THE INSTRUMENT
By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part Eleven
The time seemed to crawl past. Well, it was tough when we were being driven in the blazing heat and I suppose that the days seemed long. There was never enough time at night, though - we were so exhausted that after he'd used me, I generally fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, the kind that only the truly exhausted experience. And then we were off again, pulling the Sheikh, or Marc around. The only changes in our routine were the occasional studdings, which I hated not only because I did not like fucking women, but because of all the things that had been done to us I came to consider that being forced to procreate against my will was the very worst.
There's not a lot of variation in season in the desert, but I noticed the cycle of the year crawling by - the different crops and stuff like that which were being planted, or weeded, or harvested by the poor coffled niggas. But even this seemed to be wrong somehow - and I couldn't help noticing that the crops just did not look as healthy as when I had been in charge as the Sheikh's Instrument: it was as if Marc had got everything subtly mistimed, or perhaps the niggas just did not work as hard as they can be made to in tending them.
I hated the rings on my body, the huge tattoo, and the brand, all of which of course screamed "slave", but I suppose I got used to the idea that when "on duty" I'd be silenced like some dumb beast, because of the bit. On the other hand, my body was honed to a peak of perfection: I'd always worked out, as I told you, but there's no substitute for real, hard work if you want to look superb. My calves, thighs and butt were beautifully developed from the constant running, my belly was flat and ridged, and my chest and pecs were something that your average gym rat would die for. I was evenly tanned all over a dark, mahogany brown, and when I was polished to a sheen with slave oil when we first went out, I knew that had I appeared in any bar or fetish club anywhere in the world I would have had other men drooling over me and queuing up to be my partner.
At first, I'd thought that the Sheikh would "relent" and that within a few weeks I'd be back in control, especially as the place seemed to be running down under Marc's lack of leadership. But as those weeks turned into months, and then years, I gave up hope. I began to think that I would be running around in the trap, naked, until the day I died (or, more realistically, I suppose, until either the Sheikh or Marc decided that they wanted a fresh, virile, new pony, rather than the old man I must eventually turn in to, whereupon they'd dispose of me).
One day I was surprised to find that I was pulling Marc, but the other trap was occupied not by the Sheikh, but by his nephew. We hadn't seen him around since he had been involved in training Jason, what now seemed like a lifetime ago. But when we were tethered and the two young men were talking casually to each other, I learned that the nephew had been away to college, and had now returned (indeed, it seemed that the Sheikh had bought him a place at Harvard, and had given him sufficient funds to maintain a lifestyle that befitted the family. Now he was back, though, and initially he spent all his time complaining to Marc about how boring everything was - there was nothing to do, no bars (following the sayings of some prophet or other centuries ago, alcohol was forbidden in the Sheikh's domain), no clubs to meet people, no cinema, no....
He stopped his rant and asked casually "So what the fuck is there to do here, anyway? It never seemed so bad when I was younger, but a man needs excitement...."
Marc just shrugged. "I guess it's different for me - I'm a slave...."
"Yes, but you're my uncle's favourite. He must allow you some excitement! Come on, tell me where all the action is...."
Marc looked a little embarrassed. "Well, I'm kind of occupied every evening, entertaining your uncle. I suppose that for you there's always the slaves to amuse you..... Although for a guy like you, sir, it might be difficult: your uncle mostly has male slaves, and the females are mostly the brood mares.... They're probably not the kind of women you're used to, sir...."
Marc paused for breath and continued "There is always an occasional bit of live entertainment, of course... Jason and Steve here are put to stud occasionally, and that's considered to be an interesting sight...."
"I would imagine it is. It's exciting enough watching them run - I haven't seen such superb muscles in action for a very long time. And seeing them pounding up and down, in a way that a man was designed for.... Yes, I can see that it would be worth watching and that it would be very... very.... I was going to say erotic, but perhaps I mean 'arousing'...."
The two young men seemed to exchange long glances for a moment then, until Marc went on hesitantly "Of course you don't have to wait for a studding.... The one called Jason fucks the one called Steve almost every night. It's not like watching him stud, of course, but you might find it 'arousing' nevertheless....."
"Oh, so the one called Steve is what they call a bottom, is he?"
"No, sir... Not really. He used to be your uncle's Instrument, but he fell from favour and was enslaved. When he was a free man his tastes ran very much to fucking other men, including that Jason... But now Jason always has the upper hand- they're both powerful and strong, as you can see, but Jason's a few years younger than Steve, and that's all the advantage he needs to make sure that he gets to fuck Steve whenever he wants, regardless of what Steve wants...."
"Hey, fantastic! You mean I can watch one of these great studs rape the other.... That's something to look forward to - you don't get that in the bars and clubs in Boston! But what about Steve - he's got a nice looking cock.... It looks as if it gets used....."
"Oh sure - once a week we turn them both loose on the drays, as it helps to keep them under control a bit. And Steve then comes into his own - he usually fucks two or three of them...."
"Fantastic! I thought life back here was going to be really boring, but with a live sex show every night....."
Out of the corner of my eye I could see Marc looking a little hesitant, but then he went on "...and of course, sir, if you would prefer a younger slave rather than some of the older brood mares, even though it would mean taking a guy, any of the slaves around the palace would be available to you...."
"You're a slave, aren't you, Marc?"
"Yes, sir...."
"So I could order you to come to my bedchamber...."
Marc smiled almost shyly. "I'd like that, sir.... But your uncle wouldn't allow it...."
"Oh he's broadminded. He knows that young men like me need a sexual outlet, and provided I do the decent thing eventually and marry, to give him an heir, he'll be unconcerned if I amuse myself with guys. So let's get together tonight...."
Marc looked truly embarrassed now. "I'd like that, sir. But your uncle.... You see it's difficult... I have to 'attend' him every night....."
"You mean my uncle fucks you, rather than all those nice young serving boys and pages who prance around the place in those ridiculously short tunics...."
Marc muttered "Yes, sir", and the nephew gave a great shout of laughter.
"Well, it shows my uncle's still got some life in him.
He's picked the best looking man I've seen since I got back... You say 'every night'?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, we'd better waste no more time. Come back to my quarters now...."
"Sir, I think your uncle would be cross. He's be sure to find out, sir - with so many slaves in the palace, every move can be seen, and someone would be bound to mention to him that you had 'entertained' me - or, indeed, any slave - in your chambers..."
"So I'll come to yours...."
"I don't have a room of my own, sir.... I.... I.... I sleep in your uncles' bed!"
"So you like old men, do you, Marc?"
Marc seemed to come alight as he snapped "No! I hate it! But he owns me! I was brought here at sixteen, and he raped me. And every night since then.... I have to ride his cock. I hate it...."
The nephew gave a little laugh. "That must be a sight! He lies there on his back, and you have to do all the work....?"
"Yes...."
"I must remember that. When I inherit this place, I think I'll find myself a handsome young guy like you, and have him ride my cock every night.... But I don't think I'll allow myself to get as fat as my uncle. I'm surprised he can actually get his cock in you, with all those rolls of fat in the way.... Still, it can't be much fun for you...."
"No, sir."
"Well let's go down into the orchards.... There's a secluded spot down there I remember from when I was a kid.... And there ought not to be any other slaves around now, as it's not fruit-picking time..."
As he said this, the nephew snapped his whip at Jason's rump, causing him to start forward, and drove off at a fair pace. Marc did the same to me, and I cursed the fact that these two young men's passion was causing me discomfort, and he kept flicking his whip at my butt, too, to make sure I kept close behind Jason's cart as he raced along some of the less familiar tracks on the estate.
The nephew's memory seemed to have served him well, as deep in the orchards with the air scented with apple and pomegranate blossom, there was a secluded hollow. Jason and I were left casually tethered to a tree by our reins - they didn't take the trouble to do it so we could sit, and so we had to stand there helplessly.
The two young guys scrambled down the grassy bank, and then, as we watched, it was almost as if they were in a frenzy as they almost tore each others clothes off - not so hard for the nephew, of course, as Marc wore only slave shorts and a T, but Marc had to make more of an effort to reveal the nephew's hairy, sinewy body.
It was hard for us to see who was fucking who, the two guys were so passionate at first. As Jason and I watched the kissed, wrapped their limbs around each other, rolled in the soft grass, sucked each others cocks, and fondled and caressed each other, all the time making cries and little shouts of passion and excitement. Jason and I continued to watch as Marc fucked the nephew, but then it was a real "flip flop" as he in turn was fucked. I couldn't help but be surprised that the two young guys could be so totally uninhibited with Jason and me watching, but then it occurred to me that for both of them we were not "watching", we were slaves, pony slaves, mere beasts.
It was of no more concern to them that we were watching than it was that, for example, some of the birds hopping around in the trees were.
If Marc had been neglecting to perform his duties properly in the past, he semeed to give them up almost altogether following the arrival of the nephew. After that first epic encounter the two young men seemed to spend more and more of the day together, and usually naked in their "special place" in the orchard.
In one way it was easy for Jason and me as once we'd pulled them there in the carts, we needed to do no more work for several hours. It was tough, though, as both of them continued to be so unconcerned about the comfort of slaves that neither of them thought to tether us so we could sit down - we had to stand there tightly tethered high up to one of the trees, and, frankly, that is quite tiring. It was made doubly hard by the fact that we had a good clear view of the antics of the two young men - both of them had really good bodies, and were using them in that frenzy of sexual enjoyment that only guys in their early twenties can manage - and so we were naturally aroused (well, I was, anyway), and there was just no way of dealing with it. I couldn't jerk off, as my wrists were cuffed to the shafts. And I couldn't even rub my cock against anything because of the constraints of the shafts, and the inability to move away from where we were tethered. It's amazing - a couple of wrist cuffs and a thing leather reins, and a big tough guy like me is effectively rendered totally helpless to give himself even the most basic pleasure.
As the weeks went by the two guys began to make plans for their future together, and always it came back to one thing - the Sheikh. Marc was convinced that the Sheikh would never let him become the nephew's, and that if the nephew insisted, Marc would simply be sold away from the estate. The nephew hated the thought of his uncle fucking his lover, and wanted to be with Marc all the time. They both spent a lot of time complaining about, and then laughing at, the Sheikh: his huge bloated body was a source of merriment to both of them, especially when Marc did a comic "impersonation" of how difficult it was to get the Sheikh's tiny cock into his ass.... And contrasted this with the virile manliness of the nephew. Gradually, as time went on and any hints or suggestions that the nephew made to his uncle had apparently been ignored, the two guys began to plot a next move - and decided that the only way that they could "be together" was if the Sheikh was off the scene.
Look, I'd got no time for the Sheikh, who had quite wrongly enslaved me, and then went on to use me in this humiliating way as a pony. And listening to the two lovers, I did begin to think that perhaps they were right - with him out of the way, things could only get better. But then their plans moved on - they would sell the estate, "dispose of" the slaves, move to the USA... Or Europe... Or both..... I began to worry that things could, after all, get worse: if I was sold, might I end up in a worse position than I currently was in? I guess most owners want to buy younger slaves, and perhaps I would end up in the mines, sold off as "expendable labour" - I remember that that's what tended to happen to our coffle slaves once they passed the peak of their usefulness to us.
I tried to talk about this stuff to Jason, but he wasn't interested and just laughed. "I'm a slave, a good one, I reckon", he said. "So who the fuck cares who owns me? Now, on your knees...."
My chance came about two weeks later, when the Sheikh, Marc and the nephew all appeared at the palace entrance. I saw Jason looking pretty pissed off as the two young guys decided they would take him, and I suppose I was not all that pleased at the thought of having to run all day with the Sheikh's great weight behind me. But as the morning wore on, a plan began to form.
To the Sheikh's complete surprise I started to run towards the orchards. He began to shout at me, then to pull back on the reins with all his might in an effort to stop me - but fortunately after years of working my neck muscles were now really strong, and his arms were comparatively weak. I ignored the stinging blows of the whip that lashed repeatedly across my back and butt, and just ran on. Fortunately the Sheikh seemed to tire of all the exertion and settled down to sit there and be driven to wherever I wanted to go.... I tried to look around and give him pleading looks, tried to indicate that I meant him no harm, but I have to say he did look pretty terrified - there were always ugly rumours of the possibility of slave revolts and the likely consequences for free men, and I suppose that's one of the reasons why field niggas are coffled and Jason and I were shackled, to help avoid that possibility. But perhaps he felt relatively safe, knowing that I was securely manacled to the cart. And then when in the distance he saw Jason tethered to one of the fruit trees, I say a half smile begin to play across his face - he evidently thought that help was at hand, as his nephew would be close by.
I slowed right down and turned around as best I could and made even more imploring looks at the Sheikh, hoping to persuade him to be silent. And, for whatever reason, he did seem calmer. I crept forward, terrified that at any moment he'd start to shout and scream for help: I knew that if his nephew came to rescue him there would be no hope for me - a slave who had run off with his owner as I had could expect no more than to be crucified as an example to the others!
Fortunately, though, the two young men were making so much noise with their passionate lovemaking that they failed to hear the arrival of my cart, or the quiet noises that the Sheikh was now making. Indeed, he now shut up totally, and was smiling as he looked down on the writhing forms in the hollow underneath where we were standing, and he even began to run the tip of his whip lightly down the base of my spine and into the top of my ass crack, as if to say "Thank you" - perhaps he thought that I had done this in order to show him this spectacle, and give him some amusement!
When they had finished, though, the two men as usual began their plotting to be rid of the Sheikh, and as I turned again, I saw that his face had gone from excitement at the sex, to fury at what he was now hearing - especially when Marc started again on his impersonation of a tiny cock on a fat body trying to fuck him! He tugged gently at my reins, and I nodded, and turned, and walked slowly and quietly away.
Jason and I were in our stall that night and Jason was telling me how turned on he'd been by seeing the nephew and Marc fuck that morning. He did this with a nasty leer in his voice, and was telling me how I should now get ready to satisfy him as he'd spent most of the afternoon with a raging erection having watched the scene. I was pretty pissed off, and decided to point out that "straight" guys didn't get turned on by the sight of men fucking.
"I thought you weren't a fag! Well, that's what you always say. So why were you horned up all the time?"
"It's not a fag thing to enjoy seeing nice hard bodies doing what a man is supposed to...."
"....well it sounds like a fag thing to me, to get turned on by it. And then to want to fuck a guy's ass...."
"I've told you, Steve, I only fuck you as there' no other choice. That's the way it's always been - guys in prison, for example, fuck each other, but when they get out, they go back to women. Well it's like that for me - I need sex, and you're all that's available."
"You could just jerk off...."
"That's for wimps, when there's a nice tight hole available. Now, get down on your knees...."
Just at that moment the stable overseer, armed with his slave prod, appeared, together with a couple of the stable slaves. He ordered them to unshackle us, and then to take us to the cleansing area where we were showered, shaved, and lightly oiled just as if we were about to set out on a day's work. Cuffing our hands behind our backs, we were then ordered to follow the overseer to the palace.
It had been three, almost four, years I suppose since I'd last been in there, and little had changed - except perhaps that the whole place no longer had the air of crisp, immaculate freshness and cleanliness that it had when I had been in charge. It did feel odd, though, to be in there totally naked, as when I'd been a free man, the Sheikh's Instrument, I had always been clothed. I thought I'd have been used to my nakedness by now after working as a pony, but somehow, inside a "proper" building I felt ashamed of my state, even though there was nothing I could do about it.
Jason and I were led to the door of the Sheikh's audience chamber, and the overseer snapped at us to stand still, and wait. It is of course the place of a slave to wait on his owner's convenience, and I've no real idea how long Jason and I stood there - various slaves and minor palace functionaries scurried past from time to time, some of whom totally ignored us, and some of whom gave us a long, appraising stares, clearly excited by seeing so much male perfection standing there.
I've told you that Jason was really uncouth and had the habit of pissing whenever he wanted when we were working, and now, to my horror, he just acted "as usual" for him - I heard a faint splashing sound, and felt something slightly warm on my foot. Jason was pissing on the marble floor, just as if he was in the stables, or out of doors! In fairness, I don't think he did it deliberately - no, it was more that he just no longer even thought about the need for bladder control.
At that moment the great double doors of the audience chamber swung open. The Sheikh inside had a perfectly framed view of Jason pissing, and screamed in rage for the overseer to "get that animal out of here", followed by demand to know why Jason had been brought in there in the first instance! I watched as Jason was led away by using his cock as a handle and then the overseer was told to uncuff me, and leave us. I stood there in front of the Sheikh, my nose, nipple and cock rings gleaming in the overhead lights, feeling somehow much more vulnerable and naked that I did when I was standing in front of him as his pony.
"I have need of a new Instrument, Steve", he said, just as if the preceding years had never happened. "My previous one has proven unsatisfactory, and I need
a slave with experience to take over. You are now my Instrument, and you will immediately resume management of the estate, control of the slaves, and the execution of the punishments that I award. In fact, that third element will assume some importance, as there is a young slave who is to be crucified."
"Thank you, sire. But how can I be your Instrument, and run the estate? Many of the overseers and guards are all free men - I cannot order them about their business. They can order me to leave them alone...."
"It is not a problem. My previous Instrument was a slave, and the free men I employ are used to understanding that my Instrument is merely a manifestation of my will, and that he speaks with my authority. But I will issue orders saying that you are again my Instrument, and reminding them, on pain of dismissal, or perhaps enslavement, that you are to be obeyed in all matters relating to the operation and management of the estate. You will of course always be respectful to free men, and as a slave you will always call them 'sir', and obey them in all matters not related to the estate.... There will be no problem.... Or, if there is, some of those so-called 'free men' may find themselves enslaved...."
I bowed low, and asked "Are there particularly pressing matters, Highness?"
"You have a week or so to re-establish control over the running of everything. But there is nothing urgent, except that I have given orders for all the slaves to witness what happens to one who fermented rebellion - there is to be a crucifixion at dawn three days hence - ensure that it is conducted properly, that all the coffles are lined up to see the spectacle, as a reminder to them.... We will lose a day of work, I suppose, as the victim will take that long to expire, but it is worth it. Having seen the agony, the other slaves will be much less likely to revolt in future. Oh.... And make sure that the assembled slaves can see everything, not just when the crosspiece is hoisted onto the upright. They need to see the spikes being driven through the flesh - I always think that makes for a most salutary lesson.... Perhaps a platform should be built, so that this operation can be carried out in full view of the slaves."
I went to protest, and was about to say that we could perhaps just hang the slave concerned, but he waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. "Now, go. Resume your duties. I need to visit my nephew, who is also being punished."
"Can I help there, Highness...."
"No. All is arranged. He is not to receive physical punishment, as that would not be fitting for a blood relation of mine. The old harem has not been used for many years, as you know. But it has always been kept in good repair. It is now my nephew's residence - there is adequate space, as there are many rooms, and of course it is secure. But I have ordered all traces of the decadent western civilisation to be removed, so the area is as it was in my father's time: no TV, no radio, no telephone, no computers, no decadent western books or magazines.... My nephew has however been allowed a copy of the koran for consolation - it is his only reading, and his only amusement as I have ordered that only very old slaves may enter to serve him.... And his tastes run to younger men! I trust that after a few years without amusement, except for the inspiration of the holy words, he will repent his folly in daring to challenge me."
"He is to be kept in there permanently?"
"Indeed. He is lucky. It is spacious, he will be well fed, he has a book to read.... I cannot order him to be killed, even humanely, as he is my nephew. But he must not have the opportunity to ferment rebellion against me ever again. You may visit him if you wish - indeed, I may wish to use you to punish him if I discover he had been thinking impure thoughts. You should visit the harem from time to time to ensure that all is in order, but you are not to speak to him, or otherwise distract him."
"But, Highness...."
"Go! I am tired of this conversation. Start your duties!"
I bowed and left, hearing my bare feet slap on the marble floor as I retreated from his presence. And then, of course, I was in the middle of the palace, with not even the minimal shreds of fabric about me that the serving slaves were allowed. I thought about stopping one of them as he hurried past me on his duties, but the Sheikh's tastes for servants ran to thin, young guys, and I recognised that even if I stripped one of them there was no way that their short tunic would fit my muscled frame. So I strode along unashamed, my cock and tit rings bouncing up and down in time to my steps - the news of my reinstatement must have spread, in that mysterious way that rumours permeate the whole place as if like wildfire, as no one made any attempt to stop me, and even the supervisor at the main entrance (a free man, of course), said "Nice to see you back, Steve", and made no attempt to hinder my progress.
My first call was to the blacksmith's shop near the stables, and the big nigga blacksmith bowed respectfully as I strode in, even though I was, like him, a slave. That was good, I thought - my natural superiority was working again.
I ordered him to fetch large snips, and in a couple of instants I was free of the huge rings through my nose and my cock. I stood there for a moment savouring how different it felt without the weight pulling my cock down, and the nigga muttered "You'll always have a mark down there, sir, but the holes will close up."
Nodding, and noting with pleasure the "sir", I stood there feeling my tit rings. It would be easy enough to have them cut off too, but I'd rather got to like them - as I've told you, I always had very sensitive tits and when I was having sex that had always be a problem as a partner could so easily reduce me to a quivering mass of helplessness by grabbing at them, even playfully. But now, after years of having my tits constantly excited as I ran along, all that sensitivity had gone. Of course I was aware of my nipples (indeed, one reason for having a pony's nipples ringed with heavy rings is that it serves as a constant reminder to him as he jogs along that he is not a free man, but an animal), but now they were not so sensitive and I knew I would be much more in control during sex. So I decided to keep them.
The blacksmith was of course naked except for his long leather apron (and I noticed that his powerful back and strong buttocks, were somehow rather exciting as they were revealed by the leather. I felt my cock stiffen - another good sign, I thought), but there was a slave who had been waiting to collect something who wore the general "outside" uniform of slave shorts and a loose T (well, it was the uniform for those slaves who did not work naked, of course - this one must be some sort of overseer). I called him over and told him to strip, and when he did not instantly obey I slapped his face hard. He went to strike me back, but then saw my hard, muscled body, and thought better of it. The blacksmith hissed something at him in the dialect the niggas used amongst themselves occasionally (probably both of them came from the same tribe or something), and then he obeyed - again, I felt my cock stiffen as I saw his body revealed and he stood there nervously fingering his cock and balls, as if trying to conceal them from me. I considered fucking him, as it was a long time since I'd been able to choose when and with whom I had sex, but decided to save myself for later as the thought flashed through my mind of Jason's powerful ass, so instead I just pulled on his shorts and T.
The slave shorts are always cut tight anyway and have very short legs to give maximum exposure to the slave's thighs, and on me the pair I had commandeered were probably erotically obscene. The T was acceptable, though - loose on the slave, it was tight on me and probably emphasised the power in my upper body. I got the scent of the slave's sweat as I pulled the garments on, and there was a faint dampness at the crotch and armpits that I would have found faintly repulsive had I been asked to wear someone else's clothes when I was a free man. But years of slavery change your perceptions, and now it was a matter of no importance.
Calling in at the office complex within the palace I ordered the startled slaves and their overseers to run current reports on our various businesses, and one of the overseers stammered "It will take time, sir, the records are not up to date...."
Seeing my incredulous stare, he went on "Well master Marc was not interested in them, sir, and it's a lot of effort to do. It will take us at least three days...."
"You will have them ready by tomorrow morning."
"It is not possible, sir. We would have to work all night. The slaves need to be rested. We need to go home to our families...."
Aware that he was a free man, and that I needed to temper my anger with a little courtesy, I said coldly "It seems to me that you, and the slaves, have been idling for some time. So now you can repay those hours of leisure by working in the way that his Highness pays you for, and for which he bought the slaves. I will see the reports tomorrow morning, or else there will be changes around here... Big changes.
These slaves look idle and out of condition - I think a spell out in the coffles would increase their value.... And perhaps, sir, you would benefit from another assignment... Perhaps with another employer? Although with the reference that the Sheikh would give you, such a post might prove difficult to find...."
How stupid it was to have to resort to these threats! Of course it would have been much better for the entire operation to have run smoothly, or, if it was not, simply to order a caning or even a whipping for the slaves, to bring them into line. But I had to step carefully as there was a free man in charge, and it seemed that part of the problem was him.
I strode out, leaving no time for further discussion, and decided that I ought to give some attention to this crucifixion that the Sheikh was so concerned about. Summoning a group of overseers I barked orders for a high stage to be built in the courtyard, and then went back into the palace and down the stairs to the grim areas that held the punishment chamber and holding cells. The guard at the final door asked me if he should accompany me, but I shook my head, and added in a half amused tone "I think I'm more than a match for the prisoner!".
We keep the place in darkness, of course, as it increases the sense of terror and doom in the prisoners. I could hear subdued sobbing as I opened the door, which stopped when I flipped the lights on. Only one of the holding cells was occupied, and there was Marc.
They had of course stripped him of all his fancy clothes, and he sat hunched up in the corner of his cell, his arms wrapped around him (not so much from modesty, as to attempt to keep warm as the cells are totally bare stone everywhere, without even a few shreds of straw for bedding, as I may have told you). He looked pathetic, pressed up against the cold stone walls, and he did not even make an attempt to get to his feet and come to the bars. I could see why - he had chosen the position in the cell to be as far away as possible from the objects in there, and to get to the bars he would have to step over them.
It may seem almost barbaric to you to lock the intended victim up with what would be the method of his execution, but this was the custom here. Lying across Marc's cell was the sturdy oak beam to which he would be nailed and which would then be raised and secured to the upright post to make a cross. They had also put in there the three sharply-pointed iron spikes, and the heavy mallet that would be used to drive them through his wrists and feet. Personally I'm not sure that this is a good idea - it was not unknown for some prisoners, seeing all these items and imagining their effect on their bodies, to use them to commit suicide and thus deprive the estate of the ability to give all the slaves an object lesson in obedience. I'd thought about changing the practice, but his Highness had cautioned me against tampering with centuries-old customs, and so it had continued.
Marc finally recognised who I was, though, slowly got to his feet, and in spite of his evident terror did step over the heavy beam and came and clutched at the bars pathetically.
"Steve, please, get me out of here....."
Inside the excessively tight shorts my cock was quite painful as it strained to go properly erect at the sight of Marc's body - he'd been appealing when he first came here at sixteen, but now as he approached twenty, his youthful bloom had turned into exciting, erotic manhood. There's something about a man of that age I always think that is so very, very attractive: the way the muscles have developed (provided the guy takes care of himself, which Marc clearly had), the firm young flesh without wrinkles or sags, the promise of an ass that has no been stretched by years of abuse.... In Marc's case, of course, my erotic musings were heightened by the realisation that this superb piece of man flesh was once more under my control, after I had been humiliatingly used by him for so long; and that, probably, I would be the last one to enjoy this body before it was destroyed on the cross.
"You will be out of here soon enough, Marc. The Sheikh has ordered your crucifixion in three days. Enjoy the rest of your life - although it's dark and cold, as you know. And it's the custom not to feed slaves down here - not only does it save money, but it makes sure your bowels are empty so there is no unpleasant release as they drive the spikes home."
"No, please, Steve.... It's barbaric... I don't deserve this...."
"Barbaric it may be, but it is the custom here. And the Sheikh has spoken. And you do deserve it, you know - a slave who plots revolt against his owner...."
"But it was his nephew...."
"You mean your lover. You were conspiring together to overthrow the Sheikh. That cannot be allowed for the sake of the general good order in society!"
"Steve, please, help me..... I was always good to you....."
"You mean using you as your pony? Having me tattooed, ringed....? Whipping me when I was flagging...?"
"Steve, please! I'm begging you! When I came here you were nice to me, even though you did all those disgusting things to me.... "
"That's not enough, Marc. I can't help you, as the Sheikh has spoken."
"You can't let them crucify me.... I'm a whitey.... Crucifixion's for niggas....."
I shrugged. It was true of course that white slaves are generally so valuable that they are not killed. But there are exceptions to every rule. "There's only
one way out, Marc. But are you man enough to take it?"
His whole body straightened a little, at this glimmer of hope. "Anything....."
"Take one of those spikes, and instead of waiting for them to drive it through your wrists or feet to pin you to the cross, drive it into your belly. They tell me it takes about ten minutes to die, but that's rather less than the hours of agony you're otherwise going to experience...."
"NO.....", he screamed. And resumed his sobbing as I turned and strode away, turning off the lights at the door and leaving him in darkness.
End Of Part Eleven