips they always seem to
have put me off.  Actually it's wrong of me to
generalise like that - I have had sex with niggas in
the past and gone "the whole way" with them, but then
they were generally "civilised" niggas  n our own
country, where there had been a lot of interbreeding
in their heritage so they weren't pure, jet black
niggas.  These drays were the "real thing", captured
in Africa somewhere and brought here to the Sheikh's
kingdom as slaves, and they were a pure, jet black
with very pronounced nigga features.

Then I heard Jason sneer "Stop acting like a fag, even
though you are!  We just fuck these niggas, not make
love to them!  You disgust me - I thought you were
about to kiss that nigga!"

All I wanted to do after that was go to sleep, as
fucking always makes me tired.  But Jason "made" me
fuck another nigga,  as he said it "showed then that a
whitey was a real man."  Still, it was a nice change
to have a bit of interaction with some other guys,
rather than only having surly Jason.

As I drifted into sleep listening to the noises from
the seven other guys as they settled down, I wondered
if this is all there was now to be for me:
unrelenting toil, being fucked by Jason, and then
having this "treat" occasionally by being put in with
the nigga drays.  What made it worse was that I saw my
work - that is to say the work I had been doing before
I was made a slave - being destroyed by Marc's
inattention.  It probably doesn't occur to you that a
huge demesne like the Sheikh's, with hundreds of
slaves and many lines of business, all managed by
layers of guards and supervisors, requires a lot of
management, and then constant attention to ensure that
standards are maintained.  Marc just didn't have the
experience to do the management, and didn't seem to
care at all about maintaining standards.  As I pulled
him around the estate I saw weeds growing at the edges
of the cart tracks - something that in my day would
have meant that a slave somewhere would have been
punished for allowing such slovenliness.  But there
were more serious problems, too - the carefully worked
out rotation of the crops was casually discarded and
stuff seemed to be planted almost at random.  The
whole place was going to rack and ruin, and even
though I was not now responsible for it, I couldn't
help but be really upset that all my previous efforts
were now being tossed away.

Six months in to my new life, Marc found something to
take my mind off all these things that were worrying
me:  I was put to stud for the first time.  In my time
we didn't bother to breed slaves on the estate - it's
just too much trouble to have to house the brood
slaves, and then to keep the young pups until they
start to be able to do useful work at seven or so.
And of course you don't get really hard work out of a
slave until he's sixteen.  It all takes too much time,
too much effort, and, after all, it's not as if slaves
are not in plentiful supply from any of several
dealers.  And if you take into account all the expense
of raising slaves and the management time that has to
be expended in keeping the brood slaves and the pups
occupied and in good health, I definitely proved that
it's much cheaper to buy them in when you need them.

I'd never run a breeding operation, therefore,
although we did have a room where studding could be
done - a couple of studding frames for strapping down
the brood slaves if they were virgins or otherwise not
wanting to be inseminated, some seats for the owners
or any other spectators who wanted to watch:  nothing
elaborate, just simply functional.  It was at one end
of the stables block, and at first, as Jason and I
were driven there by Marc and the Sheikh, I  thought
we were just being taken back to our stalls as we were
being given the afternoon off for some reason.   But
instead we stopped outside the studding room, and an
overseer hurried up to "prepare" us.

Of course when I'd been running the place we had the
occasional studding - some particular favourite of the
Sheikh's, or a business associate to whom he owed a
favour, might request one of the Sheikh's slaves
(particularly one of the splendid big nigga drays) as
a stud for one of his own slaves, and then I would
arrange it.  Now it seemed as if Jason or me, or
perhaps both of us, was going to be in this same
position!  Look, I've got nothing against fucking
women - until I "came out" I had after all been
married myself.  But this surely is the ultimate
humiliation - to make a man procreate against his
wishes.  I really didn't want to sire kids who would
be slaves, kids who I'd never have any chance to guide
or help.  It was after all bad enough with my own son,
after I split with his mom:  she fought me every step
of the way, and got the courts to agree that as I was
not a "fit person" to help with his upbringing.  And I
was therefore only allowed to see Jamie occasionally,
and only then with the bitch watching us - in fact the
real reason for my trip home that caused all the
current problems was because I wanted to see Jamie,
and one of the rare court-approved accesses was
imminent.

Still, it looked as if both Jason and me were to be
studded now, and there was fuck all I could do about
it!  In turn each of us was unshackled from the shafts
of the cart, and our wrist cuffs were fastened to our
collars - it's well known that even the most docile
slave can become "frisky" when there's a studding
going on, and it's almost traditional to lock the arms
behind the neck like this as it makes the slave much
more biddable.  They detached the reins but left our
bits in - when I was arranging studdings for slaves
who were not bitted, we used a gag at this point as
it's not considered seemly for the slave to be able to
cry out anything intelligible as he approaches his
climax. But of course for Jason and me there was no
possibility of intelligent speech anyway.  And finally
the blindfold - the stud is not supposed to be able to
see the brood mare as it is of no consequence to him
who he fucks - he is, after all, a slave, and a slave
must fuck whoever his is commanded to.

I knew what was going to happen next, of course, but I
imagine Jason didn't, because when the overseer in
charge of the studding grabbed my cock I heard Jason
give a grunt of surprise as his was grabbed too.  The
overseer used my cock as a handle to pull me into the
shed - again, that's pretty standard as I expect most
of you know:  it's another demonstration of the power
and control that the owner has over a slave that he
can be led about helplessly in this way.  My nostrils
caught the faint scent of a woman in heat, and I
assume Jason's did too as he gave a little cry of
excitement,  but things were going quickly now:  I
felt a slave's lips around my cock and this was the
"fluffer" used to bring the stud to full erection -
certainly necessary in my case, as I really didn't
want to have to do this studding; but I expect Jason
wouldn't need it as he was always bragging about how
many "one night stands" he'd had, and how easy he
found it to fuck any woman that opened her legs for
him.    In spite of my best intentions, the willing
lips, a titillating tongue, and some help from subtle
young fingers made me rock solid - however much I
hated the thought, your cock acts as if it has a mind
of its own sometimes, doesn't it?  And then the
overseer's horny hand again gripped me and pulled me
forward.  I felt myself being positioned - the tip of
my cock hit warm, moist flesh, and the next moment a
strap slapped at my butt which caused me to jerk
forward and enter her.

At least she wasn't a virgin.  As I stood there
fucking away ("helped" by the strap, if I showed any
signs of flagging) it seemed to me that the bitch was
pretty experienced - she was loose, and not much fun
at all for my cock, so I imagined she'd been bred lots
of times before.  But she was moaning and crying out
as if this was something special.  I could hear
similar sounds from the bench next to me, but the
bitch's cries were overlaid by Jason's grunts of
pleasure and satisfaction.

Funnily enough, given that I was reluctant and Jason
seemed to be enjoying it, we both came almost at the
same time, judging form the sounds I could hear from
Jason.  There was a smattering of polite applause, and
so I assume there was a small audience for this
degrading exhibition.  And then the horrible part -
the fingers of the overseer on my neck, forcing my
body down onto the bitch so that my cock stayed in
her, as perceived wisdom has it that if the stud's
cock remains in the bitch for at least ten minutes,
the chances of conception are improved.  I felt my
strong, hard body pressed down onto the horrible
flabby tits of the bitch, and when I struggled to try
to avoid this, the overseer slashed at my butt with
the strap again, until I accepted the inevitable and
just lay there.

Jason and I were eventually allowed to withdraw from
the bitches, and then we had to stand there as I could
hear Marc telling people about how we were always
available for stud, and that his Highness would be
pleased to make these two perfect whiteys - either the
younger one, or the older one, or both - available to
help improve the general standard of slaves in the
kingdom.  I don't know how many people had been
watching us, but Marc encouraged them to "explore" us,
to judge for themselves our physique, and I felt
several sets of hands running down my butt and thighs
as Marc explained how the hard work we did generally
made this especially fine, although we were both good
specimens to begin with.  I suppose it was because my
cock was still covered in her juices and my cum that
no-one took him up on his offer of feeling for
themselves the power and strength we packed into our
cocks!

After that Marc ordered the overseer to take us back
to the stables, and once there we were shackled in as
usual and then our wrists were released from our
collars.  We got an extra large helping of chow then,
and Jason was not his usual surly self - as we sat
there in the straw eating, he kept touching his cock
and then smelling his fingers, telling me that "real
men" like him truly appreciated "proper" sex, and not
the "fag stuff" he had to put up with usually as that
was all that was available!  I tried to talk to him
about how degrading it was to be made to sire kids,
but he just brushed my objections aside, telling me
that a fag like me couldn't understand these things,
and   that a "real man" like him was proud of planting
his seed wherever, or whenever, the opportunity arose.
  It was stupid of me, I suppose, but his bragging got
the better of me and I finally blurted out that I knew
all about having kids, and that I had a son of my own.

"Only one?", he sneered. "I suppose you were one of
those guys who always wore a condom or something.  Or
was it that you were always a fag, and just fucked a
bitch once?"

I thought about telling him about how I'd tried to
make a go of marriage, even though I'd always had an
interest in other guys, and how I'd always wanted more
kids but my bitch of a wife wanted to get back to
work; but what was the point?  Finally, I managed to
shut him up, though: "Talk's cheap, Jason", I snapped.
 "How many kids have you got, then?"

He tried to tell me he didn't know, but it must be
several as he'd fucked so many women and was so
exceptionally virile, but I just laughed at him.
Still, it did shut him up.  And I began to think I
preferred the surly, silent Jason to this braggart who
seemed to be ruled by his cock.

________________________________

You wouldn't have thought it was possible to humiliate
a man more than I had already been degraded and
humiliated.  I truly thought I was at the bottom after
a few months of this treatment, but, being a bit of an
optimist, I kept remembering that song "Things can
only get better....", and every day I felt sure that
the Sheikh would come to his senses, see the ruinous
way things were turning out, and free me.   But I was
wrong - the Sheikh seemed to becoming ever more
infatuated by Marc, who clearly could do no wrong
however disastrously the crops failed, or however
untidy the place seemed to look.  And things did not
get better for me in another way, either - Marc found
a new way of humiliating us!

One morning as we stood there shaking the water off
our bodies after the slaves had cleaned us, waiting
for them to come and polish our hides with slave oil
so that we began the day looking particularly sleek,
an overseer appeared and commanded the slaves not to
oil us.  Using the prod for emphasis he told us to
kneel so he could fit our bits, and then cuffed our
hands together in front of us.  I could see Jason's
eyes darting around as he wondered, as did I, what
this all meant - after all, if we were to be taken for
studding our hands would have been cuffed to our
collars as they usually were.  Although I could now
cover my cock and balls with my hands, it couldn't be
for reasons of modesty, either - I mean, both Jason
and I were run naked all the time, and with our wrists
shackled to the shafts, we never had any chance of
even minimally concealing ourselves.  Still, it was
nice to be able to feel my balls during the day for a
change, and I rubbed them gently and as
surreptitiously as possible as we stood there.  Jason,
though, the oaf that he is, was stroking his cock,
enjoying an erection - I really did think that he
might actually jerk himself off had the overseer not
grabbed our reins, tugged at them and snapped "Follow
me, you boys!"

It was a stupid thing to say.  I mean, what other
choices were open to us - cuffed like that, our bits
held firmly in out mouths, you just have to follow
someone who is pulling you by the reins!   Still, my
curiosity got stronger as we were led into the
studding room, without being blindfolded.  What on
earth were we going to be used for, as it clearly
didn't look as if a regular studding was going  to
take place!

I suppose I'd never before thought about the fact that
as well as holding a bitch in place for studding, the
same straps and restraints can hold a man down, and
keep him immobile.  In turn Jason and I were led over
to one of the studding frames, and told to lie on it
on our  bellies and place our cuffed hands in font, of
the front legs.  The overseer's assistants then
fastened our legs to the back legs of the frame, our
cuffed wrists were secured to the front legs, and then
one of the major straps was brought up and over,
around our waists, and cinched tight.  I suppose the
same thought occurred to Jason at that moment as it
did to me - that we were being strapped down like this
for some forced fucking - some slave or other, or
perhaps even a free man, was about to come and rape
us!  When they fastened a second strap around my neck,
though, so making my whole body totally immobile, I
knew something else must be going to happen.

Have you ever been tattooed?  People tell me that a
small one is just "uncomfortable".  But what Marc had
ordered for us as fucking painful, I can tell you.  It
took hours to do, and all the time my back was really
hurting - and, to my shame, like Jason at some point I
had to let a stream of my piss go on to the floor of
the studding room as they didn't let us up off the
bench until they had done (not that I could have told
them I needed to piss anyway, with the bit in my
mouth).  The two young guys who were doing it seemed
unconcerned that we were strapped down, and just
worked away.  They were those kind of "casual" young
guys in jeans, Ts and with some sort of music player
in their pockets going to ear buds, and just worked
away as if it was the most normal thing in the world
as they listened to their music.  But when I pissed,
they took their ear buds out for a moment and one said
to the other "You can see why these men are slaves -
they're just like fucking animals - fancy just pissing
all over  the floor like that!".

"Yes", his companion added "If they were my slaves I'd
tan their hides for behaving like that.".

"Hey - they're tied down like this:  how about a quick
fuck?"

"Better not - they're obviously prime property to have
all this stuff done to them, and their owner might
turn rough."

His companion shrugged in agreement, although he did
reach between my legs and stroke my balls, giving a
long, slow whistle as he felt how big they were.  But
both young guys them put their ear buds back in and
went on working, and it made me realise just how
slavery was accepted here - before, I'd kind of
thought that it was only the Sheikh who used a lot of
slaves around the place, but if these two "ordinary"
working guys could talk about it so casually, it must
be becoming totally accepted.

They left us lying there, immobile, when they went off
to lunch.  My back was really smarting and stinging,
but there was no way that  I could see what was going
on.  I got kind of cramp, too, and tried to wriggle my
body a bit to ease the pain, but it was no good.  It
was almost a relief when the guys came back and began
work again, as then the ache from my muscles and skin
kind of took my mind off my other discomforts.

When we were eventually allowed to get to our feet,
after the two young guys had finished and packed up
and left, I gasped (or tried to - with a bit in your
mouth you can't really do it) as I caught sight of
Jason.  There, in huge black letters stretching right
across his shoulders and upper back was his name
"Jason", in bold type.  I know it's kind of
"traditional" to have tattoos in old fashioned gothic
lettering, but this was bang up-to-the-minute strong
bold graphic type - no one could doubt that Jason was
indeed "Jason", and I guessed that running across me
would be "Steve".

We were manacled into our carts in spite of it being
late in the afternoon then, and led around to the
front of the palace.  We stood there patiently (well,
what other choice did we have?)  until the Sheikh and
Marc appeared.  I got the Sheikh, and Jason got Marc,
and they took us for a little ""side by side" trot
around the pleasure grounds.  When we got back to the
palace and the slaves had helped the Sheikh get his
huge bulk out of the trap, Marc came and stood next to
him.  "See, your Highness, it is as I said it would
be:  observe how Steve's appearance is enhanced by the
tattoo - was it not a pleasant sight as he ran to see
his shoulders ripple?  They are so much more
emphasised now - with strong muscular ponies like this
all the emphasis tends to be on their butts, as they
are so powerful, and the tattoo helps to "balance"
them so that the eyes take in more of the body....
Don't you agree?"

Fucking hell, I thought. My body was being mutilated
just so Marc could say that I was now better
"balanced" as I had to run naked in front of him!  I
never got to hear what the Sheikh replied, although
clearly he seemed to be in agreement with Marc, and as
they entered the palace I was left with the thought
that this was another way in which I was not in
control of any aspect of my life at all: my body had
been grossly disfigured like this just because Marc
had thought it was "more pleasing" to the eye!

As we sat in the straw that night Jason kept trying to
turn his head to see his tattoo.  Finally, his
constant fidgeting got the better of me, and I snapped
"It just says 'Jason', like mine says 'Steve' - take a
look at my back, and imagine yours, but saying 'Jason'
- is that so fucking hard to do?"

"Yeah, I reckon it's pretty cool...."

"You're joking!  Having this giant tattoo...."

"I was a marine, remember?  A lot of marines have
tattoos.  I was planning to have one, a proper
'Semper Fi', when I got back from the mission where
you bastards captured me...."

"Listen, you dumb fuck, how many times do I have to
tell you it was nothing to do with me?  The Sheikh's
army captured you and your buddies - I never had
anything to do with that."

"Yeah, but when I was in that fucking cell underneath
here, it was you then, wasn't it?"

"You were already a slave then, and I was the Sheikh's
Instrument.  All I did was obey orders. You should
know all about that, being a marine.... You had to
obey, didn't you?"

Jason sat there glaring at me.  Then he smiled one of
those nasty smiles he used when he was ready for sex.
"Stop messing with my head!  Get on your hands and
knees, as it's time for me to give you a good
pounding.  And I reckon that Marc's right - that big
tattoo on you does make you look better - you're a
pretty good fuck, Steve, and I reckon I'm going to
enjoy this one especially."

Well there was no point in asking him not to.  I knew
by now that the more  I asked him not to fuck me, the
more he enjoyed doing it.  And I was just too tired to
have even a token struggle with him - a struggle that
I knew I'd lose, as I always did.  So I knelt down,
put my head into the straw and thrust my ass in the
air so that Jason could have his way with me.

______________________________

It was only three months before Marc thought of
something new!   I guessed we were in for something
unpleasant again when one morning instead of taking us
out to the carts when we had been prepared, the
overseer instead made us stand with our backs to two
of the pillars that held up the roof of the stables,
and then smartly pulled our wrists around behind them,
and snapped the cuffs closed.  Jason and I stood there
looking at each other, wondering what was going to
happen to us, and we didn't have long to wait before
we found out.

As soon as the guy came in with Marc I knew it would
be terrible -  I had used him before, as he was the
court "jeweller" who we used to put rings in slaves.
The Sheikh had not had Marc ringed - although I
suppose he might have done, if things had continued on
as normal.  He liked the smooth young slaves he
favoured to wear some sort of "ornament", and usually
this was a thin gold ring in the slave's navel - he
liked to watch the ring bob up and down in time with
the slave's cock as the slave "rode" the Sheikh's.
And occasionally he also liked a ring in that
sensitive area behind the scrotum and in front of the
asshole - I think he liked to see the slave wince a
little if on the downward motion the ring didn't move
to one side and got thrust up into the boy.  Surely, I
thought, he wasn't going to have rings in our navels,
or asses?

I was right - Marc's plan was far more ambitious!  I
stood there helplessly as the jeweller and Marc came
over to me.  Marc's fingers grabbed my left tit and
began to pull and tease it away from my pecs.  I
moaned and squirmed, and kicked out at the guy.  This
caused uproar, and the overseer at once commanded the
slaves to use a piece of chain to secure my ankles
around the pillar, and once this was done he took a
carriage whip and slashed at my belly three times,
saying "Naughty boy, Steve - ponies aren't allowed to
lash out, you know that!."

I've always had sensitive tits and really never really
liked them played with even in really good sex - and
this was far, far worse as Marc carried on squeezing
and stretching them right out from my body.  Then,
pinching the end between his thumb nail and finger
nail to get a really good purchase  - and causing me
to writhe in agony - he nodded to the jeweller who,
quick as a flash, grabbed my elongated tit between the
jaws of  pair of pliers!  Has I been able to scream, I
would by now have been doing so.  The more so when a
second pair of pliers, with long, thin, needle-sharp
teeth, were used to pierce a hole through my distended
flesh!

The ring that Marc had chosen for my tit wasn't one of
those small gold things you see a lot of guys wearing
- no, this was big, and thick, and heavy.  And a lot
of work needed to be done on the flesh of my tit to
bore a hole big enough to take it.  Sweat was pouring
off me by the time he'd finished and the ring had been
soldered into place, but that was not the end of it -
no sooner had he finished, than they carried out the
same thing on my other tit, so I ended up standing
there with two heavy rings disfiguring my previously
natural chest.

I watched as they did the same thing to Jason, but if
he could have sneered at me he would have, I thought,
as he just stood there and "took it" as they pulled at
his tits and ringed him.

The jeweller wasn't finished yet, though - I could
smell his sweat as he came and stood really close to
me and grabbed my nose.  A new pair of pliers went up
my nostrils - I could "smell" the metal - then there
was a sharp, pang of utter agony and a sickening
crunch as the jeweller squeezed the pliers closed and
pierced my septum.  My mouth and throat filled with
blood, but he didn't seem to care - another large,
heavy ring was forced up and soldered closed, and now
I knew that tears were falling down my cheeks from the
pain and humiliation of having a so-called "snout
ring" like this:  I knew that some owners did do this
to stud slaves as it marked them as "different", and
in some way emulated the way that a prize bull or boar
would be ringed in the snout to help control them.

It's still too painful to write accurately about the
way they then fitted me with a "Prince Albert".  I'd
read stuff in magazines and so on about it, and they
always said that you "started small" and worked your
way up gradually to larger and larger  diameter rings.
 Well this was not Marc's plan - the jeweller had to
push a rod down my piss slit, and then force a
piercing needle through the underside of my cock to
meet it to make the "pilot hole".  The agony that went
through me as this was then widened and widened can't
accurately be described, as I've said, but eventually
there it was - another large gauge ring hanging out of
my piss hole and disappearing in through the underside
of my cock.

I suppose the only consolation in all of this was that
when they went over o do Jason, he no longer even
pretended he could "take it", and lashed out at them
as I had done, so they needed to fasten his ankles to
the pillar, too.

As we stood there finally, blood trickling down our
bodies from the fresh wounds, I heard Marc say to the
jeweller casually "You are certain that those rings in
their cocks won't affect their performance, aren't
you?  These are valuable stud animals...."

"Oh no.  Most men enjoy the sensation of fucking with
a ring in their cocks, once it's properly healed.  It
will be pretty painful for about three weeks - I'd let
them off fucking for that time - but once all the
scars have gone, they'll probably enjoy studding even
more."

I suppose the only consolation I had as I stood there
in utter misery and humiliation was that at least I'd
be free of Jason's cock up my ass for a few days!

End Of Part Ten