THE INSTRUMENT
By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part Ten
For the next few months then this was my life - pulling the cart with either Marc, or the Sheikh, or both (very hard indeed, given the huge bulk of the Sheikh!), around the demesne, and then, most evenings, having Jason fuck me hard, whether I wanted it or not.
Perhaps I should say "especially if I didn't want it", as Jason seemed to take a particular delight in fucking me against my will. You all know how it is - some nights you're just so totally exhausted that you don't want sex, and all I needed to do was to flop down on the straw and crash out. But Jason seemed to be indefatigable - he wanted to fuck every night. I suppose it was his age, as I remember I was more like that when I was younger.
I didn't like Jason all that much, even though we were fellow slaves and in the same desperate condition. Apart from the forced fucking of me, he wasn't particularly clean in his habits - I've told you how we were expected to piss in the straw in our stall, and crap there if we had to, and it seemed obvious to me that it would be best to reserve one corner for when we needed to piss, so only that part got to stink of it. And as for crapping - well, we were fed regularly, and always fed the sale slave chow and fruit, so I found it easy to establish a "routine" whereby I crapped in the morning as they were cleaning us for the day in the showers. But not Jason, oh no: he just crapped whenever he wanted to, and some nights therefore I had to endure lying there with a big pile of his droppings on the straw that was our bed. This whole casual attitude to pissing and crapping extended to when he was "working", too - I always tried to hold my piss in until the cart was free and then tried to do it discretely (not always successfully, as I've told you when I was tethered at the entrance to the palace - but at least I tried!). And as for crapping in public - well, as I've said, it was easy to get into a routine and this was never necessary. Jason though just pissed whenever he wanted to, even if he was walking or trotting along, and didn't seem to mind his piss spraying anywhere and covering his legs. And on several occasions when we were tethered together I watched in horror as he casually dropped a big turd where we were standing!
He didn't make any effort to be a "buddy", either. I know he wasn't all that bright as he'd gone into the marines straight from school and hadn't gone to college, but, even so, a couple of guys can always talk a bit, can't they? But once he'd fucked me he hardly even bothered to grunt replies to my efforts at conversation, and just lay there with a smile on his face.
Strangely, he seemed to want to be "close" to me when we were sleeping. When he did speak he was always telling me he wasn't a fag, and that there was no way that he'd fuck a guy like me if there was a woman available. And yet, when we did lie there to sleep, he kind of "spooned up" to me, pressing his hairy chest into my back, nestling his cock into my ass crack, and putting one of his strong arms across me, with his hand resting on my belly. It did seem a bit strange, frankly - I mean I used to enjoy lying with a guy if I chose to sleep with him, but I've never made any secret of liking guys (well, that's not absolutely true, as I'll tell you later, but once I'd "come out" it certainly was).
The only time Jason ever spoke much was on those weekly occasions when we were put in with the drays. For some reason - perhaps they thought having the six big niggas fuck us would further humiliate and control us - once a week we were not tethered in our own stall, but our ankle shackles were instead fastened to the loop in the stall where the drays usually slept. When the drays came in it must have been thought that they'd fall on us and fuck us, and we'd be powerless to resist. The first night this happened and Jason and I were there waiting for them, I was pretty worried, I can tell you - the drays had looked really fierce when they'd seen me enslaved, as I've told you, and I thought they'd take revenge on me for having had them under my complete control before.
When the drays arrived, though, Jason turned to me and growled "I'm having that one first. Which one do you want?", pointing at the biggest dray as he said so, the one I usually thought of as being the "leader" of the drays. To my utter amazement he then snapped at the dray to get down on his hands and knees and get his ass up in the air, and the dray obeyed.
"Fucking pick one, and get stuck in!", he snapped at me. "I know you like fucking guys as you're a fag, so this must be fag heaven for you."
That night I was so tired as Marc had driven me hard and, frankly, I didn't want to fuck. I'd have been happy just to sit there and shoot the breeze a bit with the drays - any kind of conversation would have been a treat actually. So I shook my head, and without any warning Jason leapt at me and smashed his hand hard across my face.
"Look here, fag - when I tell you to fuck one of these niggas, you do it, OK?"
He saw me hesitating and hissed "Look, fag, I've got these niggas trained to understand that a white man's cock is all a nigga can hope for or expect. And I'm not going to have you upset all that. When you first made me a pony and they put me in with these niggas, they tried to fuck me - can you believe it? These niggas thought they had the right to fuck me, just because I was a slave like them. It took me a whole lot of fighting to convince them that a whitey is always superior to a nigga, even if the whitey and nigga are both slaves. So show them, fag, that even a a white fag is better than a nigga - pick one of them, and fuck him until those big nigga eyes pop out of their sockets!"
Look, I wanted to do the right things by these guys, but I was really worried that if they got out of control they'd attack me. So I looked at the other five niggas - who were really quite alike, especially as we kept them all shaved totally smooth - and just picked one of them arbitrarily. Jason was now fucking the lead nigga just as if he were a rutting animal, the nigga on his hands and knees, and Jason half crouching over him, just thrusting away. I did it a bit more civilised - I told my nigga to lie on his back, and then I lay beside him and teased his cock until he shot a load, so I could use his cum to lube him and stretch him a bit. Then I took him as he still lay there, gently pushing his legs up towards his head to give me access to his ass, and, actually, it was really good: I'd not fucked since I'd been made a slave, and once I'd got started my tiredness seemed to melt away.
When I'd finished and my shuddering ejaculation has pumped my cum up into him, the nigga seemed to have enjoyed it, too. He reached out with his arms, and wrapped his powerful legs around my waist, and pulled me down onto him. I lay there, our sweaty bodies sliding slightly on each other and feeling our racing hearts as we gradually cooled down. The nigga pulled my had down towards his and seemed to want to kiss - but I wasn't so keen. I mean, it's OK to fuck a nigga, I always think - I mean, if you were in a dark room you really couldn't tell whether it was a nigga or a white guy you were fucking. But kissing one is different - somehow those big lips they always seem to have put me off. Actually it's wrong of me to generalise like that - I have had sex with niggas in the past and gone "the whole way" with them, but then they were generally "civilised" niggas n our own country, where there had been a lot of interbreeding in their heritage so they weren't pure, jet black niggas. These drays were the "real thing", captured in Africa somewhere and brought here to the Sheikh's kingdom as slaves, and they were a pure, jet black with very pronounced nigga features.
Then I heard Jason sneer "Stop acting like a fag, even though you are! We just fuck these niggas, not make love to them! You disgust me - I thought you were about to kiss that nigga!"
All I wanted to do after that was go to sleep, as fucking always makes me tired. But Jason "made" me fuck another nigga, as he said it "showed then that a whitey was a real man." Still, it was a nice change to have a bit of interaction with some other guys, rather than only having surly Jason.
As I drifted into sleep listening to the noises from the seven other guys as they settled down, I wondered if this is all there was now to be for me: unrelenting toil, being fucked by Jason, and then having this "treat" occasionally by being put in with the nigga drays. What made it worse was that I saw my work - that is to say the work I had been doing before I was made a slave - being destroyed by Marc's inattention. It probably doesn't occur to you that a huge demesne like the Sheikh's, with hundreds of slaves and many lines of business, all managed by layers of guards and supervisors, requires a lot of management, and then constant attention to ensure that standards are maintained. Marc just didn't have the experience to do the management, and didn't seem to care at all about maintaining standards. As I pulled him around the estate I saw weeds growing at the edges of the cart tracks - something that in my day would have meant that a slave somewhere would have been punished for allowing such slovenliness. But there were more serious problems, too - the carefully worked out rotation of the crops was casually discarded and stuff seemed to be planted almost at random. The whole place was going to rack and ruin, and even though I was not now responsible for it, I couldn't help but be really upset that all my previous efforts were now being tossed away.
Six months in to my new life, Marc found something to take my mind off all these things that were worrying me: I was put to stud for the first time. In my time we didn't bother to breed slaves on the estate - it's just too much trouble to have to house the brood slaves, and then to keep the young pups until they start to be able to do useful work at seven or so. And of course you don't get really hard work out of a slave until he's sixteen. It all takes too much time, too much effort, and, after all, it's not as if slaves are not in plentiful supply from any of several dealers. And if you take into account all the expense of raising slaves and the management time that has to be expended in keeping the brood slaves and the pups occupied and in good health, I definitely proved that it's much cheaper to buy them in when you need them.
I'd never run a breeding operation, therefore, although we did have a room where studding could be done - a couple of studding frames for strapping down the brood slaves if they were virgins or otherwise not wanting to be inseminated, some seats for the owners or any other spectators who wanted to watch: nothing elaborate, just simply functional. It was at one end of the stables block, and at first, as Jason and I were driven there by Marc and the Sheikh, I thought we were just being taken back to our stalls as we were being given the afternoon off for some reason. But instead we stopped outside the studding room, and an overseer hurried up to "prepare" us.
Of course when I'd been running the place we had the occasional studding - some particular favourite of the Sheikh's, or a business associate to whom he owed a favour, might request one of the Sheikh's slaves (particularly one of the splendid big nigga drays) as a stud for one of his own slaves, and then I would arrange it. Now it seemed as if Jason or me, or perhaps both of us, was going to be in this same position! Look, I've got nothing against fucking women - until I "came out" I had after all been married myself. But this surely is the ultimate humiliation - to make a man procreate against his wishes. I really didn't want to sire kids who would be slaves, kids who I'd never have any chance to guide or help. It was after all bad enough with my own son, after I split with his mom: she fought me every step of the way, and got the courts to agree that as I was not a "fit person" to help with his upbringing. And I was therefore only allowed to see Jamie occasionally, and only then with the bitch watching us - in fact the real reason for my trip home that caused all the current problems was because I wanted to see Jamie, and one of the rare court-approved accesses was imminent.
Still, it looked as if both Jason and me were to be studded now, and there was fuck all I could do about it! In turn each of us was unshackled from the shafts of the cart, and our wrist cuffs were fastened to our collars - it's well known that even the most docile slave can become "frisky" when there's a studding going on, and it's almost traditional to lock the arms behind the neck like this as it makes the slave much more biddable. They detached the reins but left our bits in - when I was arranging studdings for slaves who were not bitted, we used a gag at this point as it's not considered seemly for the slave to be able to cry out anything intelligible as he approaches his climax. But of course for Jason and me there was no possibility of intelligent speech anyway. And finally the blindfold - the stud is not supposed to be able to see the brood mare as it is of no consequence to him who he fucks - he is, after all, a slave, and a slave must fuck whoever his is commanded to.
I knew what was going to happen next, of course, but I imagine Jason didn't, because when the overseer in charge of the studding grabbed my cock I heard Jason give a grunt of surprise as his was grabbed too. The overseer used my cock as a handle to pull me into the shed - again, that's pretty standard as I expect most of you know: it's another demonstration of the power and control that the owner has over a slave that he can be led about helplessly in this way. My nostrils caught the faint scent of a woman in heat, and I assume Jason's did too as he gave a little cry of excitement, but things were going quickly now: I felt a slave's lips around my cock and this was the "fluffer" used to bring the stud to full erection - certainly necessary in my case, as I really didn't want to have to do this studding; but I expect Jason wouldn't need it as he was always bragging about how many "one night stands" he'd had, and how easy he found it to fuck any woman that opened her legs for him. In spite of my best intentions, the willing lips, a titillating tongue, and some help from subtle young fingers made me rock solid - however much I hated the thought, your cock acts as if it has a mind of its own sometimes, doesn't it? And then the overseer's horny hand again gripped me and pulled me forward. I felt myself being positioned - the tip of my cock hit warm, moist flesh, and the next moment a strap slapped at my butt which caused me to jerk forward and enter her.
At least she wasn't a virgin. As I stood there fucking away ("helped" by the strap, if I showed any signs of flagging) it seemed to me that the bitch was pretty experienced - she was loose, and not much fun at all for my cock, so I imagined she'd been bred lots of times before. But she was moaning and crying out as if this was something special. I could hear similar sounds from the bench next to me, but the bitch's cries were overlaid by Jason's grunts of pleasure and satisfaction.
Funnily enough, given that I was reluctant and Jason seemed to be enjoying it, we both came almost at the same time, judging form the sounds I could hear from Jason. There was a smattering of polite applause, and so I assume there was a small audience for this degrading exhibition. And then the horrible part - the fingers of the overseer on my neck, forcing my body down onto the bitch so that my cock stayed in her, as perceived wisdom has it that if the stud's cock remains in the bitch for at least ten minutes, the chances of conception are improved. I felt my strong, hard body pressed down onto the horrible flabby tits of the bitch, and when I struggled to try to avoid this, the overseer slashed at my butt with the strap again, until I accepted the inevitable and just lay there.
Jason and I were eventually allowed to withdraw from the bitches, and then we had to stand there as I could hear Marc telling people about how we were always available for stud, and that his Highness would be pleased to make these two perfect whiteys - either the younger one, or the older one, or both - available to help improve the general standard of slaves in the kingdom. I don't know how many people had been watching us, but Marc encouraged them to "explore" us, to judge for themselves our physique, and I felt several sets of hands running down my butt and thighs as Marc explained how the hard work we did generally made this especially fine, although we were both good specimens to begin with. I suppose it was because my cock was still covered in her juices and my cum that no-one took him up on his offer of feeling for themselves the power and strength we packed into our cocks!
After that Marc ordered the overseer to take us back to the stables, and once there we were shackled in as usual and then our wrists were released from our collars. We got an extra large helping of chow then, and Jason was not his usual surly self - as we sat there in the straw eating, he kept touching his cock and then smelling his fingers, telling me that "real men" like him truly appreciated "proper" sex, and not the "fag stuff" he had to put up with usually as that was all that was available! I tried to talk to him about how degrading it was to be made to sire kids, but he just brushed my objections aside, telling me that a fag like me couldn't understand these things, and that a "real man" like him was proud of planting his seed wherever, or whenever, the opportunity arose.
It was stupid of me, I suppose, but his bragging got the better of me and I finally blurted out that I knew all about having kids, and that I had a son of my own.
"Only one?", he sneered. "I suppose you were one of those guys who always wore a condom or something. Or was it that you were always a fag, and just fucked a bitch once?"
I thought about telling him about how I'd tried to make a go of marriage, even though I'd always had an interest in other guys, and how I'd always wanted more kids but my bitch of a wife wanted to get back to work; but what was the point? Finally, I managed to shut him up, though: "Talk's cheap, Jason", I snapped.
"How many kids have you got, then?"
He tried to tell me he didn't know, but it must be several as he'd fucked so many women and was so exceptionally virile, but I just laughed at him. Still, it did shut him up. And I began to think I preferred the surly, silent Jason to this braggart who seemed to be ruled by his cock.
You wouldn't have thought it was possible to humiliate a man more than I had already been degraded and humiliated. I truly thought I was at the bottom after a few months of this treatment, but, being a bit of an optimist, I kept remembering that song "Things can only get better....", and every day I felt sure that the Sheikh would come to his senses, see the ruinous way things were turning out, and free me. But I was wrong - the Sheikh seemed to becoming ever more infatuated by Marc, who clearly could do no wrong however disastrously the crops failed, or however untidy the place seemed to look. And things did not get better for me in another way, either - Marc found a new way of humiliating us!
One morning as we stood there shaking the water off our bodies after the slaves had cleaned us, waiting for them to come and polish our hides with slave oil so that we began the day looking particularly sleek, an overseer appeared and commanded the slaves not to oil us. Using the prod for emphasis he told us to kneel so he could fit our bits, and then cuffed our hands together in front of us. I could see Jason's eyes darting around as he wondered, as did I, what this all meant - after all, if we were to be taken for studding our hands would have been cuffed to our collars as they usually were. Although I could now cover my cock and balls with my hands, it couldn't be for reasons of modesty, either - I mean, both Jason and I were run naked all the time, and with our wrists shackled to the shafts, we never had any chance of even minimally concealing ourselves. Still, it was nice to be able to feel my balls during the day for a change, and I rubbed them gently and as surreptitiously as possible as we stood there. Jason, though, the oaf that he is, was stroking his cock, enjoying an erection - I really did think that he might actually jerk himself off had the overseer not grabbed our reins, tugged at them and snapped "Follow me, you boys!"
It was a stupid thing to say. I mean, what other choices were open to us - cuffed like that, our bits held firmly in out mouths, you just have to follow someone who is pulling you by the reins! Still, my curiosity got stronger as we were led into the studding room, without being blindfolded. What on earth were we going to be used for, as it clearly didn't look as if a regular studding was going to take place!
I suppose I'd never before thought about the fact that as well as holding a bitch in place for studding, the same straps and restraints can hold a man down, and keep him immobile. In turn Jason and I were led over to one of the studding frames, and told to lie on it on our bellies and place our cuffed hands in font, of the front legs. The overseer's assistants then fastened our legs to the back legs of the frame, our cuffed wrists were secured to the front legs, and then one of the major straps was brought up and over, around our waists, and cinched tight. I suppose the same thought occurred to Jason at that moment as it did to me - that we were being strapped down like this for some forced fucking - some slave or other, or perhaps even a free man, was about to come and rape us! When they fastened a second strap around my neck, though, so making my whole body totally immobile, I knew something else must be going to happen.
Have you ever been tattooed? People tell me that a small one is just "uncomfortable". But what Marc had ordered for us as fucking painful, I can tell you. It took hours to do, and all the time my back was really hurting - and, to my shame, like Jason at some point I had to let a stream of my piss go on to the floor of the studding room as they didn't let us up off the bench until they had done (not that I could have told them I needed to piss anyway, with the bit in my mouth). The two young guys who were doing it seemed unconcerned that we were strapped down, and just worked away. They were those kind of "casual" young guys in jeans, Ts and with some sort of music player in their pockets going to ear buds, and just worked away as if it was the most normal thing in the world as they listened to their music. But when I pissed, they took their ear buds out for a moment and one said to the other "You can see why these men are slaves - they're just like fucking animals - fancy just pissing all over the floor like that!".
"Yes", his companion added "If they were my slaves I'd tan their hides for behaving like that.".
"Hey - they're tied down like this: how about a quick fuck?"
"Better not - they're obviously prime property to have all this stuff done to them, and their owner might turn rough."
His companion shrugged in agreement, although he did reach between my legs and stroke my balls, giving a long, slow whistle as he felt how big they were. But both young guys them put their ear buds back in and went on working, and it made me realise just how slavery was accepted here - before, I'd kind of thought that it was only the Sheikh who used a lot of slaves around the place, but if these two "ordinary" working guys could talk about it so casually, it must be becoming totally accepted.
They left us lying there, immobile, when they went off to lunch. My back was really smarting and stinging, but there was no way that I could see what was going on. I got kind of cramp, too, and tried to wriggle my body a bit to ease the pain, but it was no good. It was almost a relief when the guys came back and began work again, as then the ache from my muscles and skin kind of took my mind off my other discomforts.
When we were eventually allowed to get to our feet, after the two young guys had finished and packed up and left, I gasped (or tried to - with a bit in your mouth you can't really do it) as I caught sight of Jason. There, in huge black letters stretching right across his shoulders and upper back was his name "Jason", in bold type. I know it's kind of "traditional" to have tattoos in old fashioned gothic lettering, but this was bang up-to-the-minute strong bold graphic type - no one could doubt that Jason was indeed "Jason", and I guessed that running across me would be "Steve".
We were manacled into our carts in spite of it being late in the afternoon then, and led around to the front of the palace. We stood there patiently (well, what other choice did we have?) until the Sheikh and Marc appeared. I got the Sheikh, and Jason got Marc, and they took us for a little ""side by side" trot around the pleasure grounds. When we got back to the palace and the slaves had helped the Sheikh get his huge bulk out of the trap, Marc came and stood next to him. "See, your Highness, it is as I said it would be: observe how Steve's appearance is enhanced by the tattoo - was it not a pleasant sight as he ran to see his shoulders ripple? They are so much more emphasised now - with strong muscular ponies like this all the emphasis tends to be on their butts, as they are so powerful, and the tattoo helps to "balance" them so that the eyes take in more of the body.... Don't you agree?"
Fucking hell, I thought. My body was being mutilated just so Marc could say that I was now better "balanced" as I had to run naked in front of him! I never got to hear what the Sheikh replied, although clearly he seemed to be in agreement with Marc, and as they entered the palace I was left with the thought that this was another way in which I was not in control of any aspect of my life at all: my body had been grossly disfigured like this just because Marc had thought it was "more pleasing" to the eye!
As we sat in the straw that night Jason kept trying to turn his head to see his tattoo. Finally, his constant fidgeting got the better of me, and I snapped "It just says 'Jason', like mine says 'Steve' - take a look at my back, and imagine yours, but saying 'Jason' - is that so fucking hard to do?"
"Yeah, I reckon it's pretty cool...."
"You're joking! Having this giant tattoo...."
"I was a marine, remember? A lot of marines have tattoos. I was planning to have one, a proper 'Semper Fi', when I got back from the mission where you bastards captured me...."
"Listen, you dumb fuck, how many times do I have to tell you it was nothing to do with me? The Sheikh's army captured you and your buddies - I never had anything to do with that."
"Yeah, but when I was in that fucking cell underneath here, it was you then, wasn't it?"
"You were already a slave then, and I was the Sheikh's Instrument. All I did was obey orders. You should know all about that, being a marine.... You had to obey, didn't you?"
Jason sat there glaring at me. Then he smiled one of those nasty smiles he used when he was ready for sex. "Stop messing with my head! Get on your hands and knees, as it's time for me to give you a good pounding. And I reckon that Marc's right - that big tattoo on you does make you look better - you're a pretty good fuck, Steve, and I reckon I'm going to enjoy this one especially."
Well there was no point in asking him not to. I knew by now that the more I asked him not to fuck me, the more he enjoyed doing it. And I was just too tired to have even a token struggle with him - a struggle that I knew I'd lose, as I always did. So I knelt down, put my head into the straw and thrust my ass in the air so that Jason could have his way with me.
It was only three months before Marc thought of something new! I guessed we were in for something unpleasant again when one morning instead of taking us out to the carts when we had been prepared, the overseer instead made us stand with our backs to two of the pillars that held up the roof of the stables, and then smartly pulled our wrists around behind them, and snapped the cuffs closed. Jason and I stood there looking at each other, wondering what was going to happen to us, and we didn't have long to wait before we found out.
As soon as the guy came in with Marc I knew it would be terrible - I had used him before, as he was the court "jeweller" who we used to put rings in slaves. The Sheikh had not had Marc ringed - although I suppose he might have done, if things had continued on as normal. He liked the smooth young slaves he favoured to wear some sort of "ornament", and usually this was a thin gold ring in the slave's navel - he liked to watch the ring bob up and down in time with the slave's cock as the slave "rode" the Sheikh's. And occasionally he also liked a ring in that sensitive area behind the scrotum and in front of the asshole - I think he liked to see the slave wince a little if on the downward motion the ring didn't move to one side and got thrust up into the boy. Surely, I thought, he wasn't going to have rings in our navels, or asses?
I was right - Marc's plan was far more ambitious! I stood there helplessly as the jeweller and Marc came over to me. Marc's fingers grabbed my left tit and began to pull and tease it away from my pecs. I moaned and squirmed, and kicked out at the guy. This caused uproar, and the overseer at once commanded the slaves to use a piece of chain to secure my ankles around the pillar, and once this was done he took a carriage whip and slashed at my belly three times, saying "Naughty boy, Steve - ponies aren't allowed to lash out, you know that!."
I've always had sensitive tits and really never really liked them played with even in really good sex - and this was far, far worse as Marc carried on squeezing and stretching them right out from my body. Then, pinching the end between his thumb nail and finger nail to get a really good purchase - and causing me to writhe in agony - he nodded to the jeweller who, quick as a flash, grabbed my elongated tit between the jaws of pair of pliers! Has I been able to scream, I would by now have been doing so. The more so when a second pair of pliers, with long, thin, needle-sharp teeth, were used to pierce a hole through my distended flesh!
The ring that Marc had chosen for my tit wasn't one of those small gold things you see a lot of guys wearing - no, this was big, and thick, and heavy. And a lot of work needed to be done on the flesh of my tit to bore a hole big enough to take it. Sweat was pouring off me by the time he'd finished and the ring had been soldered into place, but that was not the end of it - no sooner had he finished, than they carried out the same thing on my other tit, so I ended up standing there with two heavy rings disfiguring my previously natural chest.
I watched as they did the same thing to Jason, but if he could have sneered at me he would have, I thought, as he just stood there and "took it" as they pulled at his tits and ringed him.
The jeweller wasn't finished yet, though - I could smell his sweat as he came and stood really close to me and grabbed my nose. A new pair of pliers went up my nostrils - I could "smell" the metal - then there was a sharp, pang of utter agony and a sickening crunch as the jeweller squeezed the pliers closed and pierced my septum. My mouth and throat filled with blood, but he didn't seem to care - another large, heavy ring was forced up and soldered closed, and now I knew that tears were falling down my cheeks from the pain and humiliation of having a so-called "snout ring" like this: I knew that some owners did do this to stud slaves as it marked them as "different", and in some way emulated the way that a prize bull or boar would be ringed in the snout to help control them.
It's still too painful to write accurately about the way they then fitted me with a "Prince Albert". I'd read stuff in magazines and so on about it, and they always said that you "started small" and worked your way up gradually to larger and larger diameter rings.
Well this was not Marc's plan - the jeweller had to push a rod down my piss slit, and then force a piercing needle through the underside of my cock to meet it to make the "pilot hole". The agony that went through me as this was then widened and widened can't accurately be described, as I've said, but eventually there it was - another large gauge ring hanging out of my piss hole and disappearing in through the underside of my cock.
I suppose the only consolation in all of this was that when they went over o do Jason, he no longer even pretended he could "take it", and lashed out at them as I had done, so they needed to fasten his ankles to the pillar, too.
As we stood there finally, blood trickling down our bodies from the fresh wounds, I heard Marc say to the jeweller casually "You are certain that those rings in their cocks won't affect their performance, aren't you? These are valuable stud animals...."
"Oh no. Most men enjoy the sensation of fucking with a ring in their cocks, once it's properly healed. It will be pretty painful for about three weeks - I'd let them off fucking for that time - but once all the scars have gone, they'll probably enjoy studding even more."
I suppose the only consolation I had as I stood there in utter misery and humiliation was that at least I'd be free of Jason's cock up my ass for a few days!
End Of Part Ten