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 Eleven

I took Andrew with me on my next visit to the Sheikh to make a formal introduction. I had of course had extensive discussions with our most important shareholder via our video link, but there is no substitute for real-life face-to-face contact, is there?

Andrew and I worked on the corporate jet as the long hours of the flight slipped by, and in the limousine towards the palace I explained that this was to be a strictly informal occasion - we should not expect to discuss any business that evening, and that it would be devoted to feasting and pleasure as the Sheikh believed that it was really important to get to know the men in whom he was going to put his trust.

We had been given adjacent suites in the palace, and my slave was waiting for me, as one would expect. Although he was salaaming as I entered, his mood was entirely wrong when I indicated to him that he could get to his feet. His whole attitude was one of sullen resentment, rather than of pleasant anticipation of being able to serve me. He went through the motions of helping me off with my jacket and loosening my tie, rather than doing so eagerly in the anticipation of being able to pleasure my body as it was revealed.

I stopped him, gripping his wrist to exert a measure of control, and even this he resented: he actually dared to try to shake my hand free - not to the extent of using physical force, as he undoubtedly could have, given our respective ages and strengths - but by showing quite clearly by his whole demeanour that my attentions were unwelcome. This truculent attitude needed to be remedied, and I told him, quite curtly, to adjust his attitude as it was unbecoming for a slave to be exhibiting such tendencies.

He just glared at me, and in exasperation I demanded to know what was amiss. Yes, I know it's wrong for an owner to pander to the whims and interests of his slaves, but my visit was again to be only a short one and I did not intend to have my enjoyment wasted as my slave was not properly participating in the activities I had planned.

"Sir, it's the other guys. I liked them, I was getting on well with them, and they've been taken to the mines! You liked them too, didn't you, sir, and yet you won't do anything to get them back. That's not the way you ought to treat friends, sir..."

"Stop right there! I can see that you've been well trained physically, but you are sadly lacking in the understanding of the real role of a slave! You are of course right that I did enjoy the four slaves: their bodies were superb, and, in addition, they had pleasing personalities that made it fun to be with them. But they were slaves, and not friends: free men are never friends with slaves, it's perfectly impossible. As you will have seen, a slave's life is totally controlled and managed by his owner, and it is therefore wrong for another free man to attempt to form a relationship with them. So whilst I miss the presence of the four slaves, there is no bond of friendship that makes it necessary for me to intervene on their behalf. In any case, such a thing is impossible: their owner, the Sheikh, has sent them to the mines for his own reasons, and he is the absolute authority here. It is not proper for anyone to intervene between an owner and his slaves, and this is especially true when the owner is the supreme ruler."

"So, slave, I want no more of this nonsense. You had better mend your ways, and mend them quickly, and start to behave properly towards me, or there will be trouble."

He was silent, and I could still sense a glowering resentment in him. I would have remonstrated with him further, but at that moment there was a knock at the door. I told Darren to go and open it, and there was Andrew.

As he came in he seemed surprised to see that Darren was there, and started to say "...sorry, was I interrupting..."

"No, Andrew, come in. The servant was just about to leave..." I made a dismissive gesture at Darren, who went out.

"Sir, some advice, please.... This dinner tonight.... Is it black tie?"

I laughed. "No, far from it! Dress comfortably and casually, as the after dinner entertainment can lead to a degree of audience participation..."

He looked flustered. "Sir, I think I have a problem then - knowing we were dining with the local royalty I only packed my DJ, and other than my business suit, I don't have anything. And I'm no good at thinks like karaoak...."

"Didn't you tell me you always travelled with your exercise clothes, as you liked to run or work-out wherever you're staying?"

"Yes, sir... But they're hardly suitable... Running shorts, singlet...."

"No, that will be perfectly acceptable. I will wear casualk trousers and a polo shirt, but for a younger man like you, one who is in good physical shape, shorts and a singlet will be perfectly acceptable. Our host does not normally like air conditioning, preferring the natural desert air, and so he understands that restrictive, formal clothing is unacceptable."

"Are you sure, sir... Look there's a bit of a problem anyway.... My kit is pretty old, and I bought it when the fashion was for very short shorts, not like the knee-length stuff most guys wear today...."

"Have no fear, Andrew. It simply will not be a problem, as you will see as the evening progresses. This is a social occasion, you know, as we will have our business discussion tomorrow morning. Now, go and shower, and change, and I will collect you in thirty minutes and take you down to make the introductions."

I had never seen Andrew in his work-out clothes before, and the sight of his body now that it was more fully revealed to me started to make my loins stir. He was, as I had surmised from what I had seen when he was suited and in business shirts, trim and lightly muscled. Now, however, I could see the interesting thatch of hair on his chest as glimpses of it were shown to me under his singlet, and his arms and legs, too, had an interesting covering of tight, black curls. His strong thighs disappeared under the shorts - which were indeed very short - and led to buttocks that were agreeably tight looking and which promised much. The elasticated waistband of the shorts left no room for doubting that his belly was firm and flat, and might even have those ridges of muscle I find most attractive, and I could hardly bear to wait to see whether his singlet concealed an interesting, sunken belly button, or a more flat one. Regrettably the silky fabric of his clothing, whilst suggesting pert, hard nipples, gave no further hint about his cock: clearly his whole sexual apparatus was well sized, but the outline of his cock was concealed, and so I would have to wait to see whether he was cut or uncut.

He seemed embarrassed as my eyes scanned him - how much more so, I thought inwardly, smiling to myself, if he'd known that I was sizing him up and comparing him with all the other men who I had considered as sexual playthings. And, I suspected, if he'd known that he was to play a part in this evening's entertainment, he might have been scared out of his wits.

Our audience with the Sheikh was in his private audience room, without the mass of advisors and courtiers who normally surrounded him, and after the usual pleasantries he clapped his hands to order dinner to be served to us there - a very singular honour indeed. The room was furnished in traditional manner, with very low tables, and with large silk cushions on the floor for arranging oneself on whilst eating, and we settled comfortably down to await the arrival of the food.

My cock gave a sudden lurch upwards as I glanced over at Andrew and saw that the very short shorts revealed the presence of a jockstrap as he arranged his limbs to get comfortable. I could plainly see one of the back straps on his thigh as he lay there, and I find this very erotic on two counts: firstly, to see a glimpse of a man's undergarments gives you some clue as to his likely sexual preferences: jock straps, very brief briefs, and so on, suggest that he is unashamed of himself and is more likely to "play". And secondly, there is something specifically exciting for me about the sight of naked buttocks when the cock and balls are still enclosed. Of course the conventional strap, as made for sport, does need a fundamental redesign: that thick part where the back straps join the base of the pouch is positioned directly under the asshole. I suppose the makers arrange it that way so that it helps to soak up the sweat that tends to form there, but they clearly have not considered that it inhibits sexual activity, as the whole thing has to be pulled away somewhat inelegantly if you are to insert your cock into that place where it belongs.

No matter, a man in a jockstrap, especially a thirty-something like Andrew, in good condition, was still an exciting prospect, and I could barely focus on the delicious food as it was served to us by the stunning waiters. I watched Andrew carefully, too - like me, he could hardly take his eyes off the slaves as they went about their duties. They were only wearing the very brief, short tunics that the Sheikh preferred his slaves to wear in his private apartments, and as they moved around the fabric shifted and slid to reveal glimpses of their bodies. As they were servants involved in the preparation and service of food, they were entirely hairless, except for their cropped heads, as the Sheikh demanded that there be no possibility of pubic hairs falling onto the plates - a real possibility when the very short tunics so barely concealed their genitals. I noticed that as one of the tightly muscled slaves bent over to serve Andrew he in turn shuffled uncomfortably on his cushion, and tugged at the leg of his shorts - evidently he was needing to adjust his clothing to bring some relief, as I suspected that, like me, he was experiencing a fierce erection.

There was almost a problem when the main dishes of the evening were brought in - a whole lamb, roasted with aromatic herbs, carried on a huge silver salver by four of the serving slaves. Although I was clearly the chief guest, the Sheikh made a special gesture of respect to his new guest, Andrew, by personally taking his knife and prising the one of the eyeballs out from the carcass and offering it to Andrew, still on the tip of his dagger. Andrew went to refuse, and I had to tell him that this was a singular mark of honour: the eyeball is especially prized in the Sheikh's kingdom, and for a guest to refuse it, especially when it has been removed and offered by the host himself, would be the most flagrant breach of etiquette. Steeling himself, Andrew smiled faintly at the Sheikh, took the offered morsel into his mouth, closed his eyes as if in desperation, and with a mighty effort, swallowed it.

After the feast, again as a sign of welcome to Andrew, the Sheikh had arranged for us to watch his band of Russian gymnasts . I had of course seen them on several occasions, but even so the sight of their tanned, muscled bodies sliding over each other as they performed their routines was extraordinarily arousing - there's something about the gymnast's body, after all those hours of rigorous training, that's particularly exotic: all the muscles are visible, and the exercises they were doing in front of us displayed them all to their best advantage. There are eight athletes in the troop, and when they entered they, too, were in the very short tunics of the palace servants. They salaamed to the Sheikh, then bounded to their feet and with a single gesture whipped off the tunics to begin their show, wearing only the tiniest of G-strings. Unlike the waiting slaves they had not been shorn of all their hair so there was a pleasing variety of colours and hair types to look at, although of course it was obvious that their pubic hair had been neatly trimmed to avoid that unpleasant sight of hairs straying past the edges of the tiny silk coverings they were wearing.

As their act proceeded and their bodies became drenched in sweat, the silk became translucent and we could clearly see that, in addition to their skills as gymnasts, they'd also been chosen for their overall physical perfection: their sexual apparatus appeared to be completely in harmony with the splendour of the rest of their physique. As the act continued, the men went from exercises which they performed as individuals to ones which involved more and more physical contact between them. At that point, again in perfect unison, they all tore off their G-strings and we were entranced to see all eight in close bodily contact with no part of their anatomies concealed. I could see that Andrew was now, like me, completely focused on the spectacle in front of us, and that, also like me, he was massively erect at the sheer eroticism of so much perfect naked male flesh.

The troop ended their act in a line, kneeling in front of us with their knees wide apart and their buttocks resting back on their heels. We had the splendid sight of their bodies covered in sweat, and heaving with the effort of trying to replenish their depleted oxygen as their chests swelled up and down in response to the work their lungs were doing. And, of course, we could focus properly on their genitals - to a man they were cut, and all seemed to have been chosen to have those balls which hang down low underneath the penis, like fruits just waiting to be picked.

"So, my new friend, do these men please you?" The Sheikh asked Andrew.

"Very much so your highness."

"And which one do you find most pleasing?"

"It's almost impossible to say - eight such perfect bodies...."

The Sheikh clapped his hands and the eight men, as one, got smoothly to their feet and stood there in the classic "display" position, feet apart, hands clasped behind their necks and with pelvis thrust forward.

"Please examine them more closely, and then give me your opinion...."

Andrew got to his feet, and I could now see the huge bulge in the front of his brief shorts, and at the same time the white of the back straps of his supporter falling down below at the back. He went up and down the line, looking at the men, and I called out softly "It would show great respect for our host, Andrew, if you were to inspect the men properly before giving your view...."

The Sheikh and I exchanged knowing glances with each other as Andrew reached out very hesitantly and lightly rubbed just the tip of his fingers over the pecs of the first athlete.

"Do not be afraid, my friend", the Sheikh said softly. "They are here to be admired, to be enjoyed... Feel free to examine them fully so that you can give me your view...."

I think Andrew was expecting the men to protest or something, but of course they were used to the attention of other men and all stood there perfectly still as his hands gained confidence in stroking and feeling their bodies. It was almost funny, really - it seemed as if he was expecting to get an electric shock when he first reached down to cup one of the sets of balls, so gingerly did he reach out. But when the man's only reaction was to break out into a faint smile, Andrew almost visibly relaxed, and after a couple more minutes was feeling the bodies and fondling the genitalia of all the athletes just as if he had been inspecting slaves for years.

"So, my friend, which of the athletes most pleases you?"

"It's simply too difficult, highness... Such perfection in all of them..."

The Sheikh chuckled. "I see the bank has been teaching its managers to be diplomats! But come, we are all friends here, you need have no fear of speaking your mind... .which one do you find arouses you the most?"

Andrew went up and down the line again, then pulled one of the men forward, taking the athlete's muscled bicep commandingly in his hand to do so.

"A good choice. What attracts you to him particularly?"

"Well, Highness, I suppose it's that he is such a perfect Slav type - we get so few of those in London... The broad, open face, the dark blond straight hair... It's almost like seal skin on his head... And the eyes... Those pale grey eyes...."

The Sheikh clapped his hands again, and the other seven athletes salaamed again, then left.

Four slaves then came in carrying what I knew from my past experience was a fucking stool - one of the fairly utilitarian ones that was provided in most of the suites and rooms of the palace, in case of need. It stood there, its leather surface glinting in the lights from the ceiling, and at a gesture from the Sheikh the athlete went over, lay down on his belly on it, reached down to grasp the hand holds on the front legs to give himself a good hold, and spread his legs to await use of his body. I love the way men kind of shuffle their feet as they prepare for sex, don't you?

I had the perfect view of the man's thighs and calf muscles in fluid motion as he settled himself for action.

"There!", the sheikh said to Andrew. "He is ready for you - part of their preparations for the display you have seen is to make sure they are all clean inside, and that their ass muscles have been lubricated and stretched. He's waiting for you...."

Andrew stood there in shock for a few moments, as if he could not believe what he'd just heard. "You mean you want me to fuck the man, here, now....?"

"But of course. You said you found this man to be the most desirable, and he is all prepared for you."

"But I can't do things like that in public...."

"You are not in public, my friend, You are here amongst friends.... Friends should not be embarrassed in front of each other..."

"Andrew", I cut in, "Our host has already shown you tremendous respect by offering you the choicest part of the feast , and serving it to you by his own hand.

Now he is extending to you an honour that is rarely offered to those outside his own family - giving a visitor, especially a Westerner like you, the opportunity to sample the delights of one of these most expensive athletes.... It would be a huge breach of etiquette and protocol to even consider turning down such an honour.... It would damage the prospects for the bank here in the kingdom almost irrevocably if we were to spurn the generous offers of our host...."

It didn't take Andrew more than an instant to make up his mind. I knew he was ambitious, and he could plainly see that his way to further advancement in the bank demanded that he be on excellent terms with the Sheikh. And, of course, I suspected that he was hugely aroused and turned on by the muscular athlete. In a fluid gesture he pulled up his singlet over his head and dropped it to the floor, then shrugged his briefs down over his slim hips and stepped out of them. Sadly, he did not take off his jock strap, but nevertheless I found the sight of his muscular buttocks, neatly framed by the leg straps and the elastic waistband of the white jock, still to be very sensual. He stood between the legs of the athlete, and reached down and probed with his finger at the man's ass - I could tell by the confident way that he did this that he was no stranger to examining a sex partner in this way, and my anxiety that he might in some way fail us in front of the Sheikh began to dissipate.

We did not get to see his cock at that time as he stood with his back to us and simply pushed the front of the jock down. He took a step forward, we could se his hand guiding his cock, then heard a stifled grunt from the athlete that told us he was well and truly home.

As I've told you, I always find it very arousing to watch other men fucking, and the Sheikh and I had a superb view of Andrew's thighs and buttocks as he thrust in and out, first slowly, and then with increasing vigour and force. My concerns evaporated completely as it became clear that he was something of an expert, occasionally almost pulling out completely to slam home immediately afterwards, then going through passages of short, intense thrusts, and so on.

Clearly he was hugely enjoying it himself, and, judging from the cries and moans from the athlete, it was indeed an epic performance.

I sensed that the Sheikh was as disappointed as I was when the performance finally drew to its inevitable conclusion, with Andrew's back arching to give himself one last thrust, and his head thrown back in triumph. He stood there for a minute or two, then pulled himself out, and we could see him fumbling at his jock as he tucked his cock neatly away in it. Coming back towards us we could see the huge smile on his face, and his torso was as covered in the sweat from his exertions as the athletes' had been from theirs.

"Thank you, highness! That was the best after dinner entertainment I have ever been offered....."

The sheikh and I exchanged glances, and I could tell that he was as pleased with my protégé as I was.

"Well done, friend. I look forward to doing business with you. Having seen you in action, I know that you are a proper man, a man I can trust... Not like so many of those American businessmen and diplomats who crowd in here so consistently, attempting to secure my endorsement for their schemes and projects. How can anyone be expected to entrust men from a country where they have such curious attitudes to proper man to man sex? Never has any of them offered to take part in my entertainments - it's almost as if they are ashamed of their sexuality!"

"Still", he went on, "The hour grows late. I must retire, as tomorrow I have a full day of meetings. Will you take the athlete to your chambers for further amusement tonight?" And looking at me, the sheikh continued, "And you, my friend, I imagine your own slave is waiting.....?"

Both of us said "Yes, highness", and stood up as he himself rose to his feet and gave us a friendly dismissive gesture.

Darren was indeed waiting in my room for me, and his attitude did not seem to have improved. I was in a frenzy of expectation for recreational sex having watched the eight perfect athletes, and Andrew's performance, and was most displeased at Darren's continuing sullen and unenthusiastic responses as I began to stroke and caress his body.

I again explained the problem to him, reminding him that as he too was a slave, his only duty was to please his owner. But he persisted in his block-headed obduracy, and I could see my hoped-for evening slipping away. Finally, in exasperation, I went across the inner hall to the door or Andrew's suite, and knocked lightly. From inside the heavy wooden door I heard the sound of male voices suddenly halted, then the door opened a crack, and Andrew peeked around the edge.

"I need your help..."

"Sir, it is rather inconvenient right now...."

"I'm sorry, Andrew, but I do have to ask you to stop fucking that athlete just for a few minutes. I really do have urgent need of you."

He looked rather shocked, as I am not normally known for using explicit language with my colleagues, as in the bank we adopt a rather last-century more gentlemanly tone. But he obviously understood that I must really need him, and asking me to wait a moment, he moved away from the door.

As you do, I pushed it open, and saw his interesting naked body striding across the room towards the bed, where the athlete was sprawled, his tanned body making a most agreeable sight against the stark white of the linen sheet. I watched as Andrew scrabbled around on the floor, obviously looking for his shorts or something, and I called out "Don't worry about those - we're all men here. And bring your friend with you, as I think his assistance might prove invaluable..."

He seemed surprised, but the athlete slid off the bed with one graceful movement, came to Andrew, put his arm around his shoulder, and they both followed me back to my room.

I sat in an easy chair, looked at Andrew, and said "As you're to come here to this country, there's something else you should know. Men like this athlete are not exactly here of their own free will..."

"You mean the slavery, sir?"

"So you know?"

"Yes. I did some research when the possibility of taking the job as country manager was mentioned. I have an old friend... Well, rather, a man I know... And he'd spent some time here. So it's all true?"

I guessed that the "man he knew" was one of his casual sexual acquaintances, and smiled to myself. "Yes, it is. And, indeed ,the young man you saw me with earlier is himself a slave, a slave who, I'm sad to say, has now ignored my warnings, and finally my direct orders, to behave as a proper slave and reverence his owner!"

"You're his owner?"

"Yes, it's a long story. And not germane to the present difficulty. I'll tell you on the plane tomorrow. What is relevant, however, is that this slave is being wilful and disobedient, and that the time has therefore come to punish him. I could of course have him dealt with by the guards and trainers on the staff of the palace here, but then the news of that would get back to the sheikh, who might believe that we were insufficiently tough in dealing with simple problems for ourselves; and that might reflect badly on the bank. The solution, therefore, is that you should punish the slave for me - I did a little research of my own about you, Andrew, and I know that in London you are not averse to playing a little, shall we say, roughly?"

I saw him blush, and went on "It doesn't matter to me one way or the other how you amuse yourself. Your skill with the cane will be useful to me now, however - I want this slave thrashed, thrashed so hard that he learns that it simply does not pay to displease his owner."

I saw Darren start with shock as I said this, but I knew I had Andrew - a flash of excitement had flown across his face just for a moment, and now his tongue was running up and down his lips in that way that it does when there is excited anticipation of something.

"Our host, always anxious for his guests' comfort, thoughtfully provides these suites with everything needed. Here's a cane, and a tawse... And that fucking stool, over there, like the one you used so masterfully before, can of course also be used to hold the boy. Please begin, and do not stop until I tell you to do so."

I could now see Andrew's cock in all its glory, a delicious sight that I had not previously been able to observe. He had become massively erect as I had been speaking, and to my excitement I noticed that his foreskin had peeled back to reveal that most entrancing spectacle: a dark, moist cock head, in the way that only those normally safely enclosed by a 'skin can be. Like the rest of his body, it was trim and neat, and perfectly suited to him.

Andrew glanced at me again, and from my face and posture understood that I was perfectly serious, and so he strode towards Darren. Darren backed away, and even when Andrew grabbed him by the arm, tried to break free.

Darren's "reluctance" seemed to inflame and excite Andrew, who had at first seemed reluctant, but now seemed eager to proceed. He tried to drag Darren across the room, but the lad, toughened by his months of training, was well able to resist. The athlete showed good sense, though, and after glancing at me to ensure that I was not unhappy with what he was doing, went to assist.

Together the two naked men dragged the slighter form of Darren across to the fucking stool, and forced him, belly down, on to it. As well as the conventional hand grips on the front legs, this one was evidently "dual purpose" as the athlete quickly knelt down and secured Darren's wrists to the legs with the Velcro bindings it provided. All the time he was struggling and writhing and shouting and screaming, using the most inappropriate foul language to describe Andrew, the athlete, and even me!

Darren continued to writhe and try to free himself, and Andrew cleverly told the athlete to lie on the floor and restrain Darren's legs. He then swished the cane through the air several times to get the measure of it - every cane is after all different, the weight , thickness and tensile strength making a huge difference to the "feel" of the thing, as we know, then looked at me again.

"How many, sir?"

"Continue until I tell you to stop. And do not spare his calves, thighs and back, although the primary focus should be on the buttocks. This insolent young slave needs to be taught a hard lesson, before he does something that means even harsher punishments would become inevitable. So let us make this a 'short, sharp shock' of a lesson for him.... One that his body will remember next time he even contemplates being anything less than totally enthusiastic in obeying his owner."

I did not count the blows that Andrew struck He was a powerful man, and an experienced user of the cane, and I was distracted by the sheer volume of noise that Darren initially made as the cane rose and fell, raising vivid red stripes across his naked flesh. It was only after these subsided into an inarticulate gurgling that I realised that we had perhaps gone far enough, and told Andrew to stop.

Andrew was covered with sweat once again, and stood there, harshly erect, running his hand up and down the cane in obvious pleasure. I understood then that I had perhaps misjudged him, not understanding the level to which a sexual passion could arouse him, as he said "And can I fuck it now, sir?"

I was astonished that he could be so forward! Until now, I thought he had been timid, afraid of his sexuality. But evidently, not so.

"Yes", he went on, "I usually fuck the men I thrash. But of course in London I really don't get the opportunity to mete out quite so much REAL punishment..." As he spoke, he was running his hands almost lovingly over Darren's body, savouring the feel of the weal marks under his fingers. In turn, responding to the new stimulation, Darren had resumed his low sobbing and moaning.

I had looked forward to fucking Darren myself, of course, but it seemed to me that Andrew deserved a reward for his efforts - as a manager I find that rewarding employees for some particularly good piece of work pays huge benefits in terms of their future motivation - and anyway I thought it would be good for the lad to see that I considered him as just something that could be given to other men, as I willed. I suppose my decision was tempered, too, by the thought of once more being able to watch Andrew in action, and so I gave a nod of assent.

Andrew mounted the boy violently and harshly, relishing in the agonised shouts that burst out afresh as he simply fucked the boy with abandon. When he pulled out, Darren just stood there, his hands still restrained, and now quietly whimpering like some wounded animal, which, I suppose, he was! The athlete got to his feet, and he too ran his hands over the very visible marks criss-crossing Darren's body as it lay there. I saw that he was sexually aroused, as Andrew had been, and decided to give Darren one more lesson in understanding how life as a slave was at the whim of his owner.

"You fuck it now, too", I commanded.

The athlete was no more gentle with Darren than Andrew had been, and once he had finished and I had dismissed them back to their own room for the rest of the night, I stood there and looked at Darren's body as he still lay there on the fucking stool. "Now, slave, perhaps that will help you understand the power I exercise over you", I commented to him as I undid the bindings holding him down.

He got to his feet, staggered for a moment or two, and I confess I did feel sorry for him. Gone was much of the arrogance he'd displayed earlier, and in front of me now stood a dishevelled, vulnerable young lad once more. So what was I to do? I was desperate for sexual relief myself, having watched the extraordinary display of virtuoso sexuality by Andrew and the athlete, but I do not like intercourse when the man's ass is already running with another man's cum. And, I knew, I did need to use Darren myself anyway, to reinforce to him my mastery and control.

I pushed him towards the bed, and told him to lie down. Painfully, because of the bright red marks all over him, he lowered himself gingerly down on his belly, but I slapped his buttocks hard, causing him to wince and cry out as my hands pummelled his tenderised flesh, and told him to roll over. Almost sobbing with the pain he did as he was told, and lay there, looking at me with tears streaming down his face.

It was in his own best interests that I should show him no mercy now. He did need to learn the lesson that a slave must obey his owner, and it was, I considered "being cruel to be kind". To press on with a harsh lesson now would save him many difficulties later. I therefore climbed onto the bed and straddled his body with mine.

As I let my weight down onto his belly I was rewarded by that wonderful feeling of warm, naked man flesh pressing into that sensitive region between the balls and ass, and my cock, whose tip was lightly brushing his body, started to ooze pre-cum. Darren was whimpering, and his body was attempting to twist to relieve the pressure on his battered back and ass, but I pressed on. I "waddled" on my knees up his body, took hold of his hands and pushed them above his head, and finally rested on his upper chest, with my knees pressing his biceps down into the bed.

He clearly was in deep distress at this treatment of his injured flesh, and was moaning and crying out, imploring me to get off him and leave him alone. But my need was urgent now, and I simply ignored him. Gripping his jaw firmly, I commanded him to open his mouth, and then I raised myself slightly and pushed my erect cock into the delicious moist warm cavity of his mouth.

Frankly, he was not good at assisting me to my climax.

He failed to tease me with his tongue, and failed to suck enthusiastically as I moved my cock head in and out of his lips. Ordinarily I would have been cross, as I like a man to minister properly to me, but my excitement, and my determination to demonstrate to him who was in control, tempered my anger. I simply rammed my cock deep down into his throat, feeling his whole body behind me start to thrash on the bed as he began to choke. Even though he was fit and strong, with my knees holding his biceps down and my body firmly planted on his chest, there was no way he could escape. His frantic movements only served to add to his problems, as I could imagine that all the marks from his beatings were now sending messages of pain to his brain.

He needed to understand that I was his owner, and that I could do what I liked with him. With my cock firmly down his throat, I therefore reached down and pinched his nostrils together - it was rather distasteful, I suppose, as his face was slimed with his tears and the snot that had poured out from him as he began to gag. Once he realised that his breath was totally cut off, his thrashings became even more frantic and I could hear him attempting in vain to cry out. There was a look of complete terror and panic in his eyes as I stared dispassionately down at him, suffocating him, and gradually I saw them dim as he lost consciousness.

I allowed him to come back to life, withdrawing my cock and letting go of his nose, then, as he lay under me, tears running down is face, I said, calmly and coolly to show that I was dispassionate about it "See, Darren.... I own you, and I control you. Had I chosen to, I could have simply allowed you to die then, and no one would have cared. There would have been no punishment for me at all as an owner has the right to dispose of a slave in whatever way he wishes. I have had you beaten tonight to teach you that you need to obey me totally and completely, and this further demonstration should drive the lesson home to you. Now....."

Gently this time I pushed my cock, now even harder, if such a thing was possible, back into his mouth, and was rewarded by the kind of proper attentions that I expect from another man.

Once I had climaxed I got off Darren, and allowed him sit up - he moved incredibly slowly, to avoid hurting himself more - and then to lick me clean. The bed was a wreck, with the sheets all crumpled, with huge wet patches from Darren's sweat and mucus further disfiguring it. I considered calling in slaves to have it changed, but instead lay back, rather enjoying the moist coolness of it.

Darren stood looking at me, and I commanded him to lie beside me. Because of the pain his body was causing him he was very reluctant, but my whole demeanour showed him that this was not a time to offer even token resistance to my will. To show him that I was however a compassionate owner, I opened my arms for him, and allowed him quite a lot of wriggling and squirming so that he could make himself as comfortable as possible as we prepared for sleep.

I ran my hands lightly down his back and over his buttocks as he lay there in my arms, and he moaned and whimpered at even this light touch. I have told you, I believe, how erotic I find it to be able to feel the marks of a slave's brand on his body, and as my finger tips probed the ridges and valleys left by the caning, I was immensely aroused. The heat radiating from his battered flesh was an extra bonus for me, and I slipped into a deep, refreshing sleep.

THE SLAVE'S STORY

Things went from bad to worse down the mine. We soon got used to being completely and utterly filthy - the only water provided was for drinking, and there was precious little of that. We were all covered in grime from the shale, which produced a lot of dust as we dug into it, and this clung to our bodies as a result of the sweat we were producing as we worked desperately away. And, of course, three were no provisions for sanitation - we simply squatted down and crapped in a pile of the shale rubble, and there was no way we could then clean ourselves properly.

Within two days we all stank, but we ceased to notice it. We did however begin to feel the hair that was again growing all over us - it was worse in our ass cracks for the first couple of weeks, as the sharp spiky hairs there stuck into our tender skin. But as we all gradually grew beards, our head hair gradually formed a shaggy, unwashed mass around us, and our pubes re-grew, we knew we were no longer the pampered display objects that we had previously been.

Other changes were taking place in us, too - we had all been heavily muscled form the constant exercise and training that we underwent, and now the achingly hard mining work that we absolutely had to do in order to get food kept up this regime. But we were simply not eating enough, as it was all but impossible to find enough opals to "buy" enough food and water from the guards each day. We were always faced with the agonising choice of trading our precious stones for batteries for our lamps, or water, or slave chow. And, of course, we knew we had to have light - even though we only kept one small light burning, without it the stygian blackness would have rendered any work or movement totally impossible. Likewise, a body needs water, especially when you're sweating away. So in the end we always had to compromise and only buy small quantities of slave chow, and gradually the big muscles we had built up melted away, to leave us lean and rangy. As I lay next to my brothers in the brief periods we allowed for sleep and "recreation", I could feel their ribs now very prominent through their skin, and their asses had a much harder feel. There wasn't much sex, actually - the combination of the exhausting work and the reduced diet meant that we were rarely able to achieve erections.

We did wonder why they simply didn't give us food - after all, there was no benefit to them in having us die from starvation. But we decided that the regime was nicely balanced, with a "normal" slave needing to work very, very hard to get enough to survive. We were very badly hit, though, as there were only three of us working, and we had four bodies to maintain.

Marc continued to be a catatonic disaster, just lying there, curled into a foetal ball, and not contributing anything. We shared our food and water with him, of course, but that only made it worse as I had to spend time, precious time when I could have been working, forcing the nourishment down him as he would simply not help himself. Our meagre rations simply would not stretch to four when one was not working, and I became more and more worried as time went on.

It was Matt who bought matters to a head. We were lying together one "night" when he said to me "It's got to stop, Steve, you know that, don't you?"

When I said nothing, he went on "Look, Marc's killing us all. He doesn't work. We have to feed him. And you spend time looking after him that ought to be spent working. It can't go on, can it?"

I whispered, very quietly and calmly, as I knew deep down that he was right, "But he's our buddy, one of the band of brothers... We can't let him down...."

"Steve, what's it to be? All or us, or three of us? There's no choice, is there?"

"We can't leave him to die... What do you want to do? Just leave him lying here in this cave, whilst we go off to another one and carry on as normal? He can't move by himself, he can't feed himself...."

"Steve, calm down. I understand he's your special buddy. We all like Marc, we are all buddies and brothers. But what's the choice? He's not going to get better, is he? And we're all slowly dying because of him."

"You can't leave him just to die, alone, in the total dark..."

"No, Steve. We can't. I wouldn't wish that on a dog.

But he's not really Marc, not the Marc we knew and loved, is he? He's just a piece of almost inanimate slave flesh. Don't think of him as Marc... Just think of him as something we have to deal with..."

To my surprise, Ray chipped in. Ray, who normally didn't contribute much, but who listened, and only occasionally guided us. But when he did have something to say, it was usually pretty relevant. "Steve, there is no choice. We can't continue to 'carry' Marc. It's killing us all. I know that life down here isn't much, but at least, whilst we're alive, there's some chance of rescue. Who knows - there might be a revolution or something in the sheikh's kingdom. So we've got to stay alive, whilst we can. And it's not doing Marc any favours to keep him like this - think about it: either he doesn't know what's going on, as he's totally catatonic and so it doesn't matter; or he does know, and he's so afraid, so totally terrified of the enclosed space and the dark, that his brain is in agony. Either way, it's kindest to end it. And end it now, whilst we can still recover our strength."

"No! We can't just leave him to die...."

Then Matt pulled me closer to him, to comfort me as I guess he knew how I would feel. "You're right, Steve", he whispered to me. "We can't just abandon him. So I'll put him out of his misery. One quick pull whilst I've got the strength, and I'll break his neck, quickly and painlessly. He won't feel a thing."

End Of Part Eleven