Date: Sat, 5 Jan 2008 23:09:17 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Instrument, Part 11

THE INSTRUMENT

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part  Eleven


The time seemed to crawl past.  Well, it was tough
when we were being driven in the blazing heat and I
suppose that the days seemed long.  There was never
enough time at night, though - we were so exhausted
that after he'd used me, I generally fell into a deep,
dreamless sleep, the kind that only the truly
exhausted experience.  And then we were off again,
pulling the Sheikh, or Marc around.  The only changes
in our routine were the occasional studdings, which I
hated not only because I did not like fucking women,
but because of all the things that had been done to us
I came to consider that being forced to procreate
against my will was the very worst.

There's not a lot of variation in season in the
desert, but I noticed the cycle of the year crawling
by - the different crops and stuff like that which
were being planted, or weeded, or harvested by the
poor coffled niggas.  But even this seemed to be wrong
somehow - and I couldn't help noticing that the crops
just did not look as healthy as when I had been in
charge as the Sheikh's Instrument:  it was as if Marc
had got everything subtly mistimed, or perhaps the
niggas just did not work as hard as they can be made
to in tending them.

I hated the rings on my body, the huge tattoo, and the
brand, all of which of course screamed "slave", but I
suppose I got used to the idea that when "on duty" I'd
be silenced like some dumb beast, because of the bit.
On the other hand, my body was honed to a peak of
perfection:  I'd always worked out, as I told you, but
there's no substitute for real, hard work if you want
to look superb.  My calves, thighs and butt were
beautifully developed from the constant running, my
belly was flat and ridged, and my chest and pecs were
something that your average gym rat would die for.  I
was evenly tanned all over a dark, mahogany brown, and
when I was polished to a sheen with slave oil when we
first went out, I knew that had I appeared in any bar
or fetish club anywhere in the world I would have had
other men drooling over me and queuing up to be my
partner.

At first, I'd thought that the Sheikh would "relent"
and that within a few weeks I'd be back in control,
especially as the place seemed to be running down
under Marc's lack of leadership.  But as those weeks
turned into months, and then years, I gave up hope.  I
began to think that I would be running around in the
trap, naked, until the day I died (or, more
realistically, I suppose, until either the Sheikh or
Marc decided that they wanted a fresh, virile, new
pony, rather than the old man I must eventually turn
in to, whereupon they'd dispose of me).

One day I was surprised to find that I was pulling
Marc, but the other trap was occupied not by the
Sheikh, but by his nephew.  We hadn't seen him around
since he had been involved in training Jason, what now
seemed like a lifetime ago.  But when we were tethered
and the two young men were talking casually to each
other, I learned that the nephew had been away to
college, and had now returned (indeed, it seemed that
the Sheikh had bought him a place at Harvard, and had
given him sufficient funds to maintain a lifestyle
that befitted the family.  Now he was back, though,
and initially he spent all his time complaining to
Marc about how boring everything was - there was
nothing to do, no bars (following the sayings of some
prophet or other centuries ago, alcohol was forbidden
in the Sheikh's domain), no clubs to meet people, no
cinema, no....

He stopped his rant and asked casually "So what the
fuck is there to do here, anyway?  It never seemed so
bad when I was younger, but a man needs
excitement...."

Marc just shrugged.  "I guess it's different for me -
I'm a slave...."

"Yes, but you're my uncle's favourite.  He must allow
you some excitement!  Come on, tell me where all the
action is...."

Marc looked a little embarrassed.  "Well, I'm kind of
occupied every evening, entertaining your uncle.  I
suppose that for you there's always the slaves to
amuse you..... Although for a guy like you, sir, it
might be difficult:  your uncle mostly has male
slaves, and the females are mostly the brood mares....
They're probably not the kind of women you're used to,
sir...."

Marc paused for breath and continued "There is always
an occasional bit of live entertainment, of course...
Jason and Steve here are put to stud occasionally, and
that's considered to be an interesting sight...."

"I would imagine it is.  It's exciting enough watching
them run - I haven't seen such superb muscles in
action for a very long time.  And seeing them pounding
up and down, in a way that a man was designed for....
Yes,  I can see that it would be worth watching and
that it would be very... very.... I was going to say
erotic, but perhaps I mean 'arousing'...."

The two young men seemed to exchange long glances for
a moment then, until Marc went on hesitantly "Of
course you don't have to wait for a studding.... The
one called Jason fucks the one called Steve almost
every night.  It's not like watching him stud, of
course, but you might find it 'arousing'
nevertheless....."

"Oh, so the one called Steve is what they call a
bottom, is he?"

"No, sir... Not really.  He used to be your uncle's
Instrument, but he fell from favour and was enslaved.
When he was a free man his tastes ran very much to
fucking other men, including that Jason... But now
Jason always has the upper hand- they're both powerful
and strong, as you can see, but Jason's a few years
younger than Steve, and that's all the advantage he
needs to make sure that he gets to fuck Steve whenever
he wants, regardless of what Steve wants...."

"Hey, fantastic!  You mean I can watch one of these
great studs rape the other.... That's something to
look forward to - you don't get that in the bars and
clubs in Boston!   But what about Steve - he's got a
nice looking cock.... It looks as if it gets
used....."

"Oh sure - once a week we turn them both loose on the
drays, as it helps to keep them under control a bit.
And Steve then comes into his own - he usually fucks
two or three of them...."

"Fantastic!  I thought life back here was going to be
really boring, but with a live sex show every
night....."

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Marc looking a
little hesitant, but then he went on "...and of
course, sir, if you would prefer a younger slave
rather than some of the older brood mares, even though
it would mean taking a guy, any of the slaves  around
the palace would be available to you...."

"You're a slave, aren't you, Marc?"

"Yes, sir...."

"So I could order you to come to my bedchamber...."

Marc smiled almost shyly.  "I'd like that, sir....
But your uncle wouldn't allow it...."

"Oh he's broadminded.  He knows that young men like me
need a sexual outlet, and provided I do the decent
thing eventually and marry, to give him an heir, he'll
be unconcerned if I amuse myself with guys.  So let's
get together tonight...."

Marc looked truly embarrassed now.  "I'd like that,
sir.  But your uncle.... You see it's difficult... I
have to 'attend' him every night....."

"You mean my uncle fucks you, rather than all those
nice young serving boys and pages who prance around
the place in those ridiculously short tunics...."

Marc muttered "Yes, sir", and the nephew gave a great
shout of laughter.

"Well, it shows my uncle's still got some life in him.
 He's picked the best looking man I've seen since I
got back... You say 'every night'?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, we'd better waste no more time.  Come back to
my quarters now...."

"Sir, I think your uncle would be cross.  He's be sure
to find out, sir - with so many slaves in the palace,
every move can be seen, and someone would be bound to
mention to him that you had 'entertained' me - or,
indeed, any slave - in your chambers..."

"So I'll come to yours...."

"I don't have a room of my own, sir.... I.... I.... I
sleep in your uncles' bed!"

"So you like old men, do you, Marc?"

Marc seemed to come alight as he snapped "No!  I hate
it!  But he owns me!  I was brought here at sixteen,
and he raped me.  And every night since then.... I
have to ride his cock.  I hate it...."

The nephew gave a little laugh.  "That must be a
sight!  He lies there on his back, and you have to do
all the work....?"

"Yes...."

"I must remember that.  When I inherit this place, I
think I'll find myself a handsome young guy like you,
and have him ride my cock every night....    But I
don't think I'll allow myself to get as fat as my
uncle.  I'm surprised he can actually get his cock in
you, with all those rolls of fat in the way....
Still, it can't be much fun for you...."

"No, sir."

"Well let's go down into the orchards.... There's a
secluded spot down there I remember from when I was a
kid.... And there ought not to be any other slaves
around now, as it's not fruit-picking time..."

As he said this, the nephew snapped his whip at
Jason's rump, causing him to start forward, and drove
off at a fair pace.  Marc did the same to me, and I
cursed the fact that these two young men's passion was
causing me discomfort, and he kept flicking his whip
at my butt, too, to make sure I kept close behind
Jason's cart as he raced along some of the less
familiar tracks on the estate.

The nephew's memory seemed to have served him well, as
deep in the orchards with the air scented with apple
and pomegranate blossom, there was a secluded hollow.
Jason and I were left casually tethered to a tree  by
our reins - they didn't take the trouble to do it so
we could sit, and so we had to stand there helplessly.
 The two young guys scrambled down the grassy bank,
and then, as we watched, it was almost as if they were
in a frenzy as they almost tore each others clothes
off - not so hard for the nephew, of course, as Marc
wore only slave shorts and a T, but Marc had to make
more of an effort to reveal the nephew's hairy, sinewy
body.

It was hard for us to see who was fucking who, the two
guys were so passionate at first.  As Jason and I
watched the kissed, wrapped their limbs around each
other, rolled in the soft grass, sucked each others
cocks, and fondled and caressed each other, all the
time making cries and little shouts of passion and
excitement.  Jason and I continued to watch as Marc
fucked the nephew, but then it was a real "flip flop"
as he in turn was fucked.  I couldn't help but be
surprised that the two young guys could be so totally
uninhibited with Jason and me watching, but then it
occurred to me that for both of them we were not
"watching", we were slaves, pony slaves,  mere beasts.
 It was of no more concern to them that we were
watching than it was that, for example, some of the
birds hopping around in the trees were.

________________________

If Marc had been neglecting to perform his duties
properly in the past, he semeed to give them up almost
altogether following the arrival of the nephew.  After
that first epic encounter the two young men seemed to
spend more and more of the day together, and usually
naked in their "special place" in the orchard.

In one way it was easy for Jason and me as once we'd
pulled them there in the carts, we needed to do no
more work for several hours.  It was tough, though, as
both of them continued to be so unconcerned about the
comfort of slaves that neither of them thought to
tether us so we could sit down - we had to stand there
tightly tethered high up to one of the trees, and,
frankly, that is quite tiring.  It was made doubly
hard by the fact that we had a good clear view of the
antics of the two young men - both of them had really
good bodies, and were using them in that frenzy of
sexual enjoyment that only guys in their early
twenties can manage - and so we were naturally aroused
(well, I was, anyway), and there was just no way of
dealing with it.  I couldn't jerk off, as my wrists
were cuffed to the shafts.  And I couldn't even rub my
cock against anything because of the constraints of
the shafts, and the inability to move away from where
we were tethered.  It's amazing - a couple of wrist
cuffs and a thing leather reins, and a big tough guy
like me is effectively rendered totally helpless to
give himself even the most basic pleasure.

As the weeks went by the two guys began to make plans
for their future together, and always it came back to
one thing - the Sheikh. Marc was convinced that the
Sheikh would never let him become the nephew's, and
that if the nephew insisted, Marc would simply be sold
away from the estate.  The nephew hated the thought of
his uncle fucking his lover, and wanted to be with
Marc all the time.  They both spent a lot of time
complaining about, and then laughing at, the Sheikh:
his huge bloated body was a source of merriment to
both of them, especially when Marc did a comic
"impersonation" of how difficult it was to get the
Sheikh's tiny cock into his ass.... And contrasted
this with the virile manliness of the nephew.
Gradually, as time went on and any hints or
suggestions that the nephew made to his uncle had
apparently been ignored, the two guys began to plot a
next move - and decided that the only way that they
could "be together" was if the Sheikh was off the
scene.

Look, I'd got no time for the Sheikh, who had quite
wrongly enslaved me, and then went on to use me in
this humiliating way as a pony.  And listening to the
two lovers, I did begin to think that perhaps they
were right - with him out of the way, things could
only get better.  But then their plans moved on - they
would sell the estate, "dispose of" the slaves, move
to the USA... Or Europe... Or both.....  I began to
worry that things could, after all, get worse:  if I
was sold, might I end up in a worse position than I
currently was in?  I guess most owners want to buy
younger slaves, and perhaps I would end up in the
mines, sold off as "expendable labour" - I remember
that that's what tended to happen to our coffle slaves
once they passed the peak of their usefulness to us.

I tried to talk about this stuff to Jason, but he
wasn't interested and just laughed.  "I'm a slave, a
good one, I reckon", he said.  "So who the fuck cares
who owns me?  Now, on your knees...."

My chance came about two weeks later, when the Sheikh,
Marc and the nephew all appeared at the palace
entrance.  I saw Jason looking pretty pissed off as
the two young guys decided they would take him, and I
suppose I was not all that pleased at the thought of
having to run all day with the Sheikh's great weight
behind me.  But as the morning wore on, a plan began
to form.

To the Sheikh's complete surprise I started to run
towards the orchards.  He began to shout at me, then
to pull back on the reins with all his might in an
effort to stop me - but fortunately after years of
working my neck muscles were now really strong, and
his arms were comparatively weak.  I ignored the
stinging blows of the whip that lashed repeatedly
across my back and butt, and just ran on.  Fortunately
the Sheikh seemed to tire of all the exertion and
settled down to sit there and be driven to wherever I
wanted to go.... I tried to look around and give him
pleading looks, tried to indicate that I meant him no
harm, but I have to say he did look pretty terrified -
there were always ugly rumours of the possibility of
slave revolts and the likely consequences for free
men, and I suppose that's one of the reasons why field
niggas are coffled and Jason and I were shackled, to
help avoid that possibility.  But perhaps he felt
relatively safe, knowing that I was securely manacled
to the cart.  And then when in the distance he saw
Jason tethered to one of the fruit trees, I say a half
smile begin to play across his face - he evidently
thought that help was at hand, as his nephew would be
close by.

I slowed right down and turned around as best I could
and made even more imploring looks at the Sheikh,
hoping to persuade him to be silent.  And, for
whatever reason, he did seem calmer.  I crept forward,
terrified that at any moment he'd start to shout and
scream for help:  I knew that if his nephew came to
rescue him there would be no hope for me - a slave who
had run off with his owner as I had could expect no
more than to be crucified as an example to the others!
  Fortunately, though, the two young men were making
so much noise with their passionate lovemaking that
they failed to hear the arrival of my cart, or the
quiet noises that the Sheikh was now making.  Indeed,
he now shut up totally, and was smiling as he looked
down on the writhing forms in the hollow underneath
where we were standing, and he even began to run the
tip of his whip lightly down the base of my spine and
into the top of my ass crack, as if to say "Thank you"
- perhaps he thought that I had done this in order to
show him this spectacle, and give him some amusement!

When they had finished, though, the two men as usual
began their plotting to be rid of the Sheikh, and as I
turned again, I saw that his face had gone from
excitement at the sex, to fury at what he was now
hearing - especially when Marc started again on his
impersonation of a tiny cock on a fat body trying to
fuck him!  He tugged gently at my reins, and I nodded,
and turned, and walked slowly and quietly away.

Jason and I were in our stall that night and Jason was
telling me how turned on he'd been by seeing the
nephew and Marc fuck that morning.   He did this with
a nasty leer in his voice, and was telling me  how I
should now get ready to satisfy him as he'd spent most
of the afternoon with a raging erection having watched
the scene.   I was pretty pissed off, and decided to
point out that "straight" guys didn't get turned on by
the sight of men fucking.

"I thought you weren't a fag!  Well, that's what you
always say. So why were you horned up all the time?"

"It's not a fag thing to enjoy seeing nice hard bodies
doing what a man is supposed to...."

"....well it sounds like a fag thing to me, to get
turned on by it.  And then to want to fuck a guy's
ass...."

"I've told you, Steve, I only fuck you as there' no
other choice.  That's the way it's always been - guys
in prison, for example, fuck each other, but when they
get out, they go back to women.  Well it's like that
for me - I need sex, and you're all that's available."

"You could just jerk off...."

"That's for wimps, when there's a nice tight hole
available.  Now, get down on your knees...."

Just at that moment the stable overseer, armed with
his slave prod, appeared, together with a couple of
the stable slaves.  He ordered them to unshackle us,
and then to take us to the cleansing area where we
were showered, shaved, and lightly oiled just as if we
were about to set out on a day's work.  Cuffing our
hands behind our backs, we were then ordered to follow
the overseer to the palace.

It had been three, almost four, years I suppose since
I'd last been in there, and little had changed -
except perhaps that the whole place no longer had the
air of crisp, immaculate freshness and cleanliness
that it had when I had been in charge.  It did feel
odd, though, to be in there totally naked, as when I'd
been a free man, the Sheikh's  Instrument, I had
always been clothed.   I thought I'd have been used to
my nakedness by now after working as a pony, but
somehow, inside a "proper" building  I felt ashamed of
my state, even though there was nothing  I could do
about it.

Jason and I were led to the door of the Sheikh's
audience chamber, and the overseer snapped at us to
stand still, and wait.  It is of course the place of a
slave to wait on his owner's  convenience, and I've no
real idea how long Jason and I stood there -   various
slaves and minor palace functionaries scurried past
from time to time, some of whom totally ignored us,
and some of whom gave us a long, appraising  stares,
clearly excited by seeing so much male perfection
standing there.

I've told you that Jason was really uncouth and had
the habit of pissing whenever he wanted when we were
working, and now, to my horror, he just acted "as
usual" for him - I heard a faint splashing sound, and
felt something slightly warm on my foot.  Jason was
pissing on the marble floor, just as if he was in the
stables, or out of doors!  In fairness, I don't think
he did it deliberately - no, it was more that he just
no longer even thought about the need for bladder
control.

At that moment the great double doors of the audience
chamber swung open.  The Sheikh inside had a perfectly
framed view of Jason pissing, and screamed in rage for
the overseer to "get that animal out of here",
followed by demand to know why Jason had been brought
in there in the first instance!  I watched as Jason
was led away by using his cock as a handle and then
the overseer was told to uncuff me, and leave us.  I
stood there in front of the Sheikh, my nose, nipple
and cock rings gleaming in the overhead lights,
feeling somehow much more vulnerable and naked that I
did when I was standing in front of him as his pony.

"I have need of a new Instrument, Steve", he said,
just as if the preceding years had never happened.
"My previous one has proven unsatisfactory, and I need
 a slave with experience to take over.  You are now my
Instrument, and you will immediately resume management
of the estate, control of the slaves, and the
execution of the punishments that I award.  In fact,
that third element will assume some importance, as
there is a young slave who is to be crucified."

"Thank you, sire.  But how can I be your Instrument,
and run the estate?  Many of the overseers and guards
are all free men - I cannot order them about their
business.  They can order me to leave them alone...."


"It is not a problem.  My previous Instrument was a
slave, and the free men I employ are used to
understanding that my Instrument is merely a
manifestation of my will, and that he speaks with my
authority.  But  I will issue orders saying that you
are again my Instrument, and reminding them, on pain
of dismissal, or perhaps enslavement, that you are to
be obeyed in all matters relating to the operation and
management of the estate.  You will of course always
be respectful to free men, and as a slave you will
always call them 'sir', and obey them in all matters
not related to the estate.... There will be no
problem.... Or, if there is, some of those so-called
'free men' may find themselves enslaved...."

I bowed low, and asked "Are there particularly
pressing matters, Highness?"

"You  have a week or so to re-establish control over
the running of everything.  But there is nothing
urgent, except that I have given orders for all the
slaves  to witness what happens to one who fermented
rebellion - there is to be a crucifixion at dawn three
days hence - ensure that it is conducted properly,
that all the coffles are lined up to see the
spectacle, as a reminder to them.... We will lose a
day of work, I suppose, as the victim will take that
long to expire, but it is worth it.  Having seen the
agony, the other slaves will be much less likely to
revolt in future.  Oh.... And make sure that the
assembled slaves can see everything, not just when the
crosspiece is hoisted onto the upright.  They need to
see the spikes being driven through the flesh - I
always think that makes for a most salutary lesson....
Perhaps a platform should be built, so that this
operation can be carried out in full view of the
slaves."

I went to protest, and was about to say that we could
perhaps just hang the slave concerned, but he waved
his hand in a gesture of dismissal.  "Now, go.  Resume
your duties.  I need to visit my nephew, who is also
being punished."

"Can I help there, Highness...."

"No.  All is arranged.  He is not to receive physical
punishment, as that would not be fitting for a blood
relation of mine. The old harem has not been used for
many years, as you know.  But it has always been kept
in good repair.  It is now my nephew's residence -
there is adequate space, as there are many rooms, and
of course it is secure.  But I have ordered all traces
of the decadent western civilisation to be removed, so
the area is as it was in my father's time:  no TV, no
radio, no telephone, no computers, no decadent western
books or magazines.... My nephew has however been
allowed a copy of the koran for consolation - it is
his only reading, and his only amusement as I have
ordered that only very old slaves may enter to serve
him.... And his tastes run to younger men!  I trust
that after a few years without amusement, except for
the inspiration of the holy words, he will repent his
folly in daring to challenge me."

"He is to be kept in there permanently?"

"Indeed.  He is lucky.  It is spacious, he will be
well fed, he has a book to read....  I cannot order
him to be killed, even humanely, as he is my nephew.
But he must not have the opportunity to ferment
rebellion against me ever again.  You may visit him if
you wish - indeed, I may wish to use you to punish him
if I discover he had been thinking impure thoughts.
You should visit the harem from time to time to ensure
that all is in order, but you are not to speak to him,
or otherwise distract him."

"But, Highness...."

"Go!  I am tired of this conversation.  Start your
duties!"

I bowed and left, hearing my bare feet slap on the
marble floor as I retreated from his presence.  And
then, of course, I was in the middle of the palace,
with not even the minimal shreds of fabric about me
that the serving slaves were allowed.  I thought about
stopping one of them as he hurried past me on his
duties, but the Sheikh's tastes for servants ran to
thin, young guys, and I recognised that even if I
stripped one of them there was no way that their short
tunic would fit my muscled frame.  So I strode along
unashamed, my cock and tit rings bouncing up and down
in time to my steps - the news of my reinstatement
must have spread, in that mysterious way that rumours
permeate the whole place as if like wildfire, as no
one made any attempt to stop me, and even the
supervisor at the main entrance (a free man, of
course), said "Nice to see you back, Steve", and made
no attempt to hinder my progress.

My first call was to the blacksmith's shop near the
stables, and the big nigga blacksmith bowed
respectfully as I strode in, even though I was, like
him, a slave.  That was good, I thought - my natural
superiority was working again.

I ordered him to fetch large snips, and in a couple of
instants I was free of the huge rings through my nose
and my cock.  I stood there for a moment savouring how
different it felt without the weight pulling my cock
down, and the nigga muttered "You'll always have a
mark down there, sir, but the holes will close up."

Nodding, and noting with pleasure the "sir", I stood
there feeling my tit rings.  It would be easy enough
to have them cut off too, but I'd rather got to like
them - as I've told you, I always had very sensitive
tits and when I was having sex that had always be a
problem as a partner could so easily reduce me to a
quivering mass of helplessness by grabbing at them,
even playfully.  But now, after years of having my
tits constantly excited as I ran along, all that
sensitivity had gone.  Of course I was aware of my
nipples (indeed, one reason for having a pony's
nipples ringed with heavy rings is that it serves as a
constant reminder to him as he jogs along that he is
not a free man, but an animal), but now they were not
so sensitive and I knew I would be much more in
control during sex.  So I decided to keep them.

The blacksmith was of course naked except for his long
leather apron (and I noticed that his powerful back
and strong buttocks, were somehow rather exciting as
they were revealed by the leather.  I felt my cock
stiffen - another good sign, I thought), but there was
a slave who had been waiting to collect something who
wore the general "outside" uniform of slave shorts and
a loose T (well, it was the uniform for those slaves
who did not work naked, of course - this one must be
some sort of overseer).  I called him over and told
him to strip, and when he did not instantly obey I
slapped his face hard.  He went to strike me back, but
then saw my hard, muscled body, and thought better of
it.  The blacksmith hissed something at him in the
dialect the niggas used amongst themselves
occasionally (probably both of them came from the same
tribe or something), and  then he obeyed - again, I
felt my cock stiffen as I saw his body revealed and he
stood there nervously fingering his cock and balls, as
if trying to conceal them from me.  I considered
fucking him, as it was a long time since I'd been able
to choose when and with whom I had sex, but decided to
save myself for later as the thought flashed through
my mind of Jason's powerful ass, so instead I just
pulled on his shorts and T.

The slave shorts are always cut tight anyway and have
very short legs to give maximum exposure to the
slave's thighs, and on me the pair I had commandeered
were probably erotically obscene.  The T was
acceptable, though - loose on the slave, it was tight
on me and probably emphasised the power in my upper
body.  I got the scent of the slave's sweat as I
pulled the garments on, and there was a faint dampness
at the crotch and armpits that I would have found
faintly repulsive had I been asked to wear someone
else's clothes when I was a free man.  But years of
slavery change your perceptions, and now it was a
matter of no importance.

Calling in at the office complex within the palace I
ordered the startled slaves and their overseers to run
current reports on our various businesses, and one of
the overseers stammered "It will take time, sir, the
records are not up to date...."

Seeing my incredulous stare, he went on "Well master
Marc was not interested in them, sir, and it's a lot
of effort to do.  It will take us at least three
days...."

"You will have them ready by tomorrow morning."

"It is not possible, sir.   We would have to work all
night.  The slaves need to be rested.  We need to go
home to our families...."

Aware that he was a free man, and that I needed to
temper my anger with a little courtesy, I said coldly
"It seems to me that you, and the slaves, have been
idling for some time.  So now you can repay those
hours of leisure by working in the way that his
Highness pays you for, and for which he bought the
slaves.  I will see the reports tomorrow morning, or
else there will be changes around here... Big changes.
 These slaves look idle and out of condition - I think
a spell out in the coffles would increase their
value.... And perhaps, sir, you would benefit from
another assignment... Perhaps with another employer?
Although with the reference that the Sheikh would give
you, such a post might prove difficult to find...."

How stupid it was to have to resort to these threats!
Of course it would have been much better for the
entire operation to have run smoothly, or, if it was
not, simply to order a caning or even a whipping for
the slaves, to bring them into line.  But I had to
step carefully as there was a free man in charge, and
it seemed that part of the problem was him.

I strode out, leaving no time for further discussion,
and decided that  I ought to give some attention to
this crucifixion that the Sheikh was so concerned
about.  Summoning a group of overseers I barked orders
for a high stage to be built in the courtyard, and
then went back into the palace and down the stairs to
the grim areas that held the punishment chamber and
holding cells.    The guard at the final door asked me
if he should accompany me, but I shook my head, and
added in a half amused tone  "I think I'm more than a
match for the prisoner!".

We keep the place in darkness, of course, as it
increases the sense of terror and doom in the
prisoners.  I could hear subdued sobbing as I opened
the door, which stopped when I flipped the lights on.
Only one of the holding cells was occupied, and there
was Marc.

They had of course stripped him of all his fancy
clothes, and he sat hunched up in the corner of his
cell, his arms wrapped around him (not so much from
modesty, as to attempt to keep warm as the cells are
totally bare stone everywhere, without even a few
shreds of straw for bedding, as I may have told you).
He looked pathetic, pressed up against the cold stone
walls, and he did not even make an attempt to get to
his feet and come to the bars.  I could see why - he
had chosen the position in the cell to be as far away
as possible from the objects in there, and to get to
the bars he would have to step over them.

It may seem almost barbaric to you to lock the
intended victim up with what would be the method of
his execution, but this was the custom here.  Lying
across Marc's cell was the sturdy oak beam to which he
would be nailed and which would then be raised and
secured to the upright post to make a cross.  They had
also put in there the three sharply-pointed iron
spikes, and the heavy mallet that would be used to
drive them through his wrists and feet.  Personally
I'm not sure that this is a good idea - it was not
unknown for some prisoners, seeing all these items and
imagining their effect on their bodies, to use them to
commit suicide and thus deprive the estate of the
ability to give all the slaves an object lesson in
obedience.  I'd thought about changing the practice,
but his Highness had cautioned me against tampering
with centuries-old customs, and so it had continued.

Marc finally recognised who I was, though, slowly got
to his feet, and in spite of his evident terror did
step over the heavy beam and came and clutched at the
bars pathetically.

"Steve, please, get me out of here....."

Inside the excessively tight shorts my cock was quite
painful as it strained to go properly erect at the
sight of Marc's body - he'd been appealing when he
first came here at sixteen, but now as he approached
twenty, his youthful bloom had turned into exciting,
erotic manhood.  There's something about a man of that
age I always think that is so very, very attractive:
the way the muscles have developed (provided the guy
takes care of himself, which Marc clearly had), the
firm young flesh without wrinkles or sags, the promise
of an ass that has no been stretched by years of
abuse....  In Marc's case, of course, my erotic
musings were heightened by the realisation that this
superb piece of man flesh was once more under my
control, after I had been humiliatingly used by him
for so long;  and that, probably, I would be the last
one to enjoy this body before it was destroyed on the
cross.

"You will be out of here soon enough, Marc.  The
Sheikh has ordered your crucifixion in three days.
Enjoy the rest of your life - although it's dark and
cold, as you know.  And it's the custom not to feed
slaves down here - not only does it save money, but it
makes sure  your bowels are empty so there is no
unpleasant release as they drive the spikes home."

"No, please, Steve.... It's barbaric... I don't
deserve this...."

"Barbaric it may be, but it is the custom here.  And
the Sheikh has spoken.  And you do deserve it, you
know - a slave who plots revolt against his owner...."

"But it was his nephew...."

"You mean your lover.  You were conspiring together to
overthrow the Sheikh.  That cannot be allowed for the
sake of the general good order in society!"

"Steve, please, help me..... I was always good to
you....."

"You mean using you as your pony?  Having me tattooed,
ringed....?  Whipping me when I was flagging...?"

"Steve, please!  I'm begging you!  When I came here
you were nice to me, even though you did all those
disgusting things to me.... "


"That's not enough, Marc.  I can't help you, as the
Sheikh has spoken."

"You can't let them crucify me....  I'm a whitey....
Crucifixion's for niggas....."

I shrugged.  It was true of course that white slaves
are generally so valuable that they are not killed.
But there are exceptions to every rule.  "There's only
 one way out, Marc.  But are you man enough to take
it?"

His whole body straightened a little, at this glimmer
of hope.  "Anything....."

"Take one of those spikes, and instead of waiting for
them to drive it through your wrists or feet  to pin
you to the cross, drive it into your belly.  They tell
me it takes about ten minutes to die, but that's
rather less than the hours of agony you're otherwise
going to experience...."

"NO.....", he screamed.  And resumed his sobbing as I
turned and strode away, turning off the lights at the
door and leaving him in darkness.

End Of Part Eleven