Date: Sat, 15 Mar 2008 04:24:09 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Instrument, Part 14

THE INSTRUMENT

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part  Fourteen


Look, fucking a guy's not all that much of a big deal,
is it, really?  Even if the guy concerned is a bit
reluctant. It's not as if I hadn't fucked lots of guys
myself who hadn't wanted it - hadn't wanted it at all.
 No, that's not strictly true, I suppose - when I say
"guys" I really mean "slaves" - I'd fucked lots of
unwilling slaves in my role as the Sheikh's
Instrument, both as a punishment, and as part of my
induction process.  And, as I've told you, I'd been
fucked myself, somewhat unwillingly, by Jason.  So
when I was commanded to get down onto my knees, press
my forehead to the floor and raise my ass into the air
by the Sheikh's nephew, why should it have made me so
fucking pissed off?  I knew kind of intellectually
that the initial penetration might hurt a bit, but I'm
big and tough and can take it;  and once he'd got
going, I might even have almost enjoyed the sensation
of his cock sliding in and out of me and the hot
sensuality of his body pressed close to mine.  I
suppose "intellect" has nothing to do with it though -
I was being ordered to do something I didn't want to,
and that was enough to make my anger rise and my heart
start to race in the classic "fight or flight" way.

The sheikh's nephew saw me hesitate, and snapped
"Fucking slave!  Do you dare to defy me?  Although I
am currently closeted in here, do you think my uncle
would like to hear that one of his slaves is daring to
disobey a free man, especially one who is still a
member of his own family?  Now, do as you are
ordered!"

Reluctantly, and seething with anger inside, I dropped
to my knees,  The marble was cold against me, although
I suppose that did help to cool my bubbling temper as
I bent forward and pressed my forehead to it.  I knew
that he was right, of course - the Sheikh had
imprisoned him to prevent him fermenting further
plots, but the old man had a strong sense of family
duty and were he to hear that I had disobeyed - or
even been disrespectful to - one of the royal family,
I would certainly be in deep, deep trouble.    I
suppose, thinking about it, that the nephew's demands
had really upset me not because I feared his cock, but
because they had made me think once again of my
position in the palace - after all I had been a free
man at one time, a real power in the land as I was the
effective ruler of the Sheikh's slaves, used to giving
orders and being obeyed in even the tiniest respect;
and if I wasn't obeyed, I had the authority to
physically punish, something which I did and which, if
you think about it, free men never get to do.  No
matter how frustrated you are with the service in a
restaurant, or the behaviour of a group of young guys
in the street, you don't have the power to thrash them
with  your hands, or a cane:  but I had that power,
and had enjoyed exercising it.  Then I had been made
into a slave, one of those who had no power at all,
absolutely none.  My enslavement had been all the
worse for me as I had "further to fall" than a normal
free man;  and, of course, I completely understood
what was expected of a slave - total and absolute
obedience - something which is fundamentally out of
kilter with my personality.  What's more, I suppose I
understood that I was going to be used and abused - as
indeed I had been, both in terms of being fucked
against my will, and being made to perform as one of
my owner's ponies - surely slavery can not be much
worse that being used as if I was a mere animal,
ornamented for my owner's amusement, chained to a
cart, and kept in a stable?

I had thought I was on the road to recovery from all
that, though.  Although I was nominally a slave, being
restored to being the Sheikh's Instrument had given me
back most of my former life.  I was once again in
charge, once again giving orders, once again punishing
disobedient slaves physically.  And it was me who
fucked Jason now, and Marc, and who had the pick of
any other good-looking slave who I saw on the demesne.
 But being commanded to kneel so that the nephew could
exercise his control over me by fucking me against my
will was a giant step backwards, and once again I felt
the loneliness, the desolation, the sheer
helplessness, the impotence and lack of control over
my being, that slavedom brings.

The nephew must have been very sexually charged,
fortunately.  I gritted my teeth and managed not to
cry out as he thrust savagely in to me (as I knew from
my own experience, a man fucking a slave can do it in
the way that pleases him, and need have no regard for
the slave's feelings or whether the slave is actually
physically in pain);  then, as he began that age-old
exercise of his body in and out of mine, I had almost
no time to get accustomed to it before he made one
last gigantic thrust, slamming his pubic area against
my ass with a loud slap and shouting "Fucking Allah! "
in triumph as he shot his load deep into me.

I hated it, too, when he commanded me to kneel in
front of him and clean his cock afterwards - I hadn't
been expecting to have sex, and so my ass was not
clean to begin with.  I don't mind the taste of sweat
and cum on another guy's cock - in fact, I think it's
a pretty heady cocktail - but the harsh, bitter taste
of shit is something else.  I gagged and choked and
had to fight back the nausea as my tongue licked him
clean.

"You may go", he told me curtly then.  "But I think we
will repeat this tomorrow - now I know what delights
that muscled ass of yours holds, I can see no reason
for not availing myself of it."

I went to say something, but checked myself.  After
all, what had I got to say?  I could hardly protest,
hardly refuse, hardly say that he had taken my manhood
by his crude rape of my ass.  He was a free man, a
relative of my owner, and I was a slave.

Poor Jason really got it that night, though - he was
reconciled to being fucked by me, and being two strong
muscular guys our sex was always somewhat boisterous.
But that night, still in suppressed rage at what had
happened to me, I showed Jason no consideration at
all.  I didn't attempt to stretch him or relax him, I
didn't give him the opportunity to lube my cock with
his spit, and I showed him no consideration whatsoever
as I crudely forced my way into him and then shagged
him as hard and as furiously as I could.  Afterwards
he lay right on the edge of the bed, trying to keep
his body as far away from me as possible. And when,
feeling some remorse as I realised I'd been working
out my anger and frustration on him, I tried  to curl
an arm around him as a prelude to making some sort of
apology, he angrily thrust it away.

I'm ashamed to say that his action infuriated me - I'd
wanted to try to make amends, and his rejection
simply pushed me over the edge once more.  I keep as
set of handcuffs  in the room and before he could
resist I had them snapped closed on him.  Then,
slapping at him with my hands to make him move, I
ordered him to his feet. And in that most humiliating
way of getting a slave to follow you, I grabbed hold
of his cock and pulled him after me as I strode down
the corridor of the slave quarters, out across the
yard to the stables.  Jason stumbled behind me, trying
to avoid falling and causing injury to himself, and
knowing that with my hand on his cock he was totally
under my control.

As we burst through the doors into the stables  the
drays came awake and un-entwined themselves from where
they'd been sleeping in that comfortable heap of
tangled bodies which was their habit, and called out
excitedly to us, no doubt expecting some sexual
pleasure from this unexpected visit.  Instead, they
quietened down and watched in something approaching
awe as I almost savagely pushed Jason up against one
of the pillars forming his normal stall and used a
short length of rope to fasten him there using his tit
rings.  Then, as he futilely struggled to prevent me,
I un-cuffed him, brought his arms forward around the
pillar, and re-cuffed him.

I have to say his language was terrible as he shouted
at me and called me all the vile names under the sun.
This only added to my anger, and as soon as he was
secure I took up one of the many carriage whips
hanging around the place and set into him, slashing
away at his back, buttocks and thighs in a  frenzy of
uncontrolled rage.  My savage treatment of him did at
least have the advantage of stopping the foul abuse,
as his angry shouts turned to screams and sobbing as I
worked away.

A rage like mine can't be sustained, though, and after
a few minutes it had worked itself out.  I stood there
panting for breath from my exertions, sweat running
off me.  Then I began to feel a bit ashamed of what I
had done to Jason, and I suppose I should have freed
him from his bondage and apologised.  But just as I
was about to, he turned his head, as much as he was
able to, and muttered "Fucking bastard!" at me.  Well,
I wasn't going to stand for that.  For an instant I
thought about resuming his beating, but instead
turned, and flushing with anger - at myself now, not
at him - I strode out of the stables leaving poor
Jason cuffed there.

Once back in my room and with my anger now all burned
out, I thought about him.  It was wrong of me to have
whipped him, I know:  he had every right to be angry
at me from having raped him like that and to have
refused my friendly advances afterwards.  And the more
I thought about it, the more I knew I ought to go back
to the stables and un-cuff him, treat his back and
thighs where blood had been oozing out after my savage
beating of him, and allow him some rest before the
morning - his legs were, after all, going to have to
work very hard all the next day, and making him remain
standing all night (when he would be unable to sleep,
either) was not a sensible thing to do.  But then I
thought of the drays and how they'd seen me treat him,
and I knew that if I went back they'd see me as weak,
and I just couldn't make myself do it.

I didn't sleep well myself, though, and in the morning
my mood was one of anger and despair - mostly at
myself and my condition, I must say - as I strode
towards the stable.  The flies were all over Jason's
back, butt and thighs, feasting on the traces of
blood, and I began to feel even worse about my action.
 I went over to him to start to un-cuff him and
release the rope through his tit rings, and if he'd
said one kind thing to me, or even just said nothing,
I think everything would soon have been all right.
But instead of that he turned his head as best he
could - the action clearly causing him some pain - and
muttered "You bastard, Steve!"

Look, he was right.  I was wrong, both in the way I
treated him in bed, and then in whipping him.  But so
often when we know we're wrong, having it pointed out
to us doesn't make it any better, does it?  In fact,
it makes us feel worse, and makes us do things that we
might not usually do.  It was just like this on this
occasion, and I snapped "Right, Jason.... If that's
how it's to be, see how you like this....."

I grabbed one of the bits hanging from the tackle
hooks - one of the "training" ones, with the big
spiked tongue plate at right angles to the working
part - and snapped "Open wide, fucker...."

Jason looked astonished for a moment.  "You can't be
serious...."

I could see his point - although I'd been using Jason
as my pony, it had been a proper "working"
relationship:  I didn't need to drive Jason with reins
and a bit, he wasn't cuffed into the shafts of my trap
and was free to move his hands if he wanted, and I
only very rarely used a carriage whip on him -  just
on those occasions when he'd really had a hard day and
was approaching exhaustion, and I needed to release
those "hidden" reserves from him that the body
selfishly keeps to itself.

"Open your fucking mouth!", I snapped, and when in an
open act of defiance he snapped his teeth together and
glared at me as if to say "So now what?", I took
action.  My hand snaked between his half-open thighs
as he stood there, grabbed hold of his cinched balls,
and squeezed, squeezed hard.  He screamed, both with
the unexpectedness of the assault and with the pain,
and my other hand thrust the bit into his mouth.
Although he struggled then, still cuffed he was
effectively powerless, and it was the work of moments
to buckle the straps that would hold the bit in place
tightly behind his head.

I know from my own experience when I was made to work
as a pony just how unpleasant it is to work with a bit
all day.  It reinforces your own view of yourself as
being merely a beast, an animal that has to be guided,
rather than a man who could act on verbal
instructions.  And if the bit is tightened very much -
as I had Jason's, deliberately - it actually can get
quite painful as the corners of your mouth are pulled
backwards.  It's also not very nice to have to spend
the day with big slimes of drool rolling down your
chin and dripping down onto your body as you race
along.  What's worse, though, is that I'd chosen a
spiked training bit deliberately - there are four
phases in training a pony, generally:  you use the
spiked training bit to get a very new slave accustomed
to the idea that he should not move his tongue at all,
as movement against the spiked underside of the
extension to the bit really hurts;  once he's learned
that, you replace it with a bit with a plain extension
- the pony's tongue is kind of held down but it
doesn't hurt if he moves his tongue slightly, as he's
"learned" that keeping the tongue still is a good
thing;  then, finally, once the pony has understood
that speech is impermissible at work, you can just
have a plain bit, with no tongue depressor plate.
That's a real treat when you get to that stage, as
it's good to be able to move your tongue as you strain
to work hard.  The fourth stage, of course, is when
the owner decides, as I had with Jason, that no bit is
required as the pony will respond to voice commands.

As he raced along all day (I decided to make him keep
up a fast pace so that he'd really tire, as an
additional reminder that he was not in my favour) I
knew Jason would be hating the bit, not only because
it signalled to all the other slaves that he was no
longer a "trusted" pony and had regressed, but because
his mouth would be filling with blood as he would no
longer be used to keeping his tongue still on the
floor of his mouth.  Several times as he strained away
he would turn his head so that  I could see the drool
falling from his mouth, tinged with the red of his
blood now:  I thought at first that his eyes were
flashing with anger at me, but as the day wore on I
decided his look was more one of reproach to me - and,
to tell you the truth, that made my own anger surge,
to think that Jason was blaming me for his problems
when, after all, he'd started it by rejecting my
advances.

I think I might have "made it up" with Jason sooner
than I did except that the sheikh's nephew now used me
every day - we had no kind of "relationship" at all:
I was just a hole for his cock to enjoy as far as he
was concerned, and every time  I carried out my
inspection duties in the old harem wing I could expect
to be fucked hard with no attempt at conversation or
human decency of any kind.  In turn, this made me keep
my anger going at Jason, although I did relent a
little and from the second day I did not use the
spikes on the bit at all, although I did require him
to be bitted once more as I did not want to risk
having to hear Jason say something to me - something
that I suppose I knew would probably be true, but that
didn't make the listening to it any more bearable.

Being constantly bad tempered and irritable is not
really something I can do for long periods, though -
"forget it and move on" has always been my way of
doing things, and after a week or so I'd accepted
being fucked by the nephew as part of my normal way of
life.  I found it tough at night though to have to
rely on my own hand for relief - it was like being a
teenager gain, lying there in bed wanking - and, in
truth, I missed having Jason next to me not just to
fuck, but because sleeping next to a strong, muscular
body with its scent of "maleness"  is something I'd
got used to and enjoyed.  I tried using the young
dray, and some of the palace pages and waiters, but it
just wasn't the same and I got to realise that by
continuing to be angry at Jason I really was cutting
off my nose to spite my face, as the old saying goes.
I knew I needed to get back with Jason again.

It wasn't easy - Jason was really pissed off at me.
The following day I removed his bit, and let him once
again work not shackled to my trap. But when I sent
for him later that night instead of smiling at me, he
just stood there at the foot of the bed, his arms
crossed in front of him in a very sullen way.  And
when I told him to stop being so stupid and get into
bed, he glared at me and said something like "Fuck
you, Steve!  You're just a slave, you know, so don't
take it out on me, OK?  Just because you're getting
fucked, don't think you've got the right to fuck me!",
and continued to stand there, unsmiling and defiant.

Well it wasn't going to be any fun, I could see that.
Sure, I could probably cuff him and rape him (if he
refused the cuffs, I could summon the guards, after
all), but I wanted more than that - I wanted Jason's
body wrapped around mine after sex, and I could see
that I wasn't going to get that.  The whole thing
would have been a disaster, and so I told him to get
back to the stables, where he belonged - and he turned
and stalked out, even though a night sleeping on straw
would not be as comfortable as one in my bed, I knew.

I could see there was going to be no movement from
Jason as his sullen silence continued for the next two
days - even though he was allowed to speak to me when
he was working, he did not do so.  This was a token of
the special regard I had for him, as you know ponies
must be silent  usually, and his crude rejection of
this favour almost caused me to lose it again.  And
when I tried to start a conversation with him as he
jogged along he ignored me, pretending not to hear;
and "at rest", he responded to my comments and
questions with a nod or a shake of his head and made
no attempt to engage with me.  His whole attitude was
really pissing me off, and, frankly, he was within a
whisker of being bitted again - in fact, when we got
back to the stables in the evening I snapped "If
you're not going to speak, Jason, you may as well wear
a bit like the stubborn pony you are - or do I mean
mule?"

Jason didn't even respond to that, just glared at me
angrily, and strode into the stables.  He came closer
then that he'd ever come before to another harsh
whipping, I can tell you.

As I fucked one of the pages that night, I was still
so angry at Jason's behaviour that I couldn't really
concentrate on what I was doing, lost interest, and
with it, my erection.  The boy tried his best to
excite me (like all the palace pages he had been
expertly trained in cock sucking and general
stimulation of the genitalia), but it was no use - I
just wasn't in the mood for it, and I kicked him out.
I realised afterwards that this was a mistake, as the
following day I could tell that all the palace
servants were sniggering at me behind my back as the
story had spread like wildfire that I could no longer
keep it up and must be losing my manhood.  Even I
could see that something had to be done, and as Jason
showed no sign of relenting, I knew it was up to me.

The problem I had was what exactly I should do.  It
would, I suppose, have been easy enough to order Jason
to have his hands cuffed to his collar as I had in the
past, and then go into his stall and simply fuck him.
But that didn't seem like such a good idea as it would
just make his determination to resist me stronger:
no, I needed to make Jason feel better, so that we
could resume "business as usual".

That night therefore I went into the stables and stood
looking at Jason as he lay indolently sprawled out on
the straw in front of me, one ankle chained to the
floor (I had determined that if he wanted to act like
a pony, he should be treated like one, and had ordered
his chaining like a proper pony).  I could hear a
stirring of excitement behind me as the drays in their
stall opposite knew something was about to happen, and
as I pulled off my polo shirt and dropped my shorts,
there was a murmur of appreciation as they saw my hard
body in the lamplight.  I stroked my cock to make it
really rampantly hard so that Jason could have no
doubt as to why I was there, and stepped forward.  The
hard ends of the straw felt familiar under my bare
feet, reminding me of the time we'd spent together as
ponies.  But as I went to lower myself down, Jason
sprang!

Look, I've told you that Jason had both youth and
sheer raw power to his advantage, and that when we
used to fight to see who should be on top, the only
way I had of winning was to have at least one of his
wrists cuffed to his collar.  I had given no orders
about this, and so although we struggled and fought
hard, it was a foregone conclusion who was going to
win.  Jason soon had me face down on the straw, his
powerful body holding me down as he fumbled to locate
my ass so he could force his cock in.

I was expecting a hard fuck, of course.  And I suppose
I'd got used to it somewhat after being used by the
nephew each day.  But I was a bit surprised by the
sheer ferocity and vigour of Jason's fucking - he was
like something possessed, and once he'd stopped (I
could tell he'd shot his load by the way he made one
extra powerful last thrust, and then collapsed on top
of me, almost knocking the breath from my body), he
flipped me over onto my back, straddled me, and pushed
his knees down hard onto my upper arms to hold me
immobile.

"Right, Steve!  Clean me up!", he commanded, letting
his slimed cock hover over my lips.  I was powerless
to resist, as with his muscular body squatting on my
chest and his knees holding my arms pinioned, there
was no way I could avoid him if he chose to slap my
face or force my jaws open.  So I put out my tongue
and licked at his still-hard cock, then, almost
feigning eagerness, forced my head upwards and
forwards, so I could lap at it and suckle him
hungrily.

Jason seemed o really enjoy this, and after a few
minutes, with that wonderful agility and grace his
toned body has he got off me, and lay beside me.  One
powerful arm went around my shoulders and he pulled me
onto my side, pressing our bodies close  together.  My
cock was really hard and I almost shot a load
spontaneously as it was trapped between the sweaty
warmth of our naked bellies.  Jason lay there few
moments silently, and then said "Steve, no more of
this, OK?"

"Sure, Jason.  But that was pretty rough, you know."

"I needed that, Steve.  I'd got a lot of anger at you
to work out.  And you knew it, didn't you?"

"Yes, Jason.  And I'm sorry...."

"You could just have said it, you know.  All this
pretence...."

"I didn't...."

Jason smiled, that slow languid smile of his.  "Stop
bullshitting, Steve!  You knew you were going to get
fucked, and fucked hard, if you came in here tonight,
didn't you?"

"No, I...."

He squeezed my balls hard, and I gave an involuntary
yelp.  "I said no bullshitting, Steve!  You may be our
owner's chief honcho, but when you and I are together,
we're equals.  And I know you were faking it - you'd
cleaned out your ass, and lubed a bit. Even if I
couldn't tell when I went in to you, I knew afterwards
when you were so eager to clean my cock - you always
hate it when there's any shit around!"

So I was found out, but it didn't matter.  Jason
seemed as glad as I was that the troubles between us
were over, and before I could say anything else he
slithered down my body and took my hard cock in my
mouth.  Pleasurable though it was to have his lips and
tongue beginning to please me like this, I'd been
looking forward to a proper fuck.  So I reached down
and grabbed hold of the plait of his pony trim hanging
down his back, and yanked it sharply to pull his head
away.  "Not so fast, Jason..... Now, get on your back,
grab those ankles, and let's see who has the most fun
this evening!"

______________________________


Well I suppose that ought to have been that.  I was
back in charge even though I wasn't a free man; by
ministering to the nephew I was fairly certain I'd be
OK even if the Sheikh died;   the Sheikh himself
seemed content with the chastened Marc, who was
behaving himself well; Jason and I were getting along
fine - I usually fucked him, but occasionally allowed
him to fuck me;  and everything seemed generally to be
as it should and all was right with the world.

Life's not like that, though, is it?  Just as you
think everything's sorted out and working properly, a
new factor enters the equation:  something totally
unpredicted and unexpected.  Something that has the
potential to completely change your life.

It happened to me a couple of months later when I had
been summoned to dine with the Sheikh.  After the
servant slaves had cleared the desert away, the Sheikh
turned to me and said with an amused note in his voice
"I have a surprise for you, Steve!"

He clapped his hands in command, the huge double doors
at the end of the audience chamber opened and some of
the outside slaves wheeled in a slave crate on small
trolley.  At another clap of his hands they pulled
back the bolts, threw open the top door, and after
some shouting and prodding at the cargo inside, a
figure gradually stood up.

I wondered why the Sheikh was making such a fuss over
a new slave (most new arrivals were after all cleaned,
shaved and perfumed before being brought into his
presence), but then, before I could say anything, I
was shocked into silence - the young man standing
there looking around in utter bewilderment was my son,
Jamie!

He clambered awkwardly over the side of the crate ( as
you probably know the standard slave transport crates
are only just big enough to take a slave curled up,
and after any period of time the muscles get a little
cramped.  Especially if the slave is tall, as Jamie
is, as he takes after me).  He rubbed at his limbs for
a moment, and then saw me.

"Dad!", he cried and almost ran, as best he could,
towards me, flinging his arms around me and hugging me
hard.  "Dad, what the fuck's happened to me....?"

I saw the Sheikh looking at us, the amused smile now
turned into one of almost predatory sexual interest.
"Highness.....", I began, but got no further, as I saw
the look on his face.

Finally, he spoke.  "So, Steve, I thought you would
like this.  You were trying to leave me to go and
visit your son, as I recall.  So enquiries were made,
and I discovered that this delightful morsel is your
offspring.  And as you cannot go to him, it was
sensible to bring him to you."  He paused for a
moment, and continued somewhat ominously "....and to
me."

"Highness..... Why in a slave crate?"

"And how else do slaves travel, Steve?   There's so
much fuss in getting a slave out of your country by
normal means, that shipping them in a crate is much
the simplest way."

"But he's not a slave, Highness, he's free...."

"You are wrong, Steve!   You are a slave, are you not?
 And the progeny of a slave is a slave.  So this man
here, once he became a man, is a slave as you are.  It
was fortunate that we enquired, as I had imagined that
your son was much younger and we would have a long
time to wait before we could see the fruits of your
loins. But once we discovered he was approaching his
sixteenth birthday there was a most convenient time in
which to arrange for him to be 'taken', crated, and
shipped:  his mother thinks he has gone on an extended
trip with his school, and so will not raise the alarm
until long after your foolish police will have lost
any possibility of tracing him."

"No, please,  Highness, please don't make my son a
slave...."

"I do not need to make him a slave, Steve.  Are you
not listening to me, or are you not understanding?
The boy was automatically a slave as soon as he
reached his majority:  the son of a slave is a slave.
You are a slave.  So this boy is a slave.  It's
automatic - I do not have to 'do' anything."

"I'm not a slave....", Jamie began.

The Sheikh roared "Silence!", and then went on "Advise
your son to remain silent, Steve, unless he wants to
be given something to make a noise about.  My own
father always thought that new slaves needed a
thorough whipping to bring home to them that their
status had changed, and perhaps that is a custom I
should reintroduce."

"Quiet, Jamie", I hissed.  "Everything will be OK...."

But the Sheikh was continuing. "So now, Steve, I'd
like to see my newest slave properly. You are my
Instrument, responsible for the proper conduct of the
palace and all the slaves.... Be so good as to strip
the boy so that I can examine him."

"Highness, no, please...."

"Steve, you have already experienced the effects of
incurring my displeasure.  Did you enjoy the life of a
proper working; slave on the demesne?  I suggest that
you do not give me cause for anger, and attend to my
orders.... After all, I can always make you a pony
again, and find another Instrument.  Perhaps Marc will
perform better this time, now he is more mature....
And what is preferable for your son, my new slave - to
have you as my Instrument, or someone else?"

My brain whirred.  He was right, of course - as
Instrument, I could do my best for Jamie.  So I said
calmly "OK, Jamie, strip."

"No, dad!"

"Jamie!  Do as you're told!  Get naked, get naked
NOW", and in a  lower tone, with urgency in my voice,
I almost whispered "There's danger here.  Now, do as I
say, do exactly as I say, or else it will be terrible
for both of us."

End Of Part Fourteen