FOUR THE SAME by Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part Thirteen
As I went to my suite that evening the house steward stopped me and asked me, discretely, if I required companionship that evening. I was about to say no, as I always had Darren available, then thought better of it. Perhaps I would instead take one of the two "college boys" from my bath - it would be an amusing change to have a virile young stud like that, or, there again, I might have both of them! But I had been powerfully turned on by the spectacle of the boxing, watching the two fit, strong men beat each other up for our amusement, and so instead directed that the winner should be sent up to me.
Darren was waiting in my chamber, no longer wearing even the skimpiest covering, but I dismissed him: it would do him good to see that I did not rely on him as a pleasure object, and that as his owner it was I who would choose when he was used, and when he was not. There was a short delay before the boxer arrived: the steward appeared almost instantly to apologise on Master Andrew's behalf for this lapse in the normal standards of service to guests, but he explained that as he was not one of the usual pleasure slaves, he had had to be woken up from his rest after the fight, and properly flushed out and made ready for me.
The man was every bit as stunning as I had hoped: he was wearing just thin satin boxing shorts, and as I ran my hands lightly over his muscled torso he flinched slightly - I could clearly see the bruising that his opponent had inflicted on him, and it was interesting to see how these sensitive areas magnified the effects of my touch. It always gives me a particular pleasure to feel a man's penis and testicles through his clothes - somehow, it's a lot more exciting than just having the man nude for the first encounter, isn't it? There's something about a stiffening cock felt through fabric, especially silk or satin, that's qualitatively different from that same cock "raw", and of course there's always the extra excitement of seeing whether your sense of touch has reported faithfully on it, or whether the subsequent sight is a pleasant, or unpleasant, surprise.
The boxer was superb - you know that tough, hard men who are "physical" are a weakness of mine, and to have a man who had just been so brutally engaged in battle now available for me was itself a turn-on. But when I slid his shorts down over his hips and his cock reared into life, I knew I was in for an exceptional end to the evening. Because of his constant training, his buttocks were very firmly muscled indeed, and I could tell from the way in which he shuffled uncomfortably after I had commanded him to lie belly down on the bed and to spread his legs that he was unused to having his body used for a man's pleasure. I ran my fingers up and down his ass crack, almost needing to force the muscled cheeks apart, and when my finger first touched his moist hole, he whimpered softly. I stopped for a moment, and lay myself down on top of his delightful body, feeling the heat radiating from his skin, and the sweat that was slicking it. Putting my mouth close to his ear, I whispered "Are you not used to having men?"
"No, sir. They said it would probably happen one day, but before they brought me here to fight, I was straight - I've got a son by my girlfriend...."
My cock, already very hard from its contact with the smooth skin of his buttocks as I lay there on top of him, jerked convulsively: this was a virgin, and a "straight" one at that! I was intrigued, so I asked "What do you mean - 'when you were brought here'?"
"Look, I was a contender for the welterweight title, but I always knew I was never going to be world champion. So when my manager told me there was better money to be made by taking this contract for two years to come and fight in the Gulf, I did it. I agreed to fight naked, and bare knuckled, as they paid so much more, and I want to make enough to give my nipper a good start in life - it's hard to leave him and his mum, but when I go back I'll never have to fight again...."
"And the fucking?"
"Well, once it was all agreed and I'd got my girlfriend to agree to the separation and everything, they came and told me that there were these occasional 'extra duties'. They kept reminding me how much I was being paid for the two years, and they threw in an extra ten percent when I turned them down flat. It was so much money that I couldn't afford not to go ahead in the end - especially as I'd lost the chance of a couple of good fights because everyone knew I was planning to come and take the job. So I didn't have a lot of choice, did I? Either I agreed to sex with other blokes, or I lost the whole thing. So here I am...."
"So you've never been with another man?"
"No, sir."
"To tell you the truth, what you have told me concerns me somewhat. You're a trained fighter. You're not used to proper sex, and I'm worried that you might react badly... You're younger, fitter, tougher than me...."
"Sir, I made my mind up long ago. Whatever you do will be OK. It's only a few minutes, isn't it? Any man can take that. I mean, I've had teeth drilled without anaesthetic, and that only goes on for a few minutes. It can't be as bad as that, I reckon. I'm just going to lie here, hold the edge of the bed, and bite the pillow to keep my mouth shut and stop me from screaming."
I eased myself up from his body, and slapped one of those delicious buttocks playfully. "It isn't as bad as that, you know! Most men actually like it, once they've tried it. So I'll be gentle, but firm.... and it may go on for a bit longer than just a few minutes!"
I positioned my hand on his buttocks, felt for his hole, and probed at it experimentally with my forefinger. I was pleased to see that he appeared to have been stretched and lubricated, as my finger slipped through his portal relatively easily. And when I drew my hand away there was no trace of shit on me, so he had been properly cleaned out. There was no further point in delay, and so I pulled his buttocks apart, positioned my cock head at his hole, and pushed, gently at first, then harder and harder as I met with unexpected resistance.
"Stop fighting it!", I called out to him. "Pretend you're crapping, and push outwards!"
He must have done the right thing, as the next instant I was through and into him, then slowly and gently I pushed more, so that I was buried right inside with my pubic hairs hard up against him. It was intriguing to watch as I did this - his body was sometimes tense, and sometimes relaxed, and his hands seemed to scrabble frantically at the edges of the bed, as if in some way that would make things better.
As he had seemed a nice enough chap and was, after all, doing this for the benefit of his infant son, I was gentle with him. It had always been my ambition to fuck a virgin really hard, but this simply wasn't the time. I was almost surprised at myself as I pushed slowly, smoothly and gently in and out of him, and even apologised when it became clear that I'd hurt him when I leaned forward and gripped his muscular hips to give myself something to hold on to for greater stability - I had forgotten how badly bruised he was.
There is something very special about taking another man's cherry, as the Americans call it. I suppose it's not as satisfactory from the point of view of the sheer mechanics of sexual activity, as he doesn't know how to respond properly. But as you fuck him, you know that for him this is the first time, and that long after he's forgotten many of the other men who he'll have been with, he will remember you. There's something rather touching about building this tiny piece of immortality for yourself, I think - and I'm sure my readers who have done this too will agree.
In spite of being incredibly slow and gentle, the sheer sensuality of introducing this magnificent specimen of manhood to proper sex made me cum very quickly indeed, and after I had pulled out from him, I turned him over on to his back and lay beside him with my leg thrown casually over his so that I could feel his cock and balls against my skin. He lay there, with his hands underneath his head, and to my amazement I saw that he had tears flowing down his face.
"Surely it didn't hurt that much..."
"It's not that... A fight punishes you much more than that. It's just, well, you know, I've been fucked, had sex with another man..."
"Well....?"
"Well, I'd always been told that was wrong, that it's a sin. Our priest is always quoting the holy scripture about not laying your flesh with that of another man... It's against God's word, isn't it? I wish I'd never taken the money now, as he'll be sure to punish me."
I lay one hand on his magnificent pecs, feeling one of his nipples taughtly erect under my palm. "You actually enjoyed it, didn't you? It was good, wasn't it?"
"Yes, but...."
"No 'buts'! How can something that two men freely do together that gives them both so much pleasure be wrong? Isn't it more likely that your priest is telling you lies?"
"But it's in the bible..."
"Yes, but the bible is just a load of folk tales and - I mean, the whole idea on which it is based is flawed, isn't it? There is no big juju up there in the sky, and if there was, why would he be concerned about what you do? Anyway, people quote it very selectively - doesn't it also say that someone walked on water, that a woman gave birth even though she was a virgin, and that someone who was barbarously killed actually came alive again! I ask you - what sensible person would put any credence in such complete rubbish? Your priest has to, as that's his job. But you and I are both thinking men, capable of making up our own minds, and we both know, don't we, that what just went on here was harmless, and fun?"
"Yes...."
"So don't worry about it. Just enjoy it. And maybe, the next time you see that priest, feel for his cock and see if he's interested in having a beautiful man like you taking an interest in him!"
He smiled, but went on "But I'm going to get married...."
"And so you should. Your son needs parents. But that shouldn't stop you exploring and enjoying other men's bodies, should it?"
"Well...."
"Look, does your girlfriend object to you going out for a few drinks with your friends occasionally, without her?"
"No. She knows men need to shoot the breeze together sometimes. And she goes out with her women friends...."
"Well it's only like more of the same, isn't it? You'll just spend more time exploring your friends' bodies, and less time talking and drinking! It's not as if you'd ever be unfaithful to her, would you? You wouldn't father a child by another woman?"
"No, of course not!"
"Well there's no chance of that if you have a bit of enjoyment with your friends, is there?"
I could see that this argument could go on all night, but I was getting tired and had to be up in the morning for the flight back to London. I leaned over, and kissed him lightly, full on the lips, but did not try to force my tongue in to his mouth when he did not freely open up to me. I did feel his nipple lurch under my palm, though, and my other hand, which I'd let wander down to rest on his cock, reported that he was rampantly erect.
"Anyway, we've broken the ice, so to speak. It's up to you now to make the most of it, and start to enjoy yourself. I'd let you sleep here, but I'm afraid that I wouldn't sleep very much, and I have a full day tomorrow! So run along - why don't you go and find that guy you beat up so comprehensively earlier on, and see if he's interested in doing anything with that magnificent cock of yours?"
Lithe as a panther, with one smooth movement he was on his feet, and fumbled to pull the satin shorts back on. I smiled inwardly as I saw the wet spot forming on the front where his erect cock was thrusting the fabric away from his body, and as he turned and left, there was a spreading dark stain at the rear where I knew my semen must be trickling out from him. It's funny, isn't it - the anal sphincter normally keeps your bodily material safely inside until you decide to let it go - even if it's very liquid. But a few drops of semen in there, and it simply leaks out all over the place.
In spite of the thoughts about the future of the bank that were now whirling around in my brain as a result of today's startling news - I needed to start planning now to capitalise on these astonishing developments - the magic of completely satisfying sex worked its usual wonder and I quickly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, and awoke refreshed and looking forward to the day's challenges as Darren gently roused me with a cup to tea.
I sat up in bed to sip it before starting the day properly, and saw that he was still completely humble and compliant as he stood there, head bowed, waiting for my instructions. The only thing that marked him out as a virile seventeen year old, rather than an older slave, was that he was unable to prevent his cock from betraying his interest in sex, as it started to erect as I stared at it. I wondered whether to get the day off to a good start the day by fucking the boy, but the pleasant memories of the boxer's hard, muscled body and soft, virgin hole still consumed me, and I wanted to continue to enjoy those for the next few days. On the other hand, I'm not a cruel man, and remembering what he had told me about not being allowed to cum unless partaking of sex with a master, I decided to let him experience some of my own mood of happy relaxation after sexual relief.
"Wank yourself, Darren!"
He looked startled, and muttered "Master....?"
"It's simple enough, surely? I told you to wank yourself. I wish to see you cum. No wonder you've been beaten if you do not immediately obey a master's orders..."
He went to lie down, but I snapped "No! Remain standing. Do it here, in front of me. I wish to see you exercise that cock of yours.... Get a move on, and be sure to catch your cum in your other hand as I wish to examine it."
He reached down and began to stroke his erect member, slowly at first, then with increasing vigour. I was interested to see that, like me, he used his left hand, and marked this down as a potentially interesting facet of his nature that I might explore at some later time: it's well known that left handers are generally more intelligent and creative than the population as a whole, with many celebrated scientists, artists and writers who are left handed. Could it be that Darren, under his blunt exterior, was hiding an active and intelligent brain?
My musing was brought to a halt, though, as my interest in his activity increased - now he'd bent his knees forward slightly to give himself a better "grip" on his cock, and his hand was flying up and down the shaft, causing his cock to jerk up and down as his thumb caught on the meaty protruding flange of his cock head. His breathing, too, had become deep, almost ragged, and he was making deep sounds from somewhere inside him that denoted that he was enjoying himself, but that it was hard work.
The grunting noises became louder, then his whole body twitched as he started to cum. Just in time, he brought his right hand up, and stood there, gently squeezing his cock to wring the last traces of enjoyment from his orgasm. His body was covered in sweat, and he held his hand out towards me, so that I could see he big pool of thick, viscous cum filling his palm.
I know it's traditional in "slave literature" for owners to take hold of a pinch of the slave's cum at this point between their thumb and forefinger and "inspect" it for viscosity, texture, and colour. But, on the whole, I tend to think that's fanciful as a quick visual scan of the contents of the palm is all that's needed to assure yourself that the slave is properly virile and healthy. Certainly in Darren's case there was absolutely nothing to complain of in the quantity he had produced, and I told him that he could relax.
He stood there, almost bewildered, looking around for something to wipe his hand with. "On your thigh, Darren! Rub that cum-filled hand up and down your thigh - smear it down your leg... I don't want you dripping it all over the floor!"
He hesitated for a moment, then did as I had commanded. As the cum spread over his skin its special odour almost filled the room, and I could see the hairs on his legs all standing up from their sticky base. For some reason he seemed to be embarrassed about this, and as it was anyway time to get up, I slid out of bed and stood in front of him.
The pistol crack sound of the resounding slap I gave him to his face echoed around the room, and Darren, caught completely off guard, staggered slightly under the impact. I saw the red mark of my hand print appear n his cheek, and just for an instant there was a touch of the old defiance, but fortunately it was eradicated so quickly that I was able to tell myself that I was mistaken (I did not, after all, want him to suffer more beatings and pain).
"Let that be a lesson to you", I told him sternly. "You were embarrassed, weren't you? You need to remember that you're a slave, and there can be no possible cause for a slave ever to suffer embarrassment when he's carrying out his owner's orders. If I want to see your body covered in cum, then you will do just that, quietly and expeditiously, even if there's a room full of people watching you. Nothing a slave can do in executing his owner's instructions should ever be shameful or embarrassing to him. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir."
"Good. Remember that. Now, come and help me in the bath. I am afraid that my resolve might slip if those two college boys make an appearance and I do not really have the time for even a brief sexual adventure this morning."
He behaved perfectly as he helped me bathe, shave and dress, and as a reward I let him sit at my feet as I ate the breakfast that the serving slaves brought in as soon as I picked up the telephone and commanded it - no waiting here, as you so often have to do, even at the most expensive hotels. To show him that I was not displeased with him I even broke off a few crumbs every now and then from the delicious freshly-made warm croissants that I was eating, covered in the exotic wild honey from the desert plants, and fed them to him as he sat there almost underneath the table. Slaves know that this is a singular mark of favour, as any relief from the total monotony of their diets is to be welcomed, but of course you have to be careful not to overindulge them as their stomachs are simply unused to anything other than slave chow, and you do not want unpleasant bowel problems to set in. Darren was properly appreciative of this mark of my returning favour, and even gently clasped my hand so that he could better lick my fingers completely clean of the honey with his delightfully prehensile tongue. I wondered if his education had also included lessons in the proper use of the tongue to pleasure all a master's body, and resolved to find out on the next occasion I was visiting.
In my formal business suit I was again the perfect captain of industry as I strode towards the car to take me to the airport, and Andrew, attired again in a snowy-white "traditional" robe, was there to accompany me as I would expect. Darren had followed me down the stairs to the porte cochere, and I decided to continue to enjoy the spectacle of his body as we drove along, so commanded him into the car, where he crouched where the two slaves had been the previous day.
Andrew and I began to talk serious business as the car sped along, but at some point, to avoid a child, it swerved somewhat and Darren was thrown against our legs. Andrew was incensed, and kicked out at the lad as he lay at our feet, and I could see the ugly bruises appearing on his skin where Andrew's shoes had made their mark.
"These slaves need harsh discipline", Andrew told me, without a care for Darren. "Next time, he'll be more careful to enure he has a good purchase and not allow himself to be thrown around, inconveniencing us. That's the secret of my success - proper discipline for the slaves... And, of course...." He lowered his voice, and bent towards me so that only I could hear - not even Darren, and certainly not the driver "....it's the same with the sheikh. A little discipline, and he's mine!"
"What on earth do you mean, Andrew?"
"It's like this, sir. I began to notice that no one ever touched the sheikh. I assume he fucked slaves - well, I know he did, as I watched him, on occasion, but I thought he was just going through the motions: it was kind of expected of him, it seemed. No one ever dared initiate sex with him, and certainly no one ever dared try to fuck him: he always had to make the running."
"There's a fundamental problem, isn't there, sir, about the way you act in life generally, and what you like in sex? I think you're lucky, as you're always in charge at work, for example, and also like to be in control during sex. But for a lot of really successful businessmen, it can be more relaxing, and a lot more fun, to 'let go', to relinquish control, and to let someone else make the running. It can be hard for them, as the other guy sees someone who's really got it made, nice house, big car, all that stuff, and he might not make the right moves to get in there and really control the guy, to fuck him until his brains shake! It seemed to me that the sheikh might be like that - he's always had to take charge, always been the ruler, or the ruler's son, and so no one has ever dared to even suggest that he might like to take cock.
So all his life he's had to fuck the slaves, when what he really wanted to do was just lie there and feel a nice hard cock up his ass!"
"Anyway, I decided to risk everything. And after we'd both spent a very pleasant evening fucking a couple of slaves, I asked him to dismiss them, and leave us alone. He was totally surprised then when I pulled his clothes off him, slapped him a couple of times to give him the idea that I was in charge, ordered him onto his knees, then fucked the shit out of him - literally, as of course he'd not been cleaned. It was a huge risk, I know, but after the first couple of moments, once I saw how readily he obeyed orders, I just knew it was going to be OK."
"It turns out he really likes to be dominated and controlled during sex. I was invited back the next night for another dinner, and I told him to dismiss the servants immediately. I fucked him before we ate, and afterwards, and when I went to take him a third time, he said 'no'. So I slapped his face hard, as it wasn't his choice, was it? Then I pushed him face down over one of those cushions, and gave him a good caning with one of the canes that's always lying around to punish slaves - I didn't break the skin or anything, just hit him hard enough so that he'd know that he wasn't to argue with me when I needed sex. Then I fucked him, and I had to really force his head down into the cushion to stop him squealing as my body slapped into his tenderised ass, as I was a bit worried that the guards might rush in."
"And it's gone on from there - he knows that I make all the running with sex, and he actually tries to argue with me sometimes until I punish him: he likes pain, really, and again, no one had ever dared slap him, or cane him, or punch him in the guts."
"Once he understood that he was my plaything for sex, and that secretly he enjoyed being the underdog, the rest was easy. I told him to do a piece of business one day, and when he didn't, I caned him. And well, to cut a long story short, I wondered how he could be of most use to the Bank, and you've seen the result!"
"You mean you caned him, until he appointed us as the new central bank?", I asked in astonishment.
"Well, you could put it like that, I suppose. I'd prefer to say that as a reward for prostituting myself, I was given a most interesting new business contract. And it's not all that much fun for me, you know, sir... I actually prefer men my own age or younger, and sometimes it's difficult to get the enthusiasm to fuck an old guy.... No disrespect, sir. So it's not all fun for me, and I look to you to take that into account when you're determining next year's bonus...."
I suppose I could understand how the sheikh felt. Sometimes, just occasionally, I tired of all the efforts I had to make to run everything, and would like someone else to take charge. I suppose it must be the ultimate relaxation, after a day of ordering the affairs of the world, just to lie back in bed and let the other guy take charge. I contemplated - briefly - trying it, but then remembered how much I enjoyed the sensation of power, domination and control that I got from skewering another man on my cock, and my thoughts moved on.
"Well, Andrew, there is something you can do for me, then. I still harbour the most passionate erotic thoughts about a certain group of four identical slaves that the sheikh had. No men I have seen since have interested me so much, but he unfortunately had to send them off down his mines.... I would like you to get them back, and have them brought to your house for my next visit. It will be difficult, mind - the sheikh is particularly concerned to keep these slaves a 'secret'... you'll need to use all your powers of persuasion..."
Andrew just grinned at me as I said this, and I wondered just exactly how much "persuasion" he would need to administer to the sheikh.
THE SLAVE'S STORY
I just couldn't bear it. The thought that Matt was going to kill Marc later that day. We toiled away, as usual, but my mind was obsessed. I thought of all the good times I'd had with Marc, and I knew that this was the end - I'd never see him again, or feel his body against mine. It's about the only time that I wished I believed in those silly stories about life after death, in heaven - the thought of being able to fuck Marc for ever and ever, in the big juju land in the sky, actually became vaguely appealing. But I was still too much of a rationalist to allow this to happen to me, and I knew that we were doing the only thing possible in the circumstances - we'd all die if we didn't dispose of Marc, who was totally unable to fulfil the work quota. And whilst our life here was a living hell, at least we were alive, and there always was the possibility of rescue.
All day I kept thinking about what was to happen. How was I going to say goodbye to Marc? Should I attempt to get through to him one more time, and explain what we had to do? Should I actually be there when Matt snapped his neck? I wasn't sure that I could stand the prospect of having his magnificent body, that body that I had enjoyed on so many occasions, slump lifelessly against me. But, on the other hand, I couldn't abandon him in those last moments, could I? Whatever I did I knew it would haunt me for the rest of my days - if I stayed, my last memory of him would be awful; and if I left it all up to Matt, I'd know I'd failed my lover at that last crucial moment. It was another variation of that age-old human dilemma - would you prefer your lover to die suddenly of a heart attack, or an accident: you don't get to say goodbye, but you have strong memories of the "good times"; or would you prefer him to die a long, lingering death, so you have time to tie up all the loose ends of your life, but might be left with your last memories of him as being a pale husk of his former self?
I knew what I had to do, of course. And as we trudged our way towards the shaft, I touched Matt lightly on the arm and told him that he wasn't to kill Marc. He started to protest, saying that there was no going back on the agreed plan now, but I cut him short. "No, Matt. You don't understand. Marc's the special one for me. I owe it to him. I'll do it."
Matt hugged me, pulled me close, and said "No, Steve! You don't know how.... I learned, in the marines..."
"Then you'll just have to teach me, Matt. It can't be that difficult, if they could teach you!". Even now, there was that bond between all of us that made it possible to infuse our horrible situation with a tiny bit of humour. And there was a shred of truth in it - Matt was strong, fit, virile, but not the brightest spark in the pack - typical army fodder, to work hard, and obey.
We walked the last few hundred yards with my arm around Marc, who shambled along in that terrible zombie-like way we had become accustomed to. As we saw the faint glow of the lift chamber in the distance, I stopped and told Matt and Ray to go on, as I needed to be alone with Marc to do this. They wanted to stay, saying we were all in this together, but I needed one last special time to be alone with Marc.
I watched them moving off towards the light, leaving us in darkness, a terrible darkness from which Marc would never emerge. Tears were streaming down my face as I kissed him for one last time, and ran my hands over the planes of his body, that body that had caused me so much pleasure - no, joy.
Matt has shown me how to sandwich his neck between my to two forearms, and I did this now, still pressing my body against his. I knew I had to do it. It was the only way. I braced myself... And then heard shouting.
It was Matt and Ray, and my instinct was to do the deed there and then, to let Marc slip into death with just me tending to him, rather than all four of us. Then to my utter astonishment I heard that we were saved!
End Of Part Thirteen