Four the Same

FOUR THE SAME by Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part Ten

My host kindly agreed to continue to look after Darren on my behalf, and we agreed a further meeting in three months time. I was extremely reluctant to fly back to London the next day, as my experience with Darren had excited me - I had many plans for erotic entertainments in my mind, using the four big slaves and the still relatively slight boy, and it would have been good to stay and bring some of them to fruition. However, as you know, I'm a very hard worker, very conscious of my responsibilities, and so instead of taking a day or two of vacation and staying on to amuse myself, I headed for home.

Those three months were such hard work, as I continued to reshape the Bank and its management to my needs, and in addition there was trouble with my wife! Normally we never quarrelled, and I've told you how we lived basically separate lives. But her passion for her garden was all consuming, and in my new position as Chairman, she reasoned that more could now be spent on landscaping a further vast area of the land we owned (I'd taken the precaution when acquiring my country house of buying the farm land that surrounded it so that our privacy could be maintained and no developer could ever build there). Her plans were totally unreasonable, as she wanted to turn a further ten acres of the farm land into landscaped gardens, with terraces, walls, pools, pathways and so on, leading down to the sea from our house on top of the cliffs. It was a vast - and expensive - undertaking, as I explained to her, and although I was now earning even more than before, such a vast increase in the gardens simply could not be financed: even if we could afford to get contractors in to do the necessary initial construction, we would require several additional gardeners to maintain it, and that was just not possible. With our taxation rates, there was no way I could pay the salary, welfare and pension costs of four employees, even though I was Chairman! She simply refused to see the financial logic of my case, and said that I was merely hoarding money for its own sake.

Several weekends went by in the country with this argument simmering on, and at one point she was even suggesting that she might "strike" and not come up to London for the annual Directors' dinner party. The issue was only resolved - and not then to the complete satisfaction of either of us - when I agreed to pay the capital cost of cutting one path and stairway down from our cliff to our private beach, so that we could then better scope the work in doing all she wanted.

I could have done without this domestic bickering, with my incredible workload at the office, but there at least I had the pleasure of seeing my protégé Andrew start to truly show his capabilities. Our Internet bank had been rather moribund and considered rather a sad case by customers and city analysts both, but it was incredible to see how, with his dynamic approach, supported by my authority and the bank's money, it was rapidly transformed into one of the business success stories of the year. At the same time, there were plenty of opportunities for me to require to meet him, and to enjoy the sight of his gym-toned body in the office. In my role as his executive mentor, I also contrived a dinner with him in a private room at an expensive restaurant, and we had a conversation about his sexuality and its effect on his work that was, shall we say, "interesting". He was terrified of causing a scandal, and lived what seemed to me to be a lonely and mostly celibate life - not for him the exciting forays into gay bars, or even onto the Internet, to find some muscular stud for an evening's entertainment! I smiled inwardly as he kept assuring me that the Bank was not at risk by his actions - if only he had known that the previous evening I had fucked a muscular Irish labourer fresh from one of the many building sites near my apartment, and later had watched via video link my very own slave training away.

It came almost as shock, and then a delight, when my secretary reminded me that I was off to see the Sheikh for my scheduled meeting in only three days time. Actually the thought of Darren and the four slaves had been one of the best incentives I'd ever had for working hard at the Bank, as now I was determined to keep the Chairmanship so that I could continue to visit the Sheikh and my slave - ordinary directors and employees had to retire at 62, but the Chairman's tenure was "indefinite". I intended to keep my poll position for many years, so I could continue to enjoy the privileges that travel to meet the Sheikh would entail. On a more prosaic note, several colleagues commented on how much more tolerant I was becoming in meetings now that I was Chairman - whereas I might had "driven" the meeting to early conclusions and close, I was now prepared to sit and listen to all arguments before reaching a decision. Little did they know that this was only because now, as the fools droned on, long after I had made up my mind, I could turn my thoughts inward and play out in my head the many scenarios I was busily constructing for the four identical slaves and my slave boy.

It's much better to go by private jet, of course, even better than first class. Absolutely no queues, and the chauffeur can drive you right to the steps of the plane. I was in a state of high arousal throughout the journey, and after we had exchanged the protracted pleasantries that any meeting in that country demands, I was eager to discuss with my host the Sheikh the sexual activities that we could indulge in that night.

Imagine my shock, therefore, to learn that the four slaves, around whom so many of my thoughts had revolved, were no longer at the palace. I listened almost in horror as the Sheikh described his reasoning for getting rid of them - how my tale of Darren being able to detect the differences between them by smell alone had alerted him to the possibility of his cousin carrying out further investigations, possibly involving getting DNA samples from them, and thus proving conclusively that they were not quads.

"So have they been sold already, Highness? Is there some chance that I might even be able to buy a pair of them at least at a forthcoming auction?"

"No, my friend. As a foreigner, you are of course not allowed to make purchases in our slave market. You only own that slave Darren in the sense that, formally, he belongs to your subsidiary of your bank that is 'domiciled' in our country. I suppose that if you did want further purchases, that could be arranged by the same route, though."

I made a mental note to ensure that when the auditors next visited our subsidiary here they must not find that one of the assets on the books was a slave: the international firm that we use for all our business might take a very unenlightened view of this use of the bank's resources. Then I pressed him "So when are they to be auctioned? I'm sure that attending such an auction would in itself be an experience....?"

"Quite so, my friend. Slave auctions, especially those on the days when bucks are being offered, are most stimulating. The stock is always offered entirely naked, as you would expect, so that prospective purchasers can make a full inspection, and even if you are only marginally interested in buying, it makes for a pleasant morning's stroll as you look at what the dealers have on offer. However in this instance you would be disappointed, as the four slaves have not been sent for auction - I had them assigned to my mines."

"Bu surely, highness, that was a waste? I have heard that the mines are the 'last resort' for old, tired slaves, as there is no future for them after that. For men with such bodies, that seems a poor use of resources....."

"Ordinarily, that would be so, my friend. But bear in mind that the mines are also completely escape proof, and ,as such, they are also impossible to break in to.

Nothing comes and goes into the mines except bags of slave chow, and the opals which are their product. No other contact with the outside world is allowed, and so my cousin, or rather his spies, would have no opportunity to attempt to get samples of the slaves' fluids for examination. It was a waste, I know, as they would have been worth far more at auction, but it had to be: the risk of my cousin discovering my deception and invalidating our old bet, with the subsequent deep embarrassment to me, was simply not worth it."

So saying, he indicated that he did not want to discuss this matter further, and we moved on to the business which was the ostensible purpose for our meeting.

It was only in the early afternoon that I was able to at last check into my guest suite, and as I had hoped, Darren was already there, in the 'salaam' position. I told him to get up, and he stood in front of me in his short tunic, his developing body tantalisingly revealed to me. Those months since my last visit had certainly made a difference - he was now more developed, and, it seemed to me, more self assured. Gone was the snivelling youth, ashamed of his body and unwilling to share the joys of the male form with others, and in its place was this proud, almost arrogant, creature who knew that he was a desirable man, one whom many others would lust after.

I was tired after the journey and the meeting I had had with the Sheikh, who was a tough and skilful negotiator, and I began to undress in order to shower.

It was good to see that the boy's training was working, as he began to help me, taking my clothes from me as I shed them and hanging them neatly in the closet. He pulled off his tunic in that single movement for which the garment is designed, and went into the huge tiled area to run the water for me - I stood and watched entranced as his lithe body, now deliciously firmed, developed and tanned, leaped around as he tried to avoid the jets before the water reached temperature - that alone is almost worth the cost and effort of owning a slave, I think, as I hate the indignity of the shock of cold water whilst the shower warms up!

As I expect you know, there's something very special about another man attending to your needs in the shower. Somehow the water makes the feel of his hands sliding over your body very exotic, much better than if he just carried out the same caressing and massaging in bed. I expect it's something to do with deep racial memories of being sea creatures in our dim past. Darren had been exquisitely well trained at the palace in this work, and I barely noticed as he sank to his knees in order to be able to gently lift each of my feet in turn and soap between my toes. I could not, of course fail to notice the attention he gave to my cock, balls and ass, though: he treated them with the total devotion and respect that a slave should exhibit for those precious parts of his owner's body.

However tired you are, I do think that you sleep better and awake more refreshed if you indulge in sex before sleeping. It was therefore good for me to be able to fuck my slave after our showering - this was not a long drawn out thing, as I did want to sleep before my evening with the Sheikh, and so I simply told the lad to lie on his belly at the end of the bed with his feet on the ground. It's one of the minor pleasures, I always think, to be able to kick your partner's legs apart or pull them closer together with your own legs and feet to ensure that the ass is at a good and convenient height for entry, and with him in this position it is of course easy to spread the buttocks and see the hole. I did not spend a lot of time in stimulating myself by rubbing up and down his ass crack, though, and simply penetrated him rapidly, then fucked him in an easy, workmanlike way.

One of the ways in which sex with my slave was so much better than wit the casual men who I picked up in London was that he came to bed prepared - no need for tiresome lubrication and stretching of the ass, as Darren was ready. And afterwards, when I pulled out, there wasn't the reek of his shit all over my cock as he had thoroughly cleansed himself internally beforehand. I could simply lie on the bed therefore and allow him to use his mouth and tongue to clean my cock, then I ordered him to lie beside me, spooned myself close to his delightful muscled back, and prepared to sleep.

THE SLAVE'S STORY.

I didn't get to hear what Marc wanted to say, because a that moment the van jerked to a halt an the doors were thrown open. Guards uncuffed us and told us to get down, and we saw we were outside a small building - a very small building - in the middle of the desert.

I guess when you think of "mines" you imagine large pits in the ground, like open-cast mining; or big winding wheels, factory-like buildings and spoil heaps, like old-time underground coal mines. But this was nothing like either of those - just this small building, with a loading bay, and that was about it. We began to cheer up as we thought this was not a mine, after all.

We were herded into the building, and inside there were just some boxes stacked around, and in one corner a huge pile of sacks of slave chow. We couldn't understand why they needed all that chow, when there didn't seem to be any slaves around.

"Right, you new recruits...", a voice said, and we saw an overseer glaring at us. "Now, pay attention!"

"In a minute you're going down the mine. This is the last time you'll ever come to the surface, as you'll never leave there. You'll work away for as long as you are able, and when you finally die, you're just left down there."

"There are no guards, no supervisors, no overseers down the mine, as we have a simple method of ensuring that you work: once a day you bring the materials you have mined to the bottom of the shaft, and if they are sufficient, and satisfactory, we give you food, and water. If they are not, then we do not. Your survival depends on your continuing ability to work."

"Escape is impossible, as the mine is deep, and there is only a single shaft down. We control that, and at the exchange time each day, armed guards oversee the process. Do not try to rush them and escape - they will simply shoot you. Even if you succeed in gaining entry to the lift cage, it will do you no good, as it is monitored and controlled by CCTV from here on the surface, and the winding engine will not be started."

"I think that is all you need to know, except to understand that the Sheikh, your owner, is concerned to keep the desert ecology here intact. That's why there are no spoil heaps, and little sign of activity on the surface: we only bring up the opals from the mine, and all the spoil is left below. You therefore pack the material you excavate in behind you, so that you make only the smallest tunnels to gain access to the face you are working on. We provide you with a digging tool now, but guard it well as it will not be replaced, and without a digging tool, you will be unable to work; if you are unable to work you will not be fed, and then you will die."

I could see Marc next to me begin to shudder as we listened to all of this. What on earth was wrong with him?

"Finally, before you enter the cage to go down, there is one comfort we can offer you. This is the last choice you will ever make for yourselves. Do you want to be docked?"

"Sir, please, what's that?" It was Matt who had dared to speak, but he had tried to be properly servile, to avoid attracting punishment to us.

"Oh, so no one has explained. Well, think about it: you are going to be working in very small, cramped tunnels. You need to follow the strata of the opal-bearing shale through the layers of the surrounding granite rocks. The strata can be just wide enough for your body - especially bodies of big husky slaves like you. You need to work on your backs, or on your bellies, as you dig your way forwards. It's really important to your continuing life that you are able to work, and many slaves find that they are uncomfortable, and unable to make proper progress in very confined places, as their dicks and balls are dragging along."

"Think about it", he went on. "Imagine crawling across this room now, on your bellies - your dicks and balls would drag, wouldn't they, and impede your progress and cause you pain? Well, imagine doing it in rough, rocky narrow tunnels - many slaves simply can't focus on working as they are constantly worrying about the pain from their balls. Consequently your owner, who is always interested in the welfare of his slaves, gives you the option to have your dicks and balls surgically removed now, by a qualified doctor, before you descend."

"Personally, I'd just have you all done, as routine, as it does mean you can work better. But your owner has decided that in order to make life worth living for you, you should have the choice as he knows that the only remaining pleasure left to you is sex. Consequently he allows you to choose whether to be 'docked', as we call it, or to remain whole. A continuing sex life, or perhaps a longer life as you can work harder and get more food. The choice is yours."

"But how do we piss...?" It was Matt again. The overseer looked at him menacingly, and replied "The removal site is simply cauterised, to stop the bleeding. The urethra just opens out in the front of you once your dicks have gone, and you piss through that - just as normal, except that there's no long dick on the surface. Your dicks play no part in pissing, after all, as it's the muscles at the base of your bladder that control the urine flow. So you can still piss, and, of course, there's no need of your dick for that other activity, as we take the testicles at the same time. Now, do you want the operation?"

We all looked at each other, completely stunned. How could they even think about doing this to men? I mean, in some weird kind of way it had logic behind it, as I know how painful it can be to have my dick and balls scraping along the ground: one of the things some of the clients liked to do was to see us wrestling in the nude, and you have to be really careful then to avoid seriously hurting your balls if you're pulled along the floor. But there was no way I was going to be turned into a dick-less eunuch, even if it did mean I might be able to work harder, to "buy" more food.

I could see my fellows all shaking their heads, except for Marc, who seemed to be really trembling now. He seemed to be having problems in even standing up straight, as the rest of us were.

"Right then", the overseer continued. He handed us small entrenching tools, and continued "Over to the cage to drop you down the shaft. Two at a time - it's very narrow. Say goodbye to the light!"

Marc clung to me as we were pushed into the tiny cage, barely the size of a telephone booth, and it started to drop down the shaft.

"Marc, mate, what's the problem?"

"Steve, I can't do this... I can't..."

"Marc, there's no choice, we're slaves..."

"Steve, I'm claustrophobic. Severely claustrophobic. I can't stand this cage.... I won't be able to live deep down in the earth, in those narrow tunnels he told us about..."

Marc's body, pressed against mine in the close confines of the cage, was trembling uncontrollably now. Just past the bars I could see the smooth rock face of the shaft sliding past. We must be going hundreds of feet down, I thought. It was close and confined in the cage and shaft, but I hoped it would be better at the bottom - surely Marc would be OK then. I hugged hi m close to me, as we'd done so many times before in bed, and told him that everything was going to be OK as he still had the three of us to help him.

But it wasn't OK. When we got to the bottom there was only a very small space, dimly lit by a fluorescent tube. The guard gave us a bag of food and a bottle of water, and told us to get working, as we'd need to spend all the time we could if we were ever to earn enough. As the cage went back to the surface for Matt and Ray, I asked him where we should dig.

"Look, slaves, it's all around you! We're in a rocky cavern here, but you take any of the 'exits' from here - those cracks in the rock - and make your way until you come to a shale bed. Then you dig, feeling every bit of spoil to see if it's a nice, smooth opal. Most of the beds near the shaft base here have been worked out, so you'll need to go several hundred metres - it's easy. Just be back here when you think you've mined enough to buy more food, and press the button to call the cage.

As he spoke we could hear the cage descending again, then Ray and Matt got out. The guard got in and the cage went back up to the surface, leaving us there in the gloom. I told the others what Id been told, and Matt said we'd better get on with it, then. I know it seemed hopeless, but there's always some hope, isn't there? We had only two choices now, after all: just give up, and certainly die; or start to work in the hope, the tiny, possibly vain hope, that one day, in some way, we might be released. Faced with that kind of choice, what option did we have really?

The only problem was Marc. As I greeted Matt and Ray I'd lost sight of him, and now saw he was sitting on the floor, his knees drawn up to his chin, and is arms clasped around his head. He looked the picture of misery.

"Hey, Marc, come on.... You heard Matt.... It is the only thing we can do now... Let's move out and get started..."

He didn't react at all, just sat there. I dropped down beside him and tried to move his arms, but they were kind of locked rigid. I called to the others who came over as well, as we saw that Mac was in terror - I've never seen anyone look so dreadful. His face was stuck in a dreadful rictus of agony, and his body was shaking uncontrollably.

"He said he suffered from acute claustrophobia...", I said aloud.

"Well, we've got to work", Matt pointed out. "Whether he likes it or not, we'd better get started, or we'll surely die. Let's carry him, or something...."

So we picked up Marc, and went to one of the exits from the chamber. We had terrible problems then - the space between the rock walls was only just wide enough for our bodies, and it was nearly impossible to drag Marc's protesting form through. The further we got from the chamber the narrower it got and the more the ceiling pressed close to the floor - soon we were bent double in the confined space, and Marc was just whimpering in a low, agonising way, denoting his sheer terror of being there.

Even I found it awful when the worm hole we were following went into a kind of "U" bend, like in a lavatory, and we had to wriggle our bodies around: I'm not usually concerned about small spaces, but this was almost too much for me. I could only imagine what it was like for Marc.

We did eventually get to a space where there was what we guessed to be the shale, and we started to hack away at it with our tools: all except Marc who now lay on his side curled up into the foetal position, his hands and arms covering his face. In the darkness, as we thought we ought to conserve the lamps we'd also been given, we hacked away at the walls, and fumbled through the material, desperately searching for the smooth glass-like pieces that were our only hoipe of continuing life.

THE BANKER

I only had the one night of pleasure with Darren as I had to return to London early the following morning. Even though the sex was, by any standards, excellent, I had that dreadful feeling of disappointment as my limousine sped towards the airport: when you have looked forward to something for months, when almost your every waking moment has been planning and scheming what you're going to do, and how you're going to do it, then if there's a major disruption you feel blighted, don't you? I had been living in a state of almost supercharged sexual arousal for weeks, thinking of the four strong men and Darren, and all had come to nothing. So a night of "ordinary" sex, something that most men of my age would have relished, was simply a very poor second prize for me. And, I have to say, Darren's attitude that morning when I had commanded him to suck me dry before the journey had been less than pleasing: he had asked me to get the four slaves back, and when I had explained that it was impossible, he had started to sulk!

My colleagues at the bank had often complained about their teenage children, saying how moody and irascible they could become if they did not get their own way, and I had always listened to these conversations with absolutely no interest. I could never understand how a parent would be unable to control a child. Now, faced with what I perceived to be the start of such an attitude in Darren, I was angry. A slave, after all, should have no moods, no feelings: a slave exists to serve his owner, and to please him in whatever way possible. A sulking slave, or one who is less than enthusiastic about tending to his owner's desires, has no place in the scheme of things, in my view. Consequently I had given Darren a stern warning that his attitude had better have improved before my next visit, and instead of apologising and returning to his servicing of my cock with renewed vigour and enthusiasm, he'd actually dared to shrug his shoulders as if to say "do what you like!", and simply worked me in a very ordinary way. In retrospect it's easy to see now that I should have taken the matter in hand immediately, and either caned him there and then or scheduled for it to be done after I had left, as I was on a tight schedule. But I naively assumed that Darren was suffering from the same disappointment as I was, and that all would be back to normal by next time.

My week ended badly, too. At the weekend I inspected the work that had been done at vast expense by the contractors, and whilst I had to agree wit my wife that it was now most agreeable to be able to make our way down to the sea in our private cove, there was absolutely no way that I was going to pay their grossly inflated prices in order to be able to fashion the whole ravine into a garden, as my wife wanted. Yes, it would be a quite extraordinarily beautiful thing, I had to agree. But the contractors we had used had explained that they were unable to bring in heavy equipment, the equipment on which the construction industry now depends, and the whole of the works had to be done by hand. Labour rates are, of course, horrendous, and the ambitious plans that my wife had would have cost me millions. I simply had to refuse her, and I could see that she was then suffering that same disappointment that I had been earlier in the week: she had her head full of her plans and schemes, and now, even though we might realise a lesser scheme, this was in no way as desirable or satisfying.

To make mattes worse, she had, without consulting me, already commissioned another major capital project: the extension of the cable that controls our dog, to the perimeter of the new land: this was in itself several tens of thousands of pounds, and I simply did not think that the expenditure was justified. We had for some years used that excellent system of controlling the dog whereby there is a cable buried around the perimeter of the garden. A small sensor on the beast's collar then gives it a warning shock if it attempts to cross, and it's a most humane and simple way of allowing the animal freedom to roam, without us being concerned about it escaping. Living as we did in the depths of the country it was practically impossible to adequately fence our land, and without this cable system we'd have needed to keep the dog tethered almost all the time. My wife said that the beast had to be able to roam with her over all our new land as well, and hence the extension to the cable, but many harsh words were nevertheless exchanged between us as I contrasted the huge expenditure with what I perceived to be the very small benefit to me: it seemed to me that the animal could perfectly well have been confined in our original garden with the existing cable. There was no going back, though, as my wife had craftily got the contractors to start on laying the cable before my visit, but it left me feeling cross and frustrated at the start of the new week on my return to London, rather than calm and refreshed.

Almost the only pleasure during the week was a further "mentoring" meeting with Andrew. This time I invited him back to my apartment, rather than going to a restaurant, and had the pleasure of seeing his body moving around my own space. I had deliberately left the air conditioning at a high temperature before leaving that morning, and so when we arrived there was a perfect reason for taking his suit jacket off as well as his topcoat. As I listened to his plans for the future, which he expounded whilst prowling up and down, looking out of the floor-length windows at the city below, I could "step back" and let my thoughts drift into more carnal areas: he really was a most pleasing piece of male flesh, for someone who spent most of his life behind a desk. He was reasonably tall, and the cut of his suit trousers showed me muscular thighs and a very tight, high-riding, ass. It was clear that there was no fat around his waist as there was no flesh hanging over his belt line, and as he turned and moved, I could not but help notice that he appeared to have nothing to be ashamed of with respect to his genitals, as the front of his trousers was most agreeably full and rounded.

Finally, I interrupted him. "You know, don't you, Andrew, that I have a high regard for you. There are several other directors who are planning their careers so that they "peak" in three years time, when I am expected to retire, and will thus be very well placed to assume control. However I will reveal to you now something that they do not know: it is not my intention to retire, then, as has been the custom. The Chairman has no defined retirement age, and I intend to work for many more years. You should therefore plan your carer so that it reaches its climax in perhaps ten to twelve years."

"So, sir, what do you advise?"

"You have plenty of time to do two or three different jobs in the Bank, jobs that you might not ordinarily take, and which others may see as a demotion compared to your position as head of the Internet bank. But your current experience would not fit you for the job as Chairman, and you need to round yourself out with more practical 'conventional' banking experience. You have time to do three such jobs, each for about tree years. And in a couple of months time, after we are certain that your progress on the Internet bank is soundly based, we can let someone else take it on whilst you take over the running of our branch in the Sheikh's state."

"But sir, I'm not a banker, I have no experience..."

"Quite! And how much better that those in the bank should say that now, rather than when you are in contention for my job! As I said, it will be seen as a demotion - but I can assure you that it is not. Not only will you gain practical experience of running all aspects of a bank, as our subsidiary there operates semi-autonomously, but you will be in direct, perhaps I should say intimate, contact with a most important client and shareholder. We cannot afford to upset the Sheikh in any way, and there are few men who I could confidently appoint to this post."

"Sir, I don't think..."

"That's why I'm your mentor, Andrew. Believe me, it will substantially enhance your career. Of course, there will be some loss of salary as I cannot afford to pay you as much to run a small subsidiary as I pay you to run the Internet bank, but there will be other compensations. And you do need to think to the future, to where you want to be in ten years time, when you will still be a young man..."

"Other compensations?"

"You have never made a secret of the fact that you prefer sexual relations with men. You may find that there are opportunities there that will particularly amuse you..... You have, to your credit, been most discrete here in London. But a man needs to exercise all his body, not just those parts of it that he can in a conventional gym, as I can see you do.

"Sir, what are you implying..?"

"Well, Andrew, perhaps you should wait and see. Suffice it to say that the Sheikh himself has an enthusiastic attitude to the complete fulfilment of his sexual passions, and that this enlightened attitude permeates the whole of society there...."

End Of Part 10