Date: Wed, 27 Feb 2008 20:12:16 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Instrument, Part 13

THE INSTRUMENT

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part  Thirteen



The following morning was one of those typical
"desert" mornings -  just before sunrise it was cool,
no, chilly, really.  But I had ordered the guards to
have all the estate's slaves lined up in neat
formations then as I thought it would add to the drama
of what they were about to witness.  They stood there
shifting from foot to foot, as much with the cold, I
suspect, as in anticipation of what was about to
happen - normally during the hours of darkness all of
the slaves were of course in the stables, or in the
coffle barns, so they were not used to the morning
cool.

As the sun rises - which it does very rapidly indeed
in the desert - it's always preceded by the morning
wind, and as this starts to blow you can see the
terminator line between darkness and sunshine racing
across the ground towards you.  It goes from being
chill one moment, to a silvery brightness, to full hot
blazing sun all in the space of a few minutes.  I had
planned the arrival of the sun like this to herald the
start of our little exhibition, as I did intend to
make sure that all the estate slaves learned that the
soft regime which they had enjoyed under Marc had now
changed.  As the sun hit their naked bodies and they
started to chafe and rub themselves in pleasure,
getting the cold out of their skin, I therefore
signalled to the guards that they should lay in with
the lashes, and enforce a proper "slave" stance of
stillness.

I had arranged for Jason to be waiting at the front
steps of the palace with the Sheikh's trap, and as he
now trotted around the building pulling his owner  I
snapped the order for all the slaves to fall to their
knees in honour of his Highness.  Jason pulled up, and
I bowed politely to the Sheikh (I had wondered if I
too should fall to my knees, as a slave, but thought
that this might be just a little excessive).

"All is ready, Highness."

"Are you sure, Steve, that this will not damage the
boy permanently?   The more I thought about that young
nigga last night the more I realise how satisfactory
Marc is as a pleasure slave.  And if it's true, as you
allege, that I cannot afford a replacement....."

"No, Highness.  He will not be permanently affected.
But it is important that all the other slaves learn
the consequences of disobedience.    He will scream,
at first in terror, then in supplication to you to
save him, and finally with the total, pure pain that
he is experiencing.  It will be a lesson to all the
slaves, but he will not be permanently damaged in that
he will still produce semen, and will still be a man -
or, at least, half a man.  But never again will he
risk your displeasure."

"Quite, Steve.  So let it begin."

I suppose I'd felt a bit guilty in not telling Marc
that he was not to be crucified, but had he known that
his reactions as the guards half dragged, half carried
him out of the cage in which he'd been transported to
the yard might not have been as authentic.   Two other
slaves had been recruited to carry the heavy
crosspiece of the cross, which they now lowered to the
ground, but to add to Marc's terror the heavy spikes
that were supposedly going to be used to skewer him to
it had been packed in his cage with him - even though
the cage was very small, one could not help noticing
that Marc had somehow managed to twist his body so
that he totally avoided touching them.  When he saw
the upright of cross that stood at the back of the
stage, as I had anticipated  Marc's  screams of terror
began, turning into the most heart-wrenching pleas for
mercy as he saw the Sheikh sitting there in his cart
observing.

Those of you who think about these things probably
think that you can only remove a slave's testicle if
he is lying down.  But of course all you need is a
very sharp scalpel and free access  to the slave's
sac, and this can as easily be accomplished when he is
standing as when he is lying.
Consequently we were able to proceed as if we were
about to crucify Marc - the two guards holding his
writhing body wrestled him to the ground by the
crosspiece and threw the weight of their bodies onto
him so that he was unable to move.  They tied his
wrists and his biceps to the cross piece with leather
thongs, and I heard them tell Marc that the spikes
would only be hammered through his wrists once all was
properly in place - fresh information that Marc did
not want to hear, as his pleadings to the Sheikh now
became hysterical.

He couldn't stand unaided, and when the guards did
pick up the cross piece so he could get to his feet,
when they let it go the weight of forced his body to
bend as he stood there, the absolute picture of
misery.  He had to be helped to climb the steps up
onto the platform, and then the guards had to raise
the cross piece once more to latch it into the
upright.

With the weight of his body suspended from his arms,
Marc's cries did at least cease as he found it too
difficult to breathe, but once his feet had been
lashed to the upright and he could get some purchase
to relieve the tension on his body, they started
again.

As a gesture to the fact that he was an "indoor" slave
and not one of the common field coffles, Marc had so
far been allowed to wear the normal indoor slave
shorts, but now, at a gesture from me, the guards
literally tore these off him so he hung there totally
naked - a lot of the niggas watching had not seen a
white cock before, and those in the front rows
muttered appreciatively at the sight,  well at least
until the lashes of the guards once more made them
silent.

I had got our usual veterinarian to perform the
semi-castration as I did not want to cause Marc
unnecessary suffering (or risk damage to the Sheikh's
valuable property), so he now approached to begin.  I
think Marc thought he was going there to make sure he
was all right before the spikes were driven in, and
his pleadings to the Sheikh for mercy now turned into
abject supplications to the vet to save him.   The man
knew what he was doing, though, as he produced a very
thin, very sharp steel needle (so thin you only really
knew it was there because of the way it glinted in the
sun).  He took a pinch of Marc's belly flesh between
his thumb and forefinger, and in one deft gesture
managed to grab Marc's cock, push it up so it lay
against his belly, then skewered through it and the
pinch of flesh he had so that Marc's cock was held
there.

Yes, I know it mush have hurt, but the needle was very
thin and I think Marc's shouts were excessive - and as
he began to piss in sheer terror and his piss
fountained up his body before running down his flesh,
the niggas began to laugh.

The vet continued, though, not distracted by this - he
was rolling Marc's balls around in his hand and
tugging them down, stretching his sac.  It was
interesting to observe how he used his thumb and
forefinger of one hand then to keep the balls in the
bottom of Mac's sac (as presumably otherwise they
would have retreated upwards, as we know balls do when
there's a problem!), and then, almost quicker than we
could see, how his scalpel sliced up the rear of the
sac.

Marc's screams of pain stopped abruptly as he threw
up, the vomit narrowly missing the vet.  But he was
not distracted, and I saw one of the pinkish-white
balls pulled out of the sac, the "cords" carrying the
body fluids and so on stretched, and then neatly
severed by a second stroke of the scalpel.  The vet
flipped the grisly thing into one of those silver
dishes they use, reached into his pocket to get the
artificial testicle, popped it into the sac, and then,
as all of us continued to watch in stunned silence, he
calmly and quietly proceeded to attach surgical clips
to the back of Marc's sac to close up the opening.
The whole thing can't have taken more than two
minutes, at the most.

Marc's cries and pleas to the Sheikh for mercy had now
turned into a constant crying - no, wailing, rather -
as he was evidently hurting, and hurting very badly.
I signalled to the guards who were carrying the heavy
metal spikes and the large hammer that accompanies
them, and as they came forward towards the cross Marc
began to shout to the Sheikh for mercy once more.
At a gesture from the Sheikh I approached the cross
and spoke quietly to Marc, telling him that on this
occasion, and this occasion only, his owner had
decided to be merciful and he was not to be nailed up.
 "You will however hang here all day in the sun, and
you will find it very painful:  the weight of your
body pulling down on your shoulders affects your rib
cage, and it becomes difficult to breathe.  You will
try to push upwards with your feet to give yourself a
breath, but we have bound them to the upright in such
a way that you cannot exert much leverage - you will
only get some momentary relief, before you have to
begin the cycle again.  And all the time there will be
that pain in your balls - or, rather, from where one
of your balls used to be."

I paused for a moment for dramatic effect, then
continued "But let there be no mistake, Marc:  your
owner has taken one of your testicles, as a warning
and as a punishment.  If you are ever disloyal to him
again, in even the slightest degree, you will be back
on this cross.  But next time the spikes will skewer
your wrists and your feet, and you will hang here
until you die."

He managed to stop sobbing for a moment, and I saw all
the muscles in his body flexing as he tried to push
upwards so he could get enough air to breathe.  Then
he croaked "Why....?"

I laughed.  "Marc, you are a slave.  You know that.
And an owner has total power over you.  He owns you,
he owns your body.  And no owner can tolerate
disobedience from a slave - you yourself have seen how
we cane, and ultimately whip,  slaves here who do not
obey.  But disloyalty is worse, far, far worse:  we
can see when a slave is being disobedient, and take
corrective action.  Disloyalty however begins in the
brain, and is concealed until it manifests itself.  At
even the merest suspicion of disloyalty, a prudent
owner therefore takes the strongest action possible to
root it out and ruthlessly suppress it.  You are lucky
indeed that he still favours you - any other slave
here who was plotting against his owner would be on
the cross as you are, but would now be dying."

He writhed again, and managed to say "It's not
fair...."

"Fair?  Fair?...."  My voice rose in exasperation.
"What's 'fair' when you're a slave, and were disloyal
to your owner?  Let me tell you, Marc, that in spite
of enjoying your body, and in spite of your cost, the
Sheikh was nevertheless planning to have you crucified
properly as a warning to others.  It is only me who
managed to persuade him that the punishment we have
devised here is a sufficient warning to the other
slaves - none of them want to risk castration!  And to
them, it seems that the veterinarian has removed both
your testicles.   As it is, in his mercy, your owner
has left you with some of the powers of a man - he
intends to breed you, I believe, and you will be
perfectly capable of producing progeny with only one
testicle.  And aesthetically you will still look like
a man - indeed, your already impressive equipment may
even be enhanced as we have arranged for the
prosthetic testicle that has been fitted to be larger
and heavier than the one it replaced, so it will hang
and swing more vigorously."

I paused for breath.  "That's what I call 'fair',
actually.  You are left with your life, and your
manhood, in spite of committing the most heinous act
of which a slave can be guilty."

I did not give him chance to reply further, and
instead turned to address the assembled niggas.  "Your
owner, his Highness, has generously decided that the
slave's life should be spared.  However the will hang
here all day in the broiling sun, and as you go off to
your toils, and return from them, you can observe him.
 Inspect his manhood, lying in the dish, and reflect:
do you wish to be unmanned like him?  If not, work
hard and loyally."

Not allowing any time for response, I then strode down
and gave orders to the overseers and guards to begin
the normal business of the day.

Later that night I was summoned into the Sheikh's
presence.  I stood there respectfully, and he looked
at me sternly.

"I am pleased with you, Steve, he finally said.  "You
solved a potentially very difficult problem with my
favourite slave in a way that appears to be
satisfactory for all.  I went to see him in the cells
earlier on, and other than the kind of whimpering and
snivelling that you expect from a slave who has been
physically damaged like that, there was no problem."

"It was extremely well done, and I am pleased with
you.  Had it not been for your disloyalty, you would
have deserved a fine bonus."

"Highness, as I have tried to explain to you, it was
not disloyalty - I needed to visit my home....."

"Your home is here.  What finer things could a man
want, than to be in my service here in the palace?
You have no need of more home than that!"

"But Highness, I wanted to see my son - he is fifteen
now, nearing his sixteenth birthday, and I have hardly
seen him as he was growing up.  I only intended a
short visit, to renew my acquaintance with him, and to
make sure that he is set on the right path as he
approaches manhood.  I had not been a good father,
always away - it wasn't always my fault, as my bitch
of an ex-wife would not allow me the free access that
a man needs to his son.... But I wanted at least to
see him whilst he was still nominally at least not yet
a man....."

The Sheikh eyed me carefully, as if weighing up the
truth of what  I was saying.  "So it was intended only
o be a short visit.  And you want to be near your son,
your son who is almost sixteen....?"

"Yes, Highness..."  I felt pleasure, no, almost joy
beginning to creep over me.  Perhaps the Sheikh had
understood after all.  Perhaps he was going to let me
go.

But just as quickly a these thoughts had arisen,  my
hopes were dashed when he simply remarked "Well all
that's in your past.  You are now a slave now, and, as
you know, slavery is for life.  It would not set a
good example to the others were I to set you free - it
might raise hopes in the other slaves that they too
might regain their freedom, something I could never
allow given their cost, and the need to keep the
demesne running."

"But Highness, please, perhaps I could be allowed a
visit to see my son...."

"Of course not.  It is inconceivable that you should
leave the demesne. Slaves are not allowed to travel -
you know that."

I could see that argument was futile, and turned o go.

"I do not think that the slave Marc is suitable for my
bed tonight, Steve", the Sheikh added.  "He would
continue his snivelling and whining, I feel certain.
And after being caged in the cells all that time, he
is probably not clean and wholesome.  Put a cleaning
and exercise programme in place for him, starting
immediately.  By the time that scar has healed he
should then be ready for me again."

"Yes, Highness."

"...and in the interim, I suppose I had better use
that young nigga you found for me - he has not
returned to the drays, has he?"

"No, Highness.  He is being kept in readiness for
you...."

"You anticipate everything, Steve!  That is why you
are so invaluable as a slave!  Have him brought to my
bedchamber, and I suppose you had better be there too,
given that he is relatively unbroken."

I have to admit that I did find it very erotic to
again see the young nigga "riding" the Sheikh's cock.
Like all slaves who had been selected for dray work he
was heavily muscled, and tall - and yet, on his young
body, the muscles seemed to work very well.  He had
very long thighs, and as he raised and lowered himself
I got exhilarating glimpses of the flexing and
extending of the muscles there.  Of course he wasn't
perfect - I always think that having the soles of the
slave's feet so very different in colour from the rest
of him is rather aesthetically unsatisfying - it's not
normally a problem for field slaves and drays and
ponies of course, as you only get occasional brief
views of their soles, and the feet are mostly covered
in dirt and dust anyway, so masking it.  But when a
slave is performing sexually, especially when he's in
the "riding" position, the soles of the feet are very
obvious to someone like me who had little else to do
but to observe.    Still, he was well behaved in every
other way - he even appeared to be relatively
enthusiastic about the Sheikh's cock, although given
its relatively small size and the thickness of the
guy's ass muscles before you got to his hole, it can
hardly have made much of an entry!  I think he was
actually pleased at being "rescued" from life as a
dray, and was hoping that if he put in a good
performance he might become the Sheikh's permanent bed
partner.

A brief smile played over my lips as I thought how
disappointed he was going to be when Marc resumed his
normal place next week.  Still, it occurred to me that
I could make good use of this man myself - he'd make a
nice change from Jason - or, perhaps, I might make it
known to Jason that in future his role was to be
fucked by me always, but that he could use the young
dray for his relief afterwards, if  he so wished.  Yes
- the more  I thought about it, the more that seemed
to be a good plan - I liked fucking Jason, and the
idea that his pleasure was then dependent on my
continuing goodwill was actually rather exciting.

The Sheikh liked to keep his pleasure slaves with him
all night, so usually when I was attending one of
these sessions there was not much sleep for me.  But
after he'd given a great sigh and had clearly shot his
load up the young nigga, he dismissed the man with a
wave of his hand, and then told me that I could go,
too.   I thought of going back and fucking Jason, as I
had been rather aroused by the sight of the nigga (if
not by the less enjoyable sigh of the Sheikh's flabby
body!).  But then a better idea occurred to me, and I
told the nigga to follow me to my own Spartan
quarters.    He didn't seem to mind when I ordered him
to lie on his back and then curl up and get his feet
as near to his shoulders as he could - I intended to
fuck him with me standing over him, my cock drilling
down into his exposed hole, but once he was in
position and had pulled his butt apart on my command,
I was rather revolted by the sight of the Sheikh's cum
dribbling out.  I'm not a prude sexually and normally
I don't mind things like that - after all cum is
perfectly natural - but I suppose I'm used to seeing
proper "manly" cum - thick and white, and lots of it,.
 The Sheikh's pathetic dribble was somehow mean and
pathetic, and I found it was actually turning me off.


It's a tough call, I know - whether to have a nice
pre-lubed hole, or whether to have a sweetly clean
one, and on this occasion I decided on the latter.  So
as stripped my clothes off and lay on  my bed, I
ordered the nigga to go and clean himself out
thoroughly.  There's something rather luxurious, isn't
there, to lie stretched out, in your own bed? I put my
hands be against the wall behind my head and stretched
and stretched.  I rubbed my toes together, relishing
the sensation of having all the muscles in my body
good and taut.  Life seemed good, at least for the
moment in spite of the disappointment earlier in the
afternoon when I knew I was never going to be
released, and my cock sprang to attention as I lay
there savouring the moment, anticipating the return of
the nigga and the satisfaction I would undoubtedly
have from his lithe body.

______________________________________________________

I suppose my life resorted to some sort of equilibrium
for the next few weeks.  Once Marc's scar had healed
somewhat, he returned to the Sheikh's favours and,
more importantly, to his bed.  The Sheikh felt so
confident of his control over Marc now that he no
longer needed me to be there to orchestrate matters,
so I once again had the nights free for myself.
Although I did enjoy fucking the young dray, Jason
remained my favourite nigh time occupation, especially
as now  I was in control once more it was his ass that
was waiting for my cock at night.  It also gave me a
special pleasure to reserve Jason as "my" pony, so
that as I drove him around on my normal business I had
the satisfaction seeing his truly spectacular muscles,
knowing that in a few short hours  I would have full
and unrestricted access to it.  It's somehow
especially satisfying to "tease" the straining butt of
a slave who's serving you as a pony with your whip,
knowing that a little later  you're going to see the
traces of the whip marks as  you plunge your cock in.


Jason hated it!  Not so much being a pony, though- he
was used to being a pony now - but he simply couldn't
reconcile himself to the fact that it was me, and me
alone, who now decided when we'd fuck - and of course
it was always me doing the fucking!   When I was a
free man I had of course used him this way, forcing
him to have sex with me, but once I was a pony working
alongside him and sleeping in the same stable, Jason
had "reverted to type" and his stronger, younger body
had been able to overpower me.  Now the tables were
turned once more, as I could use Jason as I wanted.

To be able to use Jason in this way I had to persuade
the Sheikh that he didn't need Jason as a a pony, and
with a little manipulation I managed it - I "sold" him
on the idea that having a really tall, young pony
meant that he did not need to even consider sparing
the ship (not that I think he actually "spared" his
ponies much anyway!), and so the young black nigga was
reassigned from the drays to this role.  He actually
seemed to like it, although I made it better for him
by allowing him to sleep with the drays at night
rather than being shackled in a single stall as would
of course be the way for a pony normally.  I had
decided, though, that I didn't like sleeping in the
stables;  so on the nights when I just needed to fuck
and didn't want to lie wrapped around Jason all night,
I used to ensure that he and the young nigga were
stabled together so that Jason could fuck him.

Look, it wasn't like being "free", but life was pretty
good - I suppose the only real difference was that I
now occupied the small, mean room in the slave
quarters rather than my former luxurious suite, but
otherwise everything was much the same - I ran the
estate, effectively gave orders to the overseers and
guards, and  so on.  Sure the money was no longer
piling up in my bank account, but then I'd never had
any need for it when I was at work anyway - as I've
told you, it was just something I saw on the bank
statements from the Swiss bank every month, and to a
certain extent it wasn't "real"  even then.  So the
fact that I was no longer earning was of relatively
little importance.

Look, you can have a pretty good life if you're doing
a job you like, you have lots of opportunity to
exercise, and when there's as much sex as you want,
whenever you want it!  I guess a lot of guys might be
envious of me, actually - I mean, even though  I was a
slave, what's "freedom" actually?  I didn't have
worries and cares about money or anything, and I now
knew that the Sheikh relied on me so much that I was
in absolutely no danger of being sold, or even
punished harshly.

Over the next few months my life settled into a not
unpleasant routine - I was gradually getting the
palace back into shape, and as I did so the "work"
load on me diminished.  Jason seemed to becoming
around, too, and once he learned that being fucked by
me was inevitable, he got to accept it - especially as
he then knew that I would let him sleep in my room, in
a comfortable bed, rather than on the straw in the
stables.  Once it became clear that he was going to
behave, I even relented and had his snout ring removed
- although it does enhance the appearance of a pony, I
think, it's a dammed nuisance when you're in bed and
want to kiss.  I suppose I realised I was employing
double standards - as a pony myself I hated the snout
ring, but as a driver I appreciated the look of it and
the control it gave me over my pony! Jason at once
tried to push the envelope and asked if he could have
his "pony" hair cut into a proper marine's crop, as I
had done to my own.  But I actually quite liked the
Mohican effect on top, and over the months as we had
allowed his hair to grow at the back, it now looked
very appealing when it was neatly plaited - as he ran
along it bounced up and down, slapping the top of his
back and emphasising the sweat that there always was
there.   So I refused to allow any change here, and I
insisted he kept his nipple rings, too - as I've told
you, I found them quite erotic on myself, and I liked
seeing them on Jason too (although it may have been
more of a problem for him, I suppose, as he did so
much running, whereas for most of the day my rings
were snug inside my polo shirt).  And, of course, I
kept the cinch banding and ball band on him:  again,
whenever he thought I was in a good mood he'd try to
wheedle me into agreeing to have these removed, but I
knew better; it really was in his own best interests
to have some form of restraint like this for his
genitals, and I kept reminding him about how he could
basically forget them:  a naked guy, after all, is
always worried about getting his balls trapped when he
sits down, doesn't he?

I'd had a serious discussion with the Sheikh, too,
about Marc's attire.  It really was not suitable to
have a young slave like him wearing longish "free man"
shorts, and polo shirts.  He needed to be constantly
reminded of his status, I argued, and that I should be
the only slave on the place privileged to look like a
free man (well, at least when I had my shorts and polo
on - once I stripped off to shower after a run, or
went into the pool, the brand and my name tattooed
across my shoulders made it perfectly apparent what my
real status was).  So now Marc was dressed properly
for a slave:  one of the brief tunics when he was in
the palace, so that his genitals and ass were always
easily accessible should his owner wish to fondle him,
and when he accompanied his owner around the estate,
properly brief slave shorts.

There was one area that was a concern, though:  the
Sheikh's nephew,  locked inside the old harem
quarters.  He was in fact the Sheikh's heir, too, and
I was worried that should the Sheikh die - perhaps as
he fucked Marc just a little too vigorously - then the
nephew would inherit the entire demesne (including all
the slaves, which included me, of course!).   I knew
he had a grudge against me for revealing the plot he
and Marc were hatching against his uncle, and I feared
very much that he would take revenge on me once he
owned me.  I decided therefore to try to "build
bridges" to him, and so, in my role as chief of the
Sheikh's slave, went to "call" on him in the harem.

Physically he had it good in there - the  harem had
been designed to house about thirty of a previous
sheikh's women, and now the nephew was the sole
permanent occupant he therefore had the choice of many
rooms to live in.  There was a big ornamental pool in
the centre of the complex, open to the sky, and
although it was hardly big enough to swim a proper
"length" in, he could at least do some exercise in it
if he wished.   The primary problem, I suppose, is
that there was no "outside" awareness - all the rooms
looked inwards onto the enclosed courtyard and pool,
and  the patch of sky above the pool was the only
"external" sight.  His uncle had compounded this
feeling of isolation by ensuring that there was no TV
or phone or anything, and by restricting the supply of
books to be "holy tracts" where he could read of the
good works of the assorted prophets and jujus that
they believed in.

When I went in he immediately began to demand
additional stuff - he commanded me to get a TV
connected, to bring newspapers, and so on.  I had to
apologise, saying that I was not able to obey his
orders as his uncle had specifically commanded
otherwise.  He changed tack then, and went on "Well
you are supposedly the head slave, so you can at least
ensure that the slaves sent to serve me in here are
suitable!"

I thought I ought to appear to be humble and bowed
low.  "Excellency, if the slaves are not performing
satisfactorily, I can have them disciplined....."

"That is not the problem.  They perform their assigned
tasks satisfactorily, but they do not please me."

"Excellency, if they displease you, then they should
still be disciplined.  The palace slaves are supposed
to perform their duties willingly, to make life
pleasant for your uncle and his guests...."

I could see that I was not making progress, judging
from the anger in his eyes, as he cut across me.  "You
idiot!  The problem is that the slaves in here are all
females....  That in itself could just be borne as
fucking a female ass is not all that different from a
proper male one.  But the slaves are all old - I
cannot be expected to have sex with slaves old enough
to be my mother!"

"Excellency, I am sorry, but it is your uncle's
orders.  He specifically ordered that services in this
part of the palace are to be carried out by some of
the worn-out breeding females."

"Well at least have one or two of the young servants
sent in occasionally...."

"I am sorry, excellency.  But  I am the only male
slave allowed into the harem, on your uncle's express
orders."

He glared at me, and snapped "Well then, strip!"

He saw me hesitate, and roared "Are you stupid, boy?
You heard me!  Strip!  Unclothe!  Disrobe!  I have
been deprived of the sight of a proper body for too
long, and if you are the only male slave allowed in
here, then you will need to serve me."

"Excellency, I'm not sure...."

"So, Steve, in addition to already displeasing me
greatly and making a rift between my uncle and me,
you are going to defy me now, are you?  You dare to
disobey a free  man's orders?"

"No, excellency.  But your uncle...."

"My uncle is not here, Steve."  He paused for a
moment, and continued "...and he will not, of course,
be here for ever.  He is an old man....."

I understood the menace in his words, and reluctantly
pulled my polo shirt over my head.  His eyes bore in
to me as I unbuttoned my shorts and let them fall to
the ground, and then stepped out of them.

"You are in good shape, Steve.  Not perhaps quite as
firmly muscled as when you were serving as a pony, but
good enough, nevertheless."

As he said this he stood up and came and stood behind
me, so close that I could feel his hot breath on my
back.  Then his hands were resting on my shoulders,
and he began to move them down in that way that men do
when they are inspecting a fine piece of male flesh.
They rested on my butt for several seconds, before
"testing" my long thighs and then fondling my rigid
calves, as if adsorbing an impression of my power and
strength.  Like all slaves, I hated the way a free man
like him could so casually appraise my body in this
way, just as if he had a right to (although, of
course, he did have that right - I was "property", and
like a sleek car or something, an owner could run his
hands over it if he wanted).

He stood in front of me then, and murmured "Excellent!
 Were it not for that tattoo and brand, I could
believe I was about to enjoy a free man."

I felt one hand resting on the top of my butt on my
spine, and his other running down over my belly as if
his fingers were counting the hard ridges of muscle.
Then he had my cock in his hand, pushed his face down
onto my pecs, and began to taste my skin there, his
tongue licking and slurping over my skin and his lips
holding and teasing my nip rings so that I shuddered
and squirmed.

"Excellency, no.....", I began.

His sensual exploration of me instantly stopped.  "You
do not give orders to me, boy!  You are a slave,
remember?  Now, get down on your hands and knees as I
have been too long without sexual relief."

End Of Part Thirteen.