Date: Mon, 19 Nov 2007 14:35:14 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Instrument, Part Six

THE INSTRUMENT

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part  Six

It was actually quite difficult for me to get to sleep
that night - after all the earlier excitement I was
pretty aroused sexually, and as I lay there in my bed
I really wanted to wank myself, to get rid of the
raging erection that was plaguing me.  But I knew that
I had to perform the following day (well today,
actually, as it was now the early hours of the
morning) to "break" the new slave, and the Sheikh gets
impatient if it takes too long for me to cum once I
have begun fucking the reluctant man as he writhes and
scream under me:  as I get older it takes longer
anyway, and although I'm fit and virile as I've told
you, it is more difficult for me to cum as repeatedly
as I had been able to do when  I was in my early
twenties!  So I lay there, my cock throbbing and
begging for release, knowing that I really ought not
to do anything about it - but you know how it is:
once my fingers had gripped my cock and slid my 'skin
up and down a few times, I was effectively out of
control, and the result was a foregone conclusion.   I
just had to carry on until I erupted once more, and
was able to lie there and at last contemplate sleep.
It's one of the advantages of being a free man in the
Sheikh's palace that you don't have to worry about
having some disgusting piece of toilet tissue  to
catch your cum - you can just let it spray all over
the bedclothes as the domestic slaves change the linen
daily and there will be no horrible dry, crusty patch
of dried cum when you slide between the sheets the
next night.

Even though  I actually had very little sleep I was
still wide awake as the sun first began to peek above
the horizon - I'm one of those morning people, who
always wake up early.  Not enjoying lying in bed alone
(and in any case worried that I might be tempted to do
something about my morning hard-on if I lay there too
long), I sprang up, pulled on some running shorts, and
went for a run - it's fantastic in the early morning
in the desert, when it's still chill from overnight
and the air is crisp and fresh.  But of course the sun
does rise very rapidly, and before I'd finished my
regular seven miles it was burning down onto my bare
back (I only ever wear shorts when I'm running as I
sweat so much that even a tiny singlet gets soaked and
then chafes my nipples).  Still, it felt good and when
I got back to my suite in the palace I decided to
enjoy the pleasure of soaping my own body in the
shower, and slapped the slave boy who normally
ministers to me playfully across his naked rump, to
show him I had no need of his services.

I usually take breakfast on the secluded patio area
outside my suite, and this morning was no exception.
It's good as I don't need to bother to dress after my
shower,  and I usually sprawl on a lounger letting
myself get a nice all over tan as the serving slave
brings me my freshly  squeezed orange juice,
newly-baked croissants, fresh dates and figs, and
delicious  coffee.    The slave was surprised, though,
when I pushed him away as he knelt to take my cock
into his mouth as I lay there eating; but, as I've
told you, I had a job to do and that takes precedence
over mere pleasure.

After I'd eaten, even though there's no reason to as I
would soon be stripping off "for work", I nevertheless
pulled on my usual long shorts and polo short and
slipped my feet into leather sandals and made my way
through the palace towards the detention area.  It's
not that I'm ashamed of my body in any way, and
there's no reason why I couldn't walk around naked if
I wanted to (and indeed sometimes I did, to emphasise
to the young serving slaves about the place that this
is what a real man looked like);  no, it was more of
an advance preparation so that as I stripped the
prisoner naked, he would see the contrast between his
state and mine.

As I walked down to the interrogation chamber the
usual sense of foreboding and dread set in as the
light dimmed and the ceilings lowered.  The remaining
captured soldier was sitting there behind the bars at
the end when I entered the room, but on seeing me he
sprang to his feet, gripped the bars angrily, and
began shouting "What have you done with my buddies?
Where are they?  I demand to know...."

"Silence!", I rapped.  "They have been disposed of.
And today you are going to enter into the next and
final phase of your life, as you become a slave of the
Sheikh, the ruler of this kingdom that you foolishly
tried to illegally invade."

"Disposed of?  What the fuck do you mean?  Have they
been killed?"

"Of course not!  Men like you are too valuable to
kill!  Strong, virile men make good slaves, and slaves
are an expensive item - especially white slaves, as
your fellows now are, and you will soon be.  Even
niggas fetch considerable sums, and the Sheikh
generously offered your buddies as valuable and rare
gifts to some of his closest friends at a dinner last
night.  He has decided to keep you for his own
pleasure, however, and when he deigns to arrive, you
will begin the process of induction into your own
servitude."

"You can't do this...."

I just laughed.  "Of course we can!  And we already
have, for your buddies.  And we will do so for you.
And I would advise you to keep silent and not abuse
your owner, the Sheikh, as....."

"No one owns me!  I'm a free man...."

I laughed again.  "You may have been a free man, but
now you are a slave.  And soon you will begin to find
out what that means to you."

I was bored with the conversation then, and decided to
end it.  I  took the hose used for clearing out the
pen from the wall, turned on the high pressure jet,
and directed it on to the soldier.  It really is high
pressure - to give the captives brought down here a
feeling of helplessness and to show them that they are
now no better than animals, we do not provide any
washing or lavatory facilities for them and simply
wash out the pen with the hose occasionally.  Indeed,
there was a generally fetid smell  in the place and I
could see a neat pile of turds in the corner, and I
now swirled these with the jet out of the pen and into
the drain in the corner.  Turning off the water for
moment I commented "There  - that's better.  Your
owner doesn't like the smell of slave excrement, so
we're much better prepared for him now.  But as you
did that load, I assume you're in need of cleansing
yourself - remove your clothes."

Well he disobeyed me at first, so I turned up the
pressure and played the hose over him - the force of
the water was enough to sweep him off his feet and
blast him against the rear wall, and I know from
having done it before that the sheer volume of water
then cascading over him would be making it exceedingly
difficult for him to breathe, and he would feel as if
he was drowning (quite apart from chilling him to the
bone, as the water comes from our own boreholes, deep
under the desert, and is very cold).

Occasionally I would stop the water therefore and
shout to him "Get naked!", and when he refused I began
to batter and drench him again.  He did obey
eventually of course,  but he had that look of dumb,
defiant insolence on his face as he removed his sodden
garments, to stand in front of me with his hands
arranged in a pathetic attempt to conceal his
genitals.

"Raise your hands!", I commanded.  And when he
appeared to be disobeying continued "...or are you
ashamed of your cock?  I thought all you soldiers were
big virile men, with nothing to be ashamed of...."

Reluctantly he raised his hands, and I could see no
reason why he might have been attempting to conceal
himself - like me, his big strong body was perfectly
complemented by a long, thick cock hanging in front of
a low-hanging sac that appeared to have really good
sized balls in it - I say  "appeared", as like so many
men much of the splendour of his sexual endowment was
concealed by a forest of thick, wiry black pubic hair.
 Still, that would soon be remedied!

I turned down the pressure of the water in the hose
and played it over his naked body to clean it, then
commanded him to turn around.  He seemed reluctant, so
I sneered "Do you want to expose your soiled body to
the Sheikh, or do you want to be clean?  I thought
soldiers prided themselves on cleanliness."  Glaring
at me, he turned around and I hosed down his back,
then shouted "Now bend from the waist, and spread your
butt so we can do the job properly."

I could just tell from the way that he moved, that he
hated doing this.  Like so many men he was not used to
exposing that most intimate part of his anatomy to the
gaze of others, and as I played the jet of water over
him to wash him clean I could see him flinching, not
only from the coldness of the water, but from the
sheer indignity of what he was being forced to
experience.  I smiled inwardly to myself, as this
reluctance to expose your ass to another guy is a sure
sign that you're "straight" - so when I fucked him,
I'd almost certainly be taking a virgin ass.

After that, when I turned off the water he just stood
there, initially "planing" the water off his body.  He
then went to retrieve his sodden clothes and began to
attempt to pull his shorts on.  "No, leave them off",
I commanded.  "They're foul.  And we've just gone to
all the trouble of getting you clean, before your
owner sees your body for the first time."

"Look, cut all this crap about 'owners', will you?
I'm a man - I'm not 'owned' by anyone!"

I smiled.  "Assuredly, you are.  As you will see.
Now, I would advise you to be suitably respectful to
the man who now owns you when he appears - his
Highness has a short temper, and has been known to
order immediate punishment for obstreperous slaves:
punishments that you would find at the very least
extremely unpleasant, and at their worst, seriously
damaging to your manhood!"

"What the fuck do you mean?"

"Caning, whipping, gelding, crucifixion is the usual
sequence."

"You can't be serious!  Corporal punishment of
prisoners is outlawed by the Geneva Convention  And as
for gelding....."

"You do not seem to appreciate that when you entered
the Sheikh's territory illegally you forfeited all
rights that soldiers might or might not have.  You are
now a slave, and, like animals, slaves do not have
'rights'.  Slaves have owners;  you are the property
of your owner, and your owner can do with you anything
that he chooses.  And, believe me, the Sheikh has
indeed been known to order the immediate gelding of a
slave who he judges to be so wilful that he will never
respond to training.  And, had it not been dark when
you were brought here, you would have seen the
decomposing body of a slave who attempted to escape,
and then, when he was about to be gelded for this
crime, struck out at the Sheikh.... The remains of the
corpse are left there, with the spikes still holding
the wrists to the cross, as a reminder to all of the
Sheikh's power.  So my advice to you would be to be
respectful, and take what is coming to you.... The
Sheikh does of course expect you to scream and
blaspheme as your enslavement proceeds -  a virile,
former soldier like you can be forgiven for acting so
characteristically and behaving like that.  Indeed, it
shows you still have spirit, and a slave with spirit,
when that is properly subjugated, is a better slave
than a purely docile creature. But avoid insulting him
personally, and under no circumstances attempt to
touch his person in any way whatsoever!"

"Look, there must be some way out of this...."

"None, believe me.  The Sheikh has already formally
pronounced your enslavement, and all that we are here
to experience today is the physical implementation of
that act.  You were doomed to the life of a slave the
moment you illegally entered this country, intent on
spying on the Sheikh's activities."

We might have gone on with this futile debate for some
time, but at that moment the guards threw open the
doors to the chamber, and the Sheikh entered -
followed by the boy Marc.  Now this was an interesting
development, that the Sheikh had chosen to bring this
new slave with him, and I stared at the boy for a
moment as if searching for some reason why. But he
looked no different from many of the other young
slaves about the place except of course that he was
white, and not a nigga like the rest of them actually
in the palace.  I did see however that this lack of
colour in the skin now showed up several dark patches
on his arms, thighs and belly where he was bruised,
and it occurred to me that the Sheikh might have been
tussling with him and gripping him very hard, causing
this.  Perhaps the boy was being brought down here to
be punished for resisting the Sheikh.  It promised to
be an interesting morning!

I bowed respectfully to the Sheikh (just a brief bow
of course, from the waist, as a free man does to
royalty, not the kind of deep, grovelling bow expected
of a slave).

"Ah, Steve, good morning", my employer greeted me
cordially.  "I see you have been busy."

The Sheikh advanced towards the bars, observing the
slave closely, and added "I think I have made an
excellent choice in holding this one back for my
personal use.  A most pleasing muscular development,
even before he is rigorously trained.  And once he is
trimmed and shaved, I think his genitals will
certainly be exciting.  I like a tall man, too - as
you are yourself, Steve.  Indeed, I believe he is
almost exactly the same height as you.  And in the
same proportion - you both have very long legs, which
is something I particularly admire."

I didn't like being compared to a slave like that, but
the Sheikh was my employer and so I just smiled
faintly, and nodded.

"Begin!", he commanded me.  "I have other matters of
importance this morning."

We always keep the guards in the room as the gate is
opened and the slave is brought out of the cage in
case there's trouble - and this was one of those
occasions when this policy was sound.  The naked slave
made an attempt to rush out of the door, not realising
until it was too late that the guards only had to
touch his naked flesh with the tip of a slave prod as
he passed them to cause him to fall to the floor,
screaming and writhing with the agony caused to his
tortured nerves.

I told the guards to bring the "horse" out into the
centre of the chamber, and once the convulsive
twitching of the slave's limbs had quietened
sufficiently, bent down and grabbed him, hauled him to
his feet, and whilst he was still incapable of
resisting, thrust him across the "horse" and quickly
snapped the wrist restraints closed to hold him there.

Well most of you probably know that one of the things
that a new slave experiences, whether male or female,
is the "taking of the cherry".  It shows them, in a
very real way, that their bodies are now absolutely
not under their control and that it is their owner who
dominates them.  The Sheikh is a traditionalist and
believes in this little ceremony, but of course it is
inappropriate for his royal personage to actually
carry out the act itself.  It falls to me, as his
instrument, to actually rape the new slaves and I
suppose it's one of the "perks" of the job (well, I'm
not so keen on deflowering the females, but taking a
nice tight asshole for the first time is pretty
special!).

I looked at my employer for approval, he nodded and
dismissed the guards (he is sensitive about things
like this, and knows that I wouldn't like fucking in
front of those ill-educated low life), and I could
begin.  There's not much point in making a huge fuss
over it, I find - it's always going to hurt like hell
the first time anyway, and so you might just a well
get on with it.  So I dropped my shorts and stepped
out of them, and made a bit of effort to slather my
cock in as much spit as possible, as much to make it a
bit easier on me as it is to help the slave.  I stood
there stroking my cock to full erection and
occasionally bending my head so that a huge gob of my
spit could fall on to it..  Then I simply advanced on
the naked butt of the slave as he stood there
helplessly bent over the "horse", kicked at his ankles
to cause him to spread his legs as wide as possible,
slapped his butt hard a few times to show him that I
was there and in control of him, and then reached
down, pulled his cheeks apart, positioned the tip of
my cock at his hole, and thrust forward.

His scream was very loud and very long, and I could
see the Sheikh smiling in satisfaction as he knew that
I had completed the first part of the ritual.  I
rested for a moment, my hands on the slave's
shoulders, waited until his cries had subsided a
little, and then I fucked him - fucked him hard.  The
Sheikh likes to hear that wonderful slap, slap, slap
sound as my skin collides with the slave's butt, and
finds it particularly enjoyable when the "slaps" are
punctuated by the helpless cries of the slave as once
more I plunge into him.

It's not all fun, of course - the slaves are never
properly cleaned out, and as you continue and the
sweat starts to flow, it  gets all mixed up with the
slave's crap and that disgusting smell starts to rise
up.  I don't like to think of my cock, and especially
to my cock head that is usually protected from the
world by my 'skin, getting covered in shit, but
there's not much you can do about it as we don't want
to spoil the slave's ass by thrusting an enema hose up
him first.

The slave was a good fuck, though - his ass was really
tight, and  having a well-muscled body and a
particularly nicely shaped butt made the whole
experience a real pleasure.  I was so aroused that it
only took about three or four minutes before I felt my
excitement peaking, I thrust in one last time, threw
my body back a bit to make sure I had maximum
penetration, and just couldn't help adding my own
ecstatic cry of "Jesus fucking Christ!"  to the
slave's own screams as I shot my load up into him.

I like to lie on the slave for a few minutes after
I've cum, partially to allow my breathing and
heartbeat to recover, and partially to enjoy the
feeling of our sweaty bodies close together, and
particularly of knowing that with my weight on him and
my cock still up his ass the slave is totally
powerless and under my control.  But the Sheikh was in
a hurry and so I had to forgo this small pleasure and
pull out almost as soon as I had done - I stood there,
my cock stained brown from his ass juices, and saw the
last little spurts of cum just oozing out of my cock
as I started to detumesce.  Still, no time for delay,
so I strode across the room to a basin on the wall and
quickly washed my cock, then pulled my shots on to
prepare for the next part of the ceremony.  Still, I
did feel a bit sorry for the slave, though:  it's
really tough to have been raped like that, and then
have to stand there with ass juice and cum trickling
down the inside of your thighs - I've often wondered
why an asshole can't stop cum sliding out like that,
but it never does, does it?

I noticed the boy whispering to the Sheikh, though,
and heard the Sheikh give a chuckle of amusement
before slapping the boy half-affectionately on his
naked butt.    As I watched, he strode across the
room, stood for a moment jerking at his cock, then
entered the slave and began to fuck him in some sort
of obscene parody of my own performance a few moments
before.

"Highness...?", I queried.

The Sheikh was smiling and put out a hand to restrain
me as I went to go across to the boy and the slave.
"No, Steve - leave him. It amuses me!  All last night,
every time I fucked him, afterwards he would curl up
against me and ask me what it was like to fuck a man -
he has, apparently, only fucked women up until now.
So I decided to let him try...."

"But it is hardly seemly, Highness.... This is the
enslavement ceremony....."

"Oh, Steve, you are to concerned with protocol!  It
amuses me to see one of my slaves fucking another, and
that is sufficient."   I looked at the slight boy,
still in that state between "boyishness" and the onset
off his full maturity, and had to admit that the sight
was not without interest.  His slim, boy-ish buttocks
were thrusting away vigorously, and the contrast
between his hairless legs and thighs and the muscular,
hairy ones of the slave under him was indeed rather
erotic.  But just as I was getting really interested,
the inevitable happened and he, as if mimicking me,
threw his head back and cried "YES!".  Well, I suppose
when you're sixteen it doesn't take much to bring you
to a climax, does it?

Like me, the boy went over and washed his cock, and
then came and stood beside the Sheikh, who curled one
of his arms around his shoulders and hugged the naked
boy to him.  The Sheikh looked at me and said,
smiling, "I think you have a bit of a rival here,
Steve", and kind of ruffled the remaining hair on the
boy's head almost affectionately.

The Sheikh saw me looking, and added "Let us
proceed.....", and so I went over and got out the
branding irons from the corner cupboard, and plugged
them in to begin heating.  It's not traditional, I
know, as one always thinks of slaves being branded
with a red hot iron taken fresh fro ma charcoal
brazier, or something like that; but, believe me, the
electric models are far superior.  For one thing the
thermostats on them give you a more precise control of
the temperature, and that can be pretty important if
you want a nice crisp brand.  And for another, it's
far simpler -  we were in a basement, after all, and
the fumes from a fire could potentially be dangerous.

When the large iron was up to temperature, at a nod of
approval from the Sheikh I sprung astride the body of
the slave on the horse to hold him down and then
quickly and without hesitation plunged the iron down
onto his left butt as it lay there between my thighs.

The expected happened, of course - the terrible,
heart-rending scream from the slave as the iron seared
into his flesh, followed by the nauseating stench as
his bowels gave way and a trickle of crap fell onto
the floor.  It went silent then, except for the
continuing sobbing of the slave and the sound of
splashing as his bladder emptied too.

We weren't finished, of course - that was only the
large "S", denoting slave.  The Sheikh also likes the
upper arm, at the shoulder, branded with his house
mark.  That's much smaller and so it's a little less
painful - or perhaps it's that the slave has been so
shocked by the initial brand that he has lost the
power to react in the same way to further agony.

I hosed down the floor and the slave's ass then - the
cold water providing a bit of relief to his pain, I
suppose, and then we were done with the parts of the
operation that the Sheikh likes to see personally.  He
left, taking the boy with him, and I went over and
undid the restraints holding the slave to the "horse".
 He stood upright - slowly, very slowly, as the
muscles of his butt moved and presumably sent fresh
waves of pain from the brand through him.

"Bastard...!", he began.

"Look, that's the worst of it over.  All slaves here
are branded as the Sheikh wants you to understand that
with his marks seared into your flesh you are truly
his property. Now come on....."

"It's not right!  I demand to be treated as a proper
prisoner.... I know my rights...."

"You may know what your rights were as a free man, but
let me remind you that you are a slave.  A slave who
now bears the marks of ownership decided by his owner.
 And slaves have no rights - none whatsoever.  Your
owner can do with you as he pleases, and it pleases
the Sheikh to have his slaves marked to denote them as
his property."

As I was speaking I slipped a pair of loose cuffs on
his wrists, pulling his hands behind his back.  Then I
told him to follow me, and, as a lot of slaves like
him who still think of themselves as independent men
do, he disobeyed me and simply stood there.

"Have you thought exactly how painful it would be if I
slapped your butt, hard, right on top of the brand?"

"Bastard!  You can't hurt me any more than you already
have.  And I can take it...."

Look, I'm not a sadist.  And I don't need to prove
anything.  So I didn't strike him as I could easily
have done, especially in the light of his defiance of
my order.  Instead I simply reached down, took his
cock in my hand, and used it as a handle to drag him
after me as I strode across the floor.  I know from
experience that when you're pulling a guy along like
that he has almost no ability to resist you!

I led him up the stairs that lead directly into the
service yard at the back of the palace, and as we came
out into the bright sunlight I could see him blinking
after being in the basement's subdued lighting  for so
long.  And then his look changed to one of disbelief
as he saw all the slaves scurrying around on their
assigned tasks - they were all niggas, of course, as
white slaves are as you know rare in those parts, and,
like him, they were mostly naked - the Sheikh's
philosophy is simple:  our climate is mild, indeed,
hot, and so a slave has no need of clothes to keep him
warm.  Equally, a slave need never be modest about his
body as it is, after all, the Sheikh's to admire if he
chooses.  So unless the slave is doing something that
might lead to his flesh being injured, he will
generally be naked.  It actually saves a great deal of
money, too, as the palace laundry does not have to be
large enough to accommodate the hundreds of sets of
slave uniforms that would otherwise be required, as
the slaves' hides are easily cleaned.  Still, I
suppose the sight of all those black bodies, mostly
sweating from their labours, must be a little unusual
the first time you see them - especially as the niggas
we have tend to be very black indeed.  They're mostly
bought from traders who cull them from the interior of
Africa, and unlike the niggas you see in the USA or
Europe have not therefore had their colour "toned
down" by interbreeding at some point in the past with
whites.

We made our way across the yard and through some of
the service buildings to the blacksmith's shop - and
here was an example of a slave who was clothed:  the
huge, heavily muscled nigga who served as our
blacksmith wore a leather apron to protect himself
from the sparks that flew as he worked (and, actually,
seeing his bare back, rump and legs from the rear was
curiously erotic, I found).

"Collar, cuffs, ankle cuffs for this one", I
commanded.  "And a cock cinch as he's going to be
doing a lot of running."

"Yes, boss!", the blacksmith replied immediately.
"The balls too?"

I looked at the slave's balls, which, as I've said,
were low-hanging, like my own.  I decided it would be
better to have these cinched too, with that kind of
L-shaped figure-of-eight arrangement whereby one part
of the cinch goes around the top of the sac and
prevents the balls from ever retracting up into the
body, and the second part is like a conventional
cock-ring, around the root of the cock and balls,
thrusting them forwards and outwards.  With very well
hung slaves like this I find the arrangement works
better as there's no possibility of the cinch slipping
along the cock, and having the balls constrained down
at the bottom of the sac does also increase the
general attractiveness of the "look" of the slave, I
think.

Having other work to attend to,  I strode off as soon
as the blacksmith's huge hand had grabbed the slave's
neck and thrust him down onto the anvil, and when I
came back a couple of hours later the work had been
done with the precision we expect on the demesne - the
slave was now tethered  by one of the newly-fitted
ankle cuffs and was sitting on the dirt floor looking
pretty helpless as a lot of new slaves do in those
circumstances, I find:  the unexpected weight of the
heavy iron slave collar and of the cuffs makes their
normal body posture "wrong" and they are trying
desperately to adjust.  Somehow the presence of all
these items, permanently secured to them by the rivets
that the blacksmith smashes flat when they are hot
from the forge, adds to their feeling of utter
helplessness and control.

"Not much more now, boy", I said to the slave
cheerily.  "Now, are you going to follow me
obediently, or do I have to use our cock as a handle
again?  Now it's been cinched it's easy enough...."

"Bastard!", he began.   "You can't do this to a
guy.... It's not right.... "

I laughed.  "We not only can do it, we have.... as you
can see and feel.  Look, all slaves are collared, and
for the job that we are going to give you, the wrist
cuffs are necessary.  The ankle cuffs make it easy to
tether you at night.... And as for the cinching.....
Well, it's a kindness, really:  well-hung  guys like
us don't want their cocks and balls flopping around
all loose all the time -  you'll find it much easier
to walk and run like that.... And having them cinched
up a bit makes it easier to sit down, too - we're so
used to wearing shorts or something that us
low-hanging  guys can easily forget we've got balls
there, and crush them painfully if we sit
unexpectedly...."

"Bastard!  It's obscene.  Just give me some shorts,
then, if you're worried about my balls hanging too
loose ...."

"As you may have noticed, all the outdoor slaves are
naked.  You'll be working outdoors, and that's the way
you'll be.  Now, come on, follow me....."

It was fortunate that it was a Tuesday, one of the
days when the peripatetic veterinarian comes to the
palace.  We have a treatment room, but it's not worth
the expense of employing a full-time vet for our slave
herd, and we try to get all routine work done on a
couple of days each week.  In-between times, if
there's a serious problem, we call the vet out or make
an assessment of whether the slave is too badly
injured if there's been an accident, and put him down
painlessly.  And before any of you even think that
this is wrong, let me remind you that slaves - even
niggas - are expensive:  we never take the decision to
have one put down lightly because of the financial
loss.

I led the slave into the treatment room and told the
vet to stop treating the slave currently on the table
as I was in a hurry.  I almost had to use my prod to
get the slave onto the table before he could be
securely strapped down, and the vet looked at me and
asked  "The usual?  Or as this one's a whitey, are you
looking for something more exotic?  They tell me that
it's the fashion in the Capital to have the piss slit
exposed, but leave some 'skin...."

"No, high and tight, as usual.  His Highness doesn't
care for fashion - it's only the nouveau riche from
the oil who bother with that stuff.  He prefers slaves
to be 'skinned properly, traditionally."

The slave had begin to protest and shout as he heard
us talking, and wouldn't shut up even when I told him
to, so he got his first lesson in obedience:  I
slapped his belly really hard, four times, as he lay
there helplessly on the table, and he then got the
idea and just lay silently, glaring at us.   He wasn't
silent for long, though!  The Sheikh thinks that
'skinning a slave is an important part of the process
of getting the slave to understand that his life has
changed, and therefore he needs to properly experience
it.  We usually have an argument with the vet about
this, as he thinks it's "humane" to anaesthetise the
cock first, but on this occasion, as he reached or the
syringe and saw me shaking my head, he put it down,
shrugged his shoulders, and merely said "Well, I
suppose this one is big enough and tough enough to
take a little more pain - after all, you've just
branded him!".

I nodded, and he began.  And, of course, the slave
started to scream as the vet ran the scalpel around
inside  the 'skin to loosen it.  The screaming started
again as the stainless steel cylinder was slid over
the cock head inside the 'skin (and I have to confess,
I winced at the thought of that cold steel against the
sensitive freshly-cut cock), and again as the scalpel
swiftly encircled it, cutting off the excess flesh.
"There", the vet said, surprisingly quickly.  "It's
the new medical adhesives, you know:  in he old days
it would have taken several minutes to suture the cut
ends of the 'skin together, and now all I have to do
is apply a line of this glue.  He's done - all yours!
No jerking off for a week, no fucking for two.... And
that's all:  the glue dissolves itself away, in line
with the healing."

As we left the treatment room, the slave seemed too
stunned to speak.  I led him over to the stables, put
him into one of the pony stalls, and called for one of
the stable lads to come and tether him in there by his
ankle cuff.

"Bastard!", he whispered again.  "What the fuck is
this....  You've cut my cock.... Where am I.....?"

"You're in the Sheikh's pony barn, where his real
ponies, and human ponies, are kept.  We're going to
train you as a rickshaw pony for the Sheikh, and this
is your home from now on - your very own stall, where
you'll live when you're not working.  It's really
comfortable - we treat you ponies, and the demesne's
drays, who also live here, really well.... So you've
got a crap hole in the corner, that spigot thing lets
you take water whenever you want, and there's fresh
straw every day for sleeping on.  Oh... And the
'skinning... Well, all the Sheikh's slaves are
'skinned.  Not only does he believe it to be more
hygienic, but he prefers the 'look' without those long
bits of loose skin hanging around.  And, of course, he
likes to see your cock head:  he believes that there
should be no part of his property that is concealed
from him."

"But it's barbaric, doing this stuff to a man...."

I laughed again.  "You still don't get it, do you?
You're not a man any longer.  You're a slave."

As I turned to leave, one of our teams of drays was
coming back from the fields- they must have been on
the early shift.  They're all really big niggas, of
course, to be able to deal with the heavy weights they
have to pull - they even make me feel a bit small -
but they're generally a happy lot as they all know
it's a privilege to work as a dray as you're not
coffled together at the neck like the niggas who work
in the fields - drays have to have freedom of
movement, as in addition to pulling the cart, they are
responsible for loading it.  And if we don't chain
them up when working, it seems pretty pointless to do
so when they're in the stables - there's no risk of
them escaping, after all (where would they go?), and
they know that if they misbehave in any way their
punishment is sure - back into a regular coffle!  So
as they came past and app peered eagerly into the
stall where the new slave was lying sprawled, I said
"Now, you boys - leave this slave alone!  He's new, as
you can see.  His cock hurts, and you all know what it
feels like to be branded.  So stay in your own stall
tonight, and I absolutely forbid you to even talk to
this new slave."

"Yes, boss!", they all chorused immediately.  They
don't like to risk upsetting me at all.  Then they
sauntered off to their own stall - one of the large
ones, as they do of course all live together in
complete intimacy.

"Any you, boy.... Try to sleep.  Your training begins
tomorrow.", I told the new slave.

End Of Part Six