FOUR THE SAME by Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part Five
I was just about to start my very early morning meeting with my host, the Sheikh, when my mobile phone went off. This is very unusual, as it is my rule to always delegate properly before I leave, and I do not expect my subordinates to disturb me when I am visiting a client, especially such an important client as this. It was my trusted personal assistant, telling me that certain key meetings at the bank had been altered at very short notice, and that, politically, it would be very desirable for me to return as soon as possible. I explained that it was impossible to alter my schedule as although my meeting with the Sheikh was just about to start, the only flights back to London were in the late afternoon.
His call caused me some disquiet, however: our current Chairman was in the age band at which he might be expected to retire, and it was my intention to campaign vigorously to lead the company. I could not help feeling that these changes of meeting time were designed to further the candidacy of my rival, a much younger, aggressive marketeer, who had only joined us from one of our rivals a few years before.
As we breakfasted on sweet fresh bread, honey, yoghurt, figs and dates, the Sheikh and I exchanged pleasantries. I told him of the deception that his slaves had played on me earlier, and he at once ordered all four of them to be taken to be flogged for their discourtesy - but when I explained how perfect the experience had been for me, and how he ought to be proud that his slaves were so utterly at ease with themselves, and with their understanding of their owner's guests, he broke into a huge smile and rescinded the order. It was instructive for me to see how the man thought nothing of ordering a flogging or beating for even such valuable, prize slaves as these if he thought that they had in any way not performed properly - truly, owning men must be the ultimate in the exercise of power.
We went on to discuss how he had made ten million dollars on the bet with his cousin, but that this had not been the real reason for acting - it was the long-standing friendly rivalry between the two relations that had meant that these four slaves had had their lives torn part when they were "taken" and re-trained into their new role. How amazing to think that these four men had been living out their regular lives one moment, and then the next minute had their destinies utterly altered, just to satisfy the needs of two rich, powerful men continuing with their childhood rivalry.
I suppose we don't realise sometimes how thin is the thread that connects us to our comfortable lives. We may feel we have jobs, money in the bank, nice homes, stable long-term relationships - but a shift in the world economy, a devastating illness, or even something as trivial as a partner discovering a sexual adventure, can bring it all crashing down. These four slaves, living out their normal lives and contemplating a bright future for themselves, could not have imagined that in order to best his cousin in a bet the Sheikh would have caused those threads to snap and their lives to be changed for ever.
The Sheikh was in fact delighted to receive my praise, and to hear further evidence that his trainers had done such an excellent job in converting the four slaves to "clones", and with this excellent frame of mind conditioning his actions, our business was concluded swiftly to our mutual satisfaction and benefit. He asked me what I was planning to do before the London flight later that evening, and of course offered me the use of the palace and slaves for my further entertainment. I thanked him, but explained that I would be spending most of my time on the phone, attempting to understand the "politics" that were being played out in my absence, and sensing my unease, asked me more about it. He at once commiserated with me, and smilingly told me how much simpler it was the undisputed hereditary ruler of his country, with complete and absolute power over men's lives: he did not envy for one moment the political "games" I had to go through in order to continue to exercise the power I had (which, in any event, whilst in some areas was much greater than his, in others was far, far more feeble. I might be able to make economies shake, or have thousands of families fear for their economic future, but he could order the flesh of his slaves to be used in any way that he chose, without any hindrance).
When I explained how much easier it would be for me to have these discussions face to face, he at once ordered his private plane to be made ready for me, and insisted I fly back immediately. With a wolfish grin he said "My friend, I think we both enjoy playing games... For you it is the world of business, for me it is bending the will of men so that they become perfect slaves. Perhaps that is why we get on so well!"
We made certain other business arrangements then, and a limousine rushed me to the airport, a police escort clearing away all the other traffic as you would expect when one of the Sheikh's cars was in a hurry. Imagine my surprise when, on boarding, I found the four slaves already in the luxuriously furnished cabin, awaiting my pleasure.
THE SLAVE'S STORY
We were all exercising that morning after we'd fooled the old English guy - we weren't able to discuss it amongst ourselves, of course, but I could tell from the smiles on the faces of my colleagues and the little ways they moved their bodies slightly differently that we were all thinking about it still. The look of surprise on his face, then the way it changed to amusement, and finally the way that he'd joined in with us in really appreciating the joke, had been fun for us, too. Some of the men that use us just treat us like dumb animals, demanding complete obedience from us and being completely unconcerned about whether we are enjoying the experience or not - well, I suppose that's what pleasure slaves are for. But when a client really appreciates us, and truly joins in, then for both of us the pleasure and enjoyment is vastly increased, I think.
The old guy was a real English gentleman, and once he'd overcome his surprise at having four studs like us at his total beck and call, he participated with an enthusiasm that is rare even from a man half his age. That is what had given us the confidence to talk to him, rather than just have him use us, and why we'd been able to go on and demonstrate to him so conclusively that we really were identical, as far as any outside tests could determine.
It was rare that our routine altered, and when one of the trainers received a message on his radio and at once came over and told us to go and prepare ourselves, we were all wondering what had happened. It was the standard preparation routine that we always went through before going into service: an enema with three changes of water to ensure that we were perfectly clean inside, re-shaving by the young slave boys to ensure our skin was perfectly smooth all over, then a shower, a light oiling to give our skin that agreeable sheen that only perfectly hairless, smooth flesh can display, and finally stretching and lubrication, to ensure that should the client wish to fuck one of us immediately, we would be able to accommodate him without causing him - or us - undue pain and difficulty.
Normally we would then have gone up to one of the guest suites in the palace, or perhaps the client would have come down to observe us working out. Instead, quite differently from anything that had happened to us before, we were taken out to the delivery yard and loaded into the back of a slave transporter, the in-built shackles holding us firmly in position on the narrow benches.
We could see the city speeding by outside the van through the tiny window openings - from the noise of sirens it was clear that we were being "expressed" through the traffic by a police escort, and we wondered what was about to happen to us. We knew, of course, that we would be taken out of the place and sold one day when our owner decided that we were past our "sell by" date, and we were alarmed: it was probable that we would be split up and sold as individuals, rather than being kept together as a group, as there were few men as wealthy as our owner who could afford to provide so many pleasure slaves for his guess. We were all saddened as we thought of this, as we really liked each other and had been through so much as a group. We sat with our arms around each other to give each other as much comfort as we could, knowing that, perhaps, this was the last time that we would have such intimate contact with each other. We were forbidden to speak, of course, and so we huddled there just getting sadder and sadder. It seemed so unfair that our master could have such total control over our lives, and could order that our relationship could be shattered as if it was worthless. You know that although I like all three of my "brothers", I've got a special regard and affection for Marc, roguish Marc who, within the confines of the slave's life, manages to be more daring and innovative than the rest of us! Perhaps, even if the four of us were split up, it might be contrived that Marc and I could stay together? I could only hope, as I was powerless to influence events.
We were expecting to go to the major slave auction barn that we'd been told about in the city, but instead our transporter went up the ramp to the freeway and sped towards the airport. Had we been sold to a foreigner? Who else in the world could own slaves like us? Slaves all gossip about terrible black despots in far African kingdoms, and, of course the ever-hungry organ banks run by the South Americans - surely neither of these were the fates awaiting us? Our sense of doom and foreboding increased as the transporter stopped by the rear entrance of what seemed to be our owner's private jet - one of the new 777s for his personal use. We were unshackled and herded up the steps, and I'm sure that my "brothers", like me, now thought we were being flown off for sale.
It was with some surprise, therefore, that we were taken into the main cabin and not kept in the cargo hold as we might have expected.
We'd all been on big airliners before in our previous life, of course, but this was completely different: the cabin was unlike anything we'd seen before, as there were no serried ranks of seats. Instead, it looked like a luxurious living room in a modern, contemporary home. No expense had evidently been spared in the choice of thick leather couches, beautiful silk rugs and fine oak panelling and floors.
Our head trainer appeared, and stood looking at us.
"Right, you boys. Your owner's guest from last night was going to enjoy you further this afternoon, but has to return to London urgently. Your owner has decided that he deserves to be distracted from the cares of the world during the flight, and so instead of the normal movies, you boys are the in-flight entertainment! I expect you to perform to your regular high standards, and the unusual venue should indeed spur you on to even greater heights."
"There is a problem, of course, in that your tracker chips will cease to function properly when you are out of the country, and in spite of your training we cannot be certain that you might be tempted to escape when in London wit the thought of "freedom" so tantalisingly close. Consequently you are going to be shackled to the superstructure of the aircraft, and will need to take special care when with your client to ensure that you do not entangle either him, or yourselves, in the chains!"
On his command a small silk rug was pulled to one side by a steward, and a trap door opened in the smooth wooden floor. Four chains, with standard manacles on the ends, were unreeled and secured around our left ankles. Our trainer then bend down to check for himself that we were secure, then gave us a final admonishment to behave, and left.
We crowded around the windows, and saw a large limousine drive up to the front steps. A few minutes later the Englishman we'd been with the night before was shown in, and it almost made us burst out with laughter to see the look of utter surprise, bordering almost on complete shock, on his face! We of course all knelt and salaamed in front of him, but even as we did, the plane's captain was asking him to take a seat for take off.
Well, what can I tell you about that flight? After his initial shock at seeing us, and when he'd eaten a light lunch and taken a glass of champagne, the Englishman sat and watched with an air of keen interest as we performed one of our routines - not that it was easy, as we're used to being "free" to move as we wish, and now we had to remember to keep checking that our chains were not becoming terribly tangled up. Afterwards, it didn't take much to cajole and tease the man into taking his clothes off and joining us, and it was a novel experience to lie naked on the leather of the couches as he played with us.
Whenever I've travelled before the lavatories on aircraft have always been really tiny, but when we were about an hour out from London an announcement form the captain prompted the Englishman to begin to dress, we found there was a luxurious tiled shower area. It seemed almost bizarre to have the four of us washing and ministering to him as we sped over France, then gently drying him as we began our final approach into London.
The four of us looked out of the windows as his chauffeured car sped him away from the plane. We were so close, and yet so far, from freedom. No local people were allowed on the plane, as you might expect, and we just had to stand there, looking our forlornly, as the plane was refuelled ready to take us back to our normal life as slaves. Somehow it seemed harder to accept our status when we knew that "freedom" was so close, and yet so unattainable.
THE BANKER
It was exceptionally kind of the Sheikh to offer me his jet, and I knew that I could now make a late afternoon meeting at our head office. I was expecting to work during the flight, or, as that might prove difficult as my mind was full of the plots and counter plots that my fellow executives were considering and executing, at the very least I expected to sit in quiet contemplation of the Bank's business and my role in it.
I'd been on a private jet before, of course - indeed ,the Bank has one for its most senior staff and I sometimes use it. But I was not expecting a full size 777! Ours is just an executive Learjet, but even that is very comfortable and luxurious. Nothing had prepared me for the sight of the huge, richly furnished saloon, however, and especially not the four naked slaves who were salaaming in front of me as I entered!
There was no prospect of working, or even of thinking about office politics, as the four men entertained me after take off. It added a new level of excitement to see them performing chained to the floor - I suppose I had become accustomed to the idea of slaves and slavery, but somehow, seeing the men shackled like this, it really brought it home to me that these were truly "different". I'd always wondered why some men liked leather, chains, cuffs and bondage, as personally I just like to feel another man's body against mine and really only want "vanilla" sex, but as the chains rattled and as I saw how completely helpless the men were if they were not released, it somehow seemed even more arousing than usual.
As in-flight entertainment I can wholeheartedly recommend sex with four athletic studs, all of whom have been trained to bring complete satisfaction to their client. All thoughts of my problems and concerns disappeared as they lay with me and brought me to shattering climaxes several times. And, no, I do not know which of the four I did actually fuck - I did ask, but they smiled and refused to tell me! We played our games from the night before, and whilst I could have commanded them to tell me, I suppose, it seemed somehow much more erotic to continue in this rather "anonymous" way. After all, they were so alike, and any of them could, and would, do anything, so did it matter?
Having my body further pampered in the huge tiled shower area was a further novel experience - I shuddered to think of the cost of building this facility on an aircraft, and in carrying sufficient water (which weighs a lot!) To enable us to fully enjoy it. There must have been ingenious mechanisms to suck the water away and allow no spillage as the plane moved, but these were not apparent beneath the fine tiled surfaces. Somehow, being able to stroke and fondle exceptional male bodies when they are soapy and wet is even better than the same flesh dry, don't you think? I suspect that, had we not been about to land, that I might have enjoyed the four slaves once more. I've told you that I find it difficult on occasions to perform the sex act as frequently and with a much vigour as I used to when I was much younger, but today there seemed to be none of these problems as the sheer eroticism o f the men, the location, and their skill, brought back to me those days of my youth.
The 777 had to land at Heathrow, of course, and I was faced with a frustrating ninety minute journey across rush-hour London to our HQ. Bu here again my host the Sheikh had thought of everything, and in a secluded area of the airport I went down the steps and straight into a waiting helicopter that whisked me to the roof of our building, at Canary Wharf. It is of course illegal to fly helicopters so close to those office towers, but the pilot assured me that the Sheikh was more than adequately compensating him for the admonishment and fine that he might receive from the authorities, and, were he to lose his licence as a result of this trip, that would not be a particular problem! Such are the ways of the ultra rich I suppose.
My colleagues in the board room were exceptionally surprised to see me, as it was clear that they expected me to be "trapped" with the Sheikh. There were embarrassed shufflings of the board papers, discrete greetings, half-hidden signals around the room.... And I soon discovered that the business of the whole meeting was designed to further the ambitions of my rival. Indeed, had I not been there, such shifts in power and responsibility would have been implemented that his succession would have been almost a fait accompli. My skilful arguing and the shift in politics that my presence might have signalled to some of my colleagues, managed to get much of the proposed agenda modified or voted down, and, rather late in the afternoon, I returned to my own office suite to thank my assistant for his timely warning.
We worked on until about seven and then, as it was a warm spring evening, I decided to walk back to my apartment - my London home is the penthouse floor of one of the residential towers and it is a few minutes on foot from our office lobby. One of the bank's chauffeurs normally drives me, though, as this is the "done thing" for senior executives, as it encourages the others leaving the building to strive even harder in their careers (or so the theory goes!).
As you probably know, the massive office and residential development to the East of the city was built "as a piece" in the heart of a very run down residential an former industrial area. On the immaculately maintained streets you see normally only those who live and work in the towers, dressed for business and scurrying around as city folk do. However sometimes local residents from the "slum" areas who surround us do penetrate, and as I strolled along that evening I saw one of these, a young skateboarder, heading towards me.
You do see these people from time to time, and the local newspaper was full of reports of these young men's threatening behaviour. Cycling, roller skating and skate boarding is of course forbidden along the broad pedestrian walkways of the complex, but, as one might expect, this lad was paying no heed to this. I anticipated that he would swerve to avoid me, and he, oh his part, clearly expected me to give way and step aside for him! As we got closer and closer our eyes met, and I could see him trying to stare me down. Well, that wasn't going to happen, was it? I strode on, and of course he gave way at the last minute - but too late! He lost his balance and careered into me, knocking me off my feet. As I lay on the ground, far from trying to help me, he stood there heaping abuse on me and my "type" (the rich?), and seemed more concerned about damage to his board than any injury he might have caused me!
Fortunately there is a private security company active everywhere in the complex, and their operatives soon came up. The skater ran off, still hurling abuse, and I was helped to my feet. It was clear as I stood up that I was in serious trouble as my left arm hung limp and was extremely painful. The wanted to call me an ambulance, and I shuddered inwardly at being taken to some ghastly public emergency facility. I had to be fairly insistent that they should help me back to our HQ, where I ordered one of the chauffeurs to drive me to a private hospital.
Setting my arm was not particularly painful, but it was irksome to have it plastered up and in a sling, even though they used the new lightweight plastic fittings. At a time when I was fighting a battle for my professional life I could have done without this distraction and encumbrance, but, as it turned out, it ended up as a slight advantage: younger colleagues who might have doubted my courage and fortitude saw how I continued to work, and to fight my corner hard and belligerently, and became convinced that I did have the powers needed to lead our mighty organisation in these troubled times.
It was about two months before I could free my diary so that I was again able to visit the Sheikh, a visit prompted, I hasten to add, by my need to have private talks with our largest customer, and largest shareholder, rather than by my desire to again experience the four identical slaves (although, of course, I was expecting to be offered their services by my host!).
My sling was off, and my arm was only now painful if I made certain movements, and I had almost forgotten about the incident with the young skater. The Sheikh had commented about my sling when we had had one of our regular video conference sessions, and I had briefly recounted the story to him. He seemed amazed at my calm acceptance o the fact that the lad would not be punished - even had the police bothered to trace him, which was doubtful, his lawyers would have pleaded "accident" and there would have been little sympathy for a rich banker's injuries, even though the lad had been blatantly breaking the bye-laws of the complex by using his board at all!
We had good meetings, and my triumph was complete: the Sheikh agreed to swing his votes behind me as the new Chairman, and once other major institutional shareholders knew that this was where the smart money was going, I felt certain that I would win the succession battle.
After our business was concluded, I expected to be entertained, as before, by some exotic display, probably to include the four slaves who I was intrigued to meet again. But my host had not lost the ability to shock and amaze me: after we had dined with a few of his confidantes, the doors of the banqueting hall were thrown open and two armed guards dragged in a young guy - he looked only to be sixteen or so.
The lad was clearly not an Arab, and was dressed in the casual uniform of Western youth - low-slung Jeans hanging precipitously onto his hips and threatening to fall to the floor at any moment, grey "designer" boxer shorts revealed by this, trainers, a sweat shirt with some semi-obscene slogan, and a peaked baseball cap, worn with the peak turned to the back. As he was half dragged, half "encouraged" across the marble floor of the huge room, I had a flash of recognition: this was the young thug on the skateboard who had injured me those few weeks ago! What on earth was he doing here?
I felt a flash of anger run through me - an emotion that I do not normally exhibit as it is simply futile:
much better to conserve ones energies for revenge. But this youth had been so callous, especially in leaving me lying there as his foul mouth had abused me, that even I could not help feeling this emotion, briefly.
He stood in front of the Sheikh and me, and a flash of recognition came to him as he saw me sitting there. At once he began to shout, a torrent of foul invective coming to us.
"Silence!", the Sheikh ordered, and when the lad did not comply the Sheikh seemed genuinely surprised - he was unaccustomed to being disobeyed! As the young punk continued to shout and swear, the Sheikh signalled, and one of the guards cut him a stinging blow across his exposed shoulders with a long, thin cane. The "swish" of the cane through the air and the "slap" noise as it landed were immediately followed by a cry first of shock, then of outrage, and finally of pain, from the skater.
"Now, remain silent", the Sheikh commanded, "Or my guards will take you out, thrash you into silence, and then drag you back in here."
I'm sure that the lad had not even considered the possibility of any form of physical punishment - in England, after all, we banned the last vestiges of this over half a century ago. And even things like prison sentences for young punks was now a rarity. This lad had probably never had anyone lay a hand of him during his whole life, and he was probably also used to doing exactly as he wanted, when he wanted, and quite unused to the idea of obeying orders.
"This is the young skater who assaulted you, my friend", the Sheikh went on, turning casually to me. "My agents studied the security tapes of the incident and soon identified him. We do not understand why the police in your country did not punish him, even when we denounced him to them, and so I have decided that he must be punished here: it is unacceptable for a youth like this to injure a good friend of me, and my country."
"Thank you, but I don't think...."
"I have decided, my friend. The lad is to be punished - or should I perhaps say that the man is to be punished, as he had his sixteenth birthday last week. I have decided. He had been brought here, and ,after punishment, will become one of my slaves."
"NO...!" The skater started to scream, until a further slashing stroke across his back silenced him. He looked pathetic standing there in front of us, whimpering and snivelling and trying to rub his body to relieve the pain he was experiencing. I felt almost sorry for him, in a way.
"I will not tell you again", the Sheikh cut in. "If you say one more word, I will have your tongue cut out."
Turning to me, he continued "In fact, as it is you he has injured, I am gifting him to you as your personal slave."
I reeled with shock. It was ridiculous, of course. How on earth could I own a a slave, in London? But the Sheikh was an important ally now in my fight to control the bank, and I could not risk upsetting him in any way. So I looked grateful, and said "You are so astonishingly generous and thoughtful, your highness! To go to all this trouble for me, and then to give the man to me as a gift - a youth like this, with a pleasing body, is surely a gift whose worth I cannot hope to properly appreciate. But there are certain practical difficulties...."
"Quite so, my friend. I had imagined that you would leave the slave safely lodged here, and would use him on your visits... Now, perhaps you'd like to inspect my gift in more detail?"
He looked at the skater then, in a calm voice said "Remove your clothes. Your new owner and I wish to inspect your body, and decide what further training you are to receive..."
"No way! You fucking perverts! No way I'm going to strip in front of you....."
The swish of the cane and the thwack as it again landed across his shoulders turned his outburst into a cry, and a set of snivels and moans as he stood there, futilely trying to rub at his back. The Sheikh continued to stare at him in that way he looked at all his slaves, so totally in control, so used to giving orders, and in having them obeyed.
Both I and the young lad saw the cane being raised again, and he made a kind of "fending off" gesture with his hands. Then, realising the hopelessness of his situation, he started to tug at his sweatshirt, and, with huge reluctance, slowly pulled it over his head.
He had a milky white body - you could clearly see the line between the sun tan on his neck and the pale colour of his shoulders and chest He was quite well developed for a lad of his age, and his dark aureoles and nipples were perhaps enhanced by the lack of colour in his skin. There was a tiny patch of wiry black hair on his chest, and a thin trail of it ran down across his flat belly to enter the top of his underwear, looking rather enticing as it led the eye downwards.
The Sheikh commanded him to turn around, and I almost gasped as I saw the three deep red stripes where the cane had cut across his shoulders: the skin had not been broken, so there was no blood, but the marks that were there certainly looked painful.
"You may continue...", I heard the Sheikh say, and clearly the lad was very unhappy as he reached down to undo the buckle on the belt of his low-slung Jeans. He had to take his trainers off, of course, to be able to ease his Jeans over his long feet, and we were treated to the spectacle of his lithe body hopping around from foot to foot as he did this - we could admire the subtle interplay of the lad's musculature as he gyrated in front of us.
He looked mildly pathetic as he then stood in front of us in his boxers - the type favoured by young lads because of the large letters of the brand name running around the thick elastic waist band, which the low-slung Jeans usually reveals. The elasticated cotton clinging to his thighs did however serve to emphasise their slim muscularity, and there was a promise of things to come as we observed the shadowy outline of his penis and testicles, nestling in the smooth fabric.
"Continue...", my host commanded.
"No, please..... Please don't make me do this....."
This time the cane cut viciously across the buttocks of the lad. Without the protection of his Jeans, it must really have hurt as he gave a loud howl of pain. I could see tears running down his face as his hands fumbled at his waistband, then pushed the boxers down over his hips. He stepped out of them, and stood there in front of us, covering his genitals with his hands in that kind of embarrassed way that you sometimes see men doing.
It took another slash of the cane, this time on buttocks which were now completely bare, to get the lad to obey the Sheikh's order to raise his hands, and now the tears were indeed streaming down his face. He looked utterly pathetic, nude except for his baseball cap which he had kept on for some reason, even going to the trouble to rearrange it after he'd' removed his sweat shirt. His penis was however exciting - it lay on top of reasonably low-hanging balls, and was plump and appropriately sized. We couldn't see his cock head, as it was covered by a long, pale foreskin. And the thatch of black pubic hair that covered the whole area made it difficult to accurately observe the full beauty of the man.
I'm not normally attracted to very young men, as my preferred sexual partners are in their late twenties upwards, but somehow the utter helplessness of this lad, forced to reveal his virgin body to us, stirred me. My erection was almost painful as it strained at my underwear, and as he rotated in front of us and I saw the really bright red marks across his perfectly white buttocks, I knew that I would be soiling myself with the pre-cum leaking from me. From the rear he had the classic "V" of the shoulders tapering to a trim waist, and then his buttocks were proud and firm.
He was, I saw, relatively long-legged, and that within his overall above-average height his body was well proportioned and muscular. My mind was imagining how he would develop as he got a few years older - although a highly desirable young man now, I always think that it's in their later teens and early twenties that men develop their final musculature, turning them from the kind of erotic playthings featured in ancient sculpture into proper, fully-developed males capable of hard, sustained work.
"So, my friend, do you like what you see?", the Sheikh asked. I was so wrapped up in my observation of the boy and my contemplation of how perfect he was, and how much more perfect he could become, that I failed to answer. Yo know how it is - you hear a question, but somehow it's too much effort to formulate a reply.
"Ah, my friend, I see you do.... "
"Yes... Very much. Your four identical slaves are normally the body types that I find most arousing, but this boy, somehow....."
"Filthy perverts!", the lad shouted out, very unwisely, as he heard us talking.
"Punish him properly, with six strokes", the Sheikh commanded. "And spread his body taught, for maximum effect."
As we had been talking the four identical slaves had come into the room and salaamed to their owner and me.
I had been so preoccupied with the sight of the young lad that I'd hardly noticed them, but now the contrast between their tanned, muscled mature bodies and the lad's pale, youth-like shape made the whole scene even more erotic. At once one of the four identical slaves knelt down, tucking in his knees and elbows to form a squat shape on the floor. One of the others simply threw the lad across the first slave's bare back and held him there, and the guard proceeded to administer the punishment - there was something very thrilling about the sound of the cane as it flew through the air, the louder noise as it hit the boy's bare buttocks, and the subsequent howl of anguish. After the first stroke there was almost a continuous noise of screaming and wailing from the lad, and after the last stroke had been administered he seemed almost unable to remain silent. I could see his body heaving as his lungs sucked in great draughts of air, and the sound of his sobbing filled the chamber.
Two of the four slaves now lifted him up and held his arms, and he was "exhibited" to us in his pitiable state. Not only were his buttocks now criss-crossed wit the cane marks, causing me to be totally aroused, but his caning had had the same effect on the boy as observing it had had on me: his penis, previously just lying languid, was now erect. Like a lot of young men, his erection was so strong that the shaft of the penis was raised way above the horizontal, and indeed was almost parallel to his belly. What was equally exciting was that his foreskin had retracted, and, contrasting with the milky white of his skin, his cock head was a deep shade of pink, glistening under the lights from its coating of sweat and pre-cum.
"See, my friend", the Sheikh said conversationally. "Sometimes it takes a little encouragement to really arouse a new slave....". Turning to the four identical slaves he continued "Take the new slave away
and prepare him for his master. All four of you should take him to our guest's chamber tonight, as the slave is not properly trained yet and some assistance might be required."
End Of Part Five