THE INSTRUMENT
By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part Fourteen
Look, fucking a guy's not all that much of a big deal, is it, really? Even if the guy concerned is a bit reluctant. It's not as if I hadn't fucked lots of guys myself who hadn't wanted it - hadn't wanted it at all.
No, that's not strictly true, I suppose - when I say "guys" I really mean "slaves" - I'd fucked lots of unwilling slaves in my role as the Sheikh's Instrument, both as a punishment, and as part of my induction process. And, as I've told you, I'd been fucked myself, somewhat unwillingly, by Jason. So when I was commanded to get down onto my knees, press my forehead to the floor and raise my ass into the air by the Sheikh's nephew, why should it have made me so fucking pissed off? I knew kind of intellectually that the initial penetration might hurt a bit, but I'm big and tough and can take it; and once he'd got going, I might even have almost enjoyed the sensation of his cock sliding in and out of me and the hot sensuality of his body pressed close to mine. I suppose "intellect" has nothing to do with it though - I was being ordered to do something I didn't want to, and that was enough to make my anger rise and my heart start to race in the classic "fight or flight" way.
The sheikh's nephew saw me hesitate, and snapped "Fucking slave! Do you dare to defy me? Although I am currently closeted in here, do you think my uncle would like to hear that one of his slaves is daring to disobey a free man, especially one who is still a member of his own family? Now, do as you are ordered!"
Reluctantly, and seething with anger inside, I dropped to my knees, The marble was cold against me, although I suppose that did help to cool my bubbling temper as I bent forward and pressed my forehead to it. I knew that he was right, of course - the Sheikh had imprisoned him to prevent him fermenting further plots, but the old man had a strong sense of family duty and were he to hear that I had disobeyed - or even been disrespectful to - one of the royal family, I would certainly be in deep, deep trouble. I suppose, thinking about it, that the nephew's demands had really upset me not because I feared his cock, but because they had made me think once again of my position in the palace - after all I had been a free man at one time, a real power in the land as I was the effective ruler of the Sheikh's slaves, used to giving orders and being obeyed in even the tiniest respect; and if I wasn't obeyed, I had the authority to physically punish, something which I did and which, if you think about it, free men never get to do. No matter how frustrated you are with the service in a restaurant, or the behaviour of a group of young guys in the street, you don't have the power to thrash them with your hands, or a cane: but I had that power, and had enjoyed exercising it. Then I had been made into a slave, one of those who had no power at all, absolutely none. My enslavement had been all the worse for me as I had "further to fall" than a normal free man; and, of course, I completely understood what was expected of a slave - total and absolute obedience - something which is fundamentally out of kilter with my personality. What's more, I suppose I understood that I was going to be used and abused - as indeed I had been, both in terms of being fucked against my will, and being made to perform as one of my owner's ponies - surely slavery can not be much worse that being used as if I was a mere animal, ornamented for my owner's amusement, chained to a cart, and kept in a stable?
I had thought I was on the road to recovery from all that, though. Although I was nominally a slave, being restored to being the Sheikh's Instrument had given me back most of my former life. I was once again in charge, once again giving orders, once again punishing disobedient slaves physically. And it was me who fucked Jason now, and Marc, and who had the pick of any other good-looking slave who I saw on the demesne.
But being commanded to kneel so that the nephew could exercise his control over me by fucking me against my will was a giant step backwards, and once again I felt the loneliness, the desolation, the sheer helplessness, the impotence and lack of control over my being, that slavedom brings.
The nephew must have been very sexually charged, fortunately. I gritted my teeth and managed not to cry out as he thrust savagely in to me (as I knew from my own experience, a man fucking a slave can do it in the way that pleases him, and need have no regard for the slave's feelings or whether the slave is actually physically in pain); then, as he began that age-old exercise of his body in and out of mine, I had almost no time to get accustomed to it before he made one last gigantic thrust, slamming his pubic area against my ass with a loud slap and shouting "Fucking Allah! " in triumph as he shot his load deep into me.
I hated it, too, when he commanded me to kneel in front of him and clean his cock afterwards - I hadn't been expecting to have sex, and so my ass was not clean to begin with. I don't mind the taste of sweat and cum on another guy's cock - in fact, I think it's a pretty heady cocktail - but the harsh, bitter taste of shit is something else. I gagged and choked and had to fight back the nausea as my tongue licked him clean.
"You may go", he told me curtly then. "But I think we will repeat this tomorrow - now I know what delights that muscled ass of yours holds, I can see no reason for not availing myself of it."
I went to say something, but checked myself. After all, what had I got to say? I could hardly protest, hardly refuse, hardly say that he had taken my manhood by his crude rape of my ass. He was a free man, a relative of my owner, and I was a slave.
Poor Jason really got it that night, though - he was reconciled to being fucked by me, and being two strong muscular guys our sex was always somewhat boisterous. But that night, still in suppressed rage at what had happened to me, I showed Jason no consideration at all. I didn't attempt to stretch him or relax him, I didn't give him the opportunity to lube my cock with his spit, and I showed him no consideration whatsoever as I crudely forced my way into him and then shagged him as hard and as furiously as I could. Afterwards he lay right on the edge of the bed, trying to keep his body as far away from me as possible. And when, feeling some remorse as I realised I'd been working out my anger and frustration on him, I tried to curl an arm around him as a prelude to making some sort of apology, he angrily thrust it away.
I'm ashamed to say that his action infuriated me - I'd wanted to try to make amends, and his rejection simply pushed me over the edge once more. I keep as set of handcuffs in the room and before he could resist I had them snapped closed on him. Then, slapping at him with my hands to make him move, I ordered him to his feet. And in that most humiliating way of getting a slave to follow you, I grabbed hold of his cock and pulled him after me as I strode down the corridor of the slave quarters, out across the yard to the stables. Jason stumbled behind me, trying to avoid falling and causing injury to himself, and knowing that with my hand on his cock he was totally under my control.
As we burst through the doors into the stables the drays came awake and un-entwined themselves from where they'd been sleeping in that comfortable heap of tangled bodies which was their habit, and called out excitedly to us, no doubt expecting some sexual pleasure from this unexpected visit. Instead, they quietened down and watched in something approaching awe as I almost savagely pushed Jason up against one of the pillars forming his normal stall and used a short length of rope to fasten him there using his tit rings. Then, as he futilely struggled to prevent me, I un-cuffed him, brought his arms forward around the pillar, and re-cuffed him.
I have to say his language was terrible as he shouted at me and called me all the vile names under the sun. This only added to my anger, and as soon as he was secure I took up one of the many carriage whips hanging around the place and set into him, slashing away at his back, buttocks and thighs in a frenzy of uncontrolled rage. My savage treatment of him did at least have the advantage of stopping the foul abuse, as his angry shouts turned to screams and sobbing as I worked away.
A rage like mine can't be sustained, though, and after a few minutes it had worked itself out. I stood there panting for breath from my exertions, sweat running off me. Then I began to feel a bit ashamed of what I had done to Jason, and I suppose I should have freed him from his bondage and apologised. But just as I was about to, he turned his head, as much as he was able to, and muttered "Fucking bastard!" at me. Well, I wasn't going to stand for that. For an instant I thought about resuming his beating, but instead turned, and flushing with anger - at myself now, not at him - I strode out of the stables leaving poor Jason cuffed there.
Once back in my room and with my anger now all burned out, I thought about him. It was wrong of me to have whipped him, I know: he had every right to be angry at me from having raped him like that and to have refused my friendly advances afterwards. And the more I thought about it, the more I knew I ought to go back to the stables and un-cuff him, treat his back and thighs where blood had been oozing out after my savage beating of him, and allow him some rest before the morning - his legs were, after all, going to have to work very hard all the next day, and making him remain standing all night (when he would be unable to sleep, either) was not a sensible thing to do. But then I thought of the drays and how they'd seen me treat him, and I knew that if I went back they'd see me as weak, and I just couldn't make myself do it.
I didn't sleep well myself, though, and in the morning my mood was one of anger and despair - mostly at myself and my condition, I must say - as I strode towards the stable. The flies were all over Jason's back, butt and thighs, feasting on the traces of blood, and I began to feel even worse about my action.
I went over to him to start to un-cuff him and release the rope through his tit rings, and if he'd said one kind thing to me, or even just said nothing, I think everything would soon have been all right. But instead of that he turned his head as best he could - the action clearly causing him some pain - and muttered "You bastard, Steve!"
Look, he was right. I was wrong, both in the way I treated him in bed, and then in whipping him. But so often when we know we're wrong, having it pointed out to us doesn't make it any better, does it? In fact, it makes us feel worse, and makes us do things that we might not usually do. It was just like this on this occasion, and I snapped "Right, Jason.... If that's how it's to be, see how you like this....."
I grabbed one of the bits hanging from the tackle hooks - one of the "training" ones, with the big spiked tongue plate at right angles to the working part - and snapped "Open wide, fucker...."
Jason looked astonished for a moment. "You can't be serious...."
I could see his point - although I'd been using Jason as my pony, it had been a proper "working" relationship: I didn't need to drive Jason with reins and a bit, he wasn't cuffed into the shafts of my trap and was free to move his hands if he wanted, and I only very rarely used a carriage whip on him - just on those occasions when he'd really had a hard day and was approaching exhaustion, and I needed to release those "hidden" reserves from him that the body selfishly keeps to itself.
"Open your fucking mouth!", I snapped, and when in an open act of defiance he snapped his teeth together and glared at me as if to say "So now what?", I took action. My hand snaked between his half-open thighs as he stood there, grabbed hold of his cinched balls, and squeezed, squeezed hard. He screamed, both with the unexpectedness of the assault and with the pain, and my other hand thrust the bit into his mouth. Although he struggled then, still cuffed he was effectively powerless, and it was the work of moments to buckle the straps that would hold the bit in place tightly behind his head.
I know from my own experience when I was made to work as a pony just how unpleasant it is to work with a bit all day. It reinforces your own view of yourself as being merely a beast, an animal that has to be guided, rather than a man who could act on verbal instructions. And if the bit is tightened very much - as I had Jason's, deliberately - it actually can get quite painful as the corners of your mouth are pulled backwards. It's also not very nice to have to spend the day with big slimes of drool rolling down your chin and dripping down onto your body as you race along. What's worse, though, is that I'd chosen a spiked training bit deliberately - there are four phases in training a pony, generally: you use the spiked training bit to get a very new slave accustomed to the idea that he should not move his tongue at all, as movement against the spiked underside of the extension to the bit really hurts; once he's learned that, you replace it with a bit with a plain extension - the pony's tongue is kind of held down but it doesn't hurt if he moves his tongue slightly, as he's "learned" that keeping the tongue still is a good thing; then, finally, once the pony has understood that speech is impermissible at work, you can just have a plain bit, with no tongue depressor plate. That's a real treat when you get to that stage, as it's good to be able to move your tongue as you strain to work hard. The fourth stage, of course, is when the owner decides, as I had with Jason, that no bit is required as the pony will respond to voice commands.
As he raced along all day (I decided to make him keep up a fast pace so that he'd really tire, as an additional reminder that he was not in my favour) I knew Jason would be hating the bit, not only because it signalled to all the other slaves that he was no longer a "trusted" pony and had regressed, but because his mouth would be filling with blood as he would no longer be used to keeping his tongue still on the floor of his mouth. Several times as he strained away he would turn his head so that I could see the drool falling from his mouth, tinged with the red of his blood now: I thought at first that his eyes were flashing with anger at me, but as the day wore on I decided his look was more one of reproach to me - and, to tell you the truth, that made my own anger surge, to think that Jason was blaming me for his problems when, after all, he'd started it by rejecting my advances.
I think I might have "made it up" with Jason sooner than I did except that the sheikh's nephew now used me every day - we had no kind of "relationship" at all: I was just a hole for his cock to enjoy as far as he was concerned, and every time I carried out my inspection duties in the old harem wing I could expect to be fucked hard with no attempt at conversation or human decency of any kind. In turn, this made me keep my anger going at Jason, although I did relent a little and from the second day I did not use the spikes on the bit at all, although I did require him to be bitted once more as I did not want to risk having to hear Jason say something to me - something that I suppose I knew would probably be true, but that didn't make the listening to it any more bearable.
Being constantly bad tempered and irritable is not really something I can do for long periods, though - "forget it and move on" has always been my way of doing things, and after a week or so I'd accepted being fucked by the nephew as part of my normal way of life. I found it tough at night though to have to rely on my own hand for relief - it was like being a teenager gain, lying there in bed wanking - and, in truth, I missed having Jason next to me not just to fuck, but because sleeping next to a strong, muscular body with its scent of "maleness" is something I'd got used to and enjoyed. I tried using the young dray, and some of the palace pages and waiters, but it just wasn't the same and I got to realise that by continuing to be angry at Jason I really was cutting off my nose to spite my face, as the old saying goes. I knew I needed to get back with Jason again.
It wasn't easy - Jason was really pissed off at me. The following day I removed his bit, and let him once again work not shackled to my trap. But when I sent for him later that night instead of smiling at me, he just stood there at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed in front of him in a very sullen way. And when I told him to stop being so stupid and get into bed, he glared at me and said something like "Fuck you, Steve! You're just a slave, you know, so don't take it out on me, OK? Just because you're getting fucked, don't think you've got the right to fuck me!", and continued to stand there, unsmiling and defiant.
Well it wasn't going to be any fun, I could see that. Sure, I could probably cuff him and rape him (if he refused the cuffs, I could summon the guards, after all), but I wanted more than that - I wanted Jason's body wrapped around mine after sex, and I could see that I wasn't going to get that. The whole thing would have been a disaster, and so I told him to get back to the stables, where he belonged - and he turned and stalked out, even though a night sleeping on straw would not be as comfortable as one in my bed, I knew.
I could see there was going to be no movement from Jason as his sullen silence continued for the next two days - even though he was allowed to speak to me when he was working, he did not do so. This was a token of the special regard I had for him, as you know ponies must be silent usually, and his crude rejection of this favour almost caused me to lose it again. And when I tried to start a conversation with him as he jogged along he ignored me, pretending not to hear; and "at rest", he responded to my comments and questions with a nod or a shake of his head and made no attempt to engage with me. His whole attitude was really pissing me off, and, frankly, he was within a whisker of being bitted again - in fact, when we got back to the stables in the evening I snapped "If you're not going to speak, Jason, you may as well wear a bit like the stubborn pony you are - or do I mean mule?"
Jason didn't even respond to that, just glared at me angrily, and strode into the stables. He came closer then that he'd ever come before to another harsh whipping, I can tell you.
As I fucked one of the pages that night, I was still so angry at Jason's behaviour that I couldn't really concentrate on what I was doing, lost interest, and with it, my erection. The boy tried his best to excite me (like all the palace pages he had been expertly trained in cock sucking and general stimulation of the genitalia), but it was no use - I just wasn't in the mood for it, and I kicked him out. I realised afterwards that this was a mistake, as the following day I could tell that all the palace servants were sniggering at me behind my back as the story had spread like wildfire that I could no longer keep it up and must be losing my manhood. Even I could see that something had to be done, and as Jason showed no sign of relenting, I knew it was up to me.
The problem I had was what exactly I should do. It would, I suppose, have been easy enough to order Jason to have his hands cuffed to his collar as I had in the past, and then go into his stall and simply fuck him. But that didn't seem like such a good idea as it would just make his determination to resist me stronger: no, I needed to make Jason feel better, so that we could resume "business as usual".
That night therefore I went into the stables and stood looking at Jason as he lay indolently sprawled out on the straw in front of me, one ankle chained to the floor (I had determined that if he wanted to act like a pony, he should be treated like one, and had ordered his chaining like a proper pony). I could hear a stirring of excitement behind me as the drays in their stall opposite knew something was about to happen, and as I pulled off my polo shirt and dropped my shorts, there was a murmur of appreciation as they saw my hard body in the lamplight. I stroked my cock to make it really rampantly hard so that Jason could have no doubt as to why I was there, and stepped forward. The hard ends of the straw felt familiar under my bare feet, reminding me of the time we'd spent together as ponies. But as I went to lower myself down, Jason sprang!
Look, I've told you that Jason had both youth and sheer raw power to his advantage, and that when we used to fight to see who should be on top, the only way I had of winning was to have at least one of his wrists cuffed to his collar. I had given no orders about this, and so although we struggled and fought hard, it was a foregone conclusion who was going to win. Jason soon had me face down on the straw, his powerful body holding me down as he fumbled to locate my ass so he could force his cock in.
I was expecting a hard fuck, of course. And I suppose I'd got used to it somewhat after being used by the nephew each day. But I was a bit surprised by the sheer ferocity and vigour of Jason's fucking - he was like something possessed, and once he'd stopped (I could tell he'd shot his load by the way he made one extra powerful last thrust, and then collapsed on top of me, almost knocking the breath from my body), he flipped me over onto my back, straddled me, and pushed his knees down hard onto my upper arms to hold me immobile.
"Right, Steve! Clean me up!", he commanded, letting his slimed cock hover over my lips. I was powerless to resist, as with his muscular body squatting on my chest and his knees holding my arms pinioned, there was no way I could avoid him if he chose to slap my face or force my jaws open. So I put out my tongue and licked at his still-hard cock, then, almost feigning eagerness, forced my head upwards and forwards, so I could lap at it and suckle him hungrily.
Jason seemed o really enjoy this, and after a few minutes, with that wonderful agility and grace his toned body has he got off me, and lay beside me. One powerful arm went around my shoulders and he pulled me onto my side, pressing our bodies close together. My cock was really hard and I almost shot a load spontaneously as it was trapped between the sweaty warmth of our naked bellies. Jason lay there few moments silently, and then said "Steve, no more of this, OK?"
"Sure, Jason. But that was pretty rough, you know."
"I needed that, Steve. I'd got a lot of anger at you to work out. And you knew it, didn't you?"
"Yes, Jason. And I'm sorry...."
"You could just have said it, you know. All this pretence...."
"I didn't...."
Jason smiled, that slow languid smile of his. "Stop bullshitting, Steve! You knew you were going to get fucked, and fucked hard, if you came in here tonight, didn't you?"
"No, I...."
He squeezed my balls hard, and I gave an involuntary yelp. "I said no bullshitting, Steve! You may be our owner's chief honcho, but when you and I are together, we're equals. And I know you were faking it - you'd cleaned out your ass, and lubed a bit. Even if I couldn't tell when I went in to you, I knew afterwards when you were so eager to clean my cock - you always hate it when there's any shit around!"
So I was found out, but it didn't matter. Jason seemed as glad as I was that the troubles between us were over, and before I could say anything else he slithered down my body and took my hard cock in my mouth. Pleasurable though it was to have his lips and tongue beginning to please me like this, I'd been looking forward to a proper fuck. So I reached down and grabbed hold of the plait of his pony trim hanging down his back, and yanked it sharply to pull his head away. "Not so fast, Jason..... Now, get on your back, grab those ankles, and let's see who has the most fun this evening!"
Well I suppose that ought to have been that. I was back in charge even though I wasn't a free man; by ministering to the nephew I was fairly certain I'd be OK even if the Sheikh died; the Sheikh himself seemed content with the chastened Marc, who was behaving himself well; Jason and I were getting along fine - I usually fucked him, but occasionally allowed him to fuck me; and everything seemed generally to be as it should and all was right with the world.
Life's not like that, though, is it? Just as you think everything's sorted out and working properly, a new factor enters the equation: something totally unpredicted and unexpected. Something that has the potential to completely change your life.
It happened to me a couple of months later when I had been summoned to dine with the Sheikh. After the servant slaves had cleared the desert away, the Sheikh turned to me and said with an amused note in his voice "I have a surprise for you, Steve!"
He clapped his hands in command, the huge double doors at the end of the audience chamber opened and some of the outside slaves wheeled in a slave crate on small trolley. At another clap of his hands they pulled back the bolts, threw open the top door, and after some shouting and prodding at the cargo inside, a figure gradually stood up.
I wondered why the Sheikh was making such a fuss over a new slave (most new arrivals were after all cleaned, shaved and perfumed before being brought into his presence), but then, before I could say anything, I was shocked into silence - the young man standing there looking around in utter bewilderment was my son, Jamie!
He clambered awkwardly over the side of the crate ( as you probably know the standard slave transport crates are only just big enough to take a slave curled up, and after any period of time the muscles get a little cramped. Especially if the slave is tall, as Jamie is, as he takes after me). He rubbed at his limbs for a moment, and then saw me.
"Dad!", he cried and almost ran, as best he could, towards me, flinging his arms around me and hugging me hard. "Dad, what the fuck's happened to me....?"
I saw the Sheikh looking at us, the amused smile now turned into one of almost predatory sexual interest. "Highness.....", I began, but got no further, as I saw the look on his face.
Finally, he spoke. "So, Steve, I thought you would like this. You were trying to leave me to go and visit your son, as I recall. So enquiries were made, and I discovered that this delightful morsel is your offspring. And as you cannot go to him, it was sensible to bring him to you." He paused for a moment, and continued somewhat ominously "....and to me."
"Highness..... Why in a slave crate?"
"And how else do slaves travel, Steve? There's so much fuss in getting a slave out of your country by normal means, that shipping them in a crate is much the simplest way."
"But he's not a slave, Highness, he's free...."
"You are wrong, Steve! You are a slave, are you not?
And the progeny of a slave is a slave. So this man here, once he became a man, is a slave as you are. It was fortunate that we enquired, as I had imagined that your son was much younger and we would have a long time to wait before we could see the fruits of your loins. But once we discovered he was approaching his sixteenth birthday there was a most convenient time in which to arrange for him to be 'taken', crated, and shipped: his mother thinks he has gone on an extended trip with his school, and so will not raise the alarm until long after your foolish police will have lost any possibility of tracing him."
"No, please, Highness, please don't make my son a slave...."
"I do not need to make him a slave, Steve. Are you not listening to me, or are you not understanding? The boy was automatically a slave as soon as he reached his majority: the son of a slave is a slave. You are a slave. So this boy is a slave. It's automatic - I do not have to 'do' anything."
"I'm not a slave....", Jamie began.
The Sheikh roared "Silence!", and then went on "Advise your son to remain silent, Steve, unless he wants to be given something to make a noise about. My own father always thought that new slaves needed a thorough whipping to bring home to them that their status had changed, and perhaps that is a custom I should reintroduce."
"Quiet, Jamie", I hissed. "Everything will be OK...."
But the Sheikh was continuing. "So now, Steve, I'd like to see my newest slave properly. You are my Instrument, responsible for the proper conduct of the palace and all the slaves.... Be so good as to strip the boy so that I can examine him."
"Highness, no, please...."
"Steve, you have already experienced the effects of incurring my displeasure. Did you enjoy the life of a proper working; slave on the demesne? I suggest that you do not give me cause for anger, and attend to my orders.... After all, I can always make you a pony again, and find another Instrument. Perhaps Marc will perform better this time, now he is more mature.... And what is preferable for your son, my new slave - to have you as my Instrument, or someone else?"
My brain whirred. He was right, of course - as Instrument, I could do my best for Jamie. So I said calmly "OK, Jamie, strip."
"No, dad!"
"Jamie! Do as you're told! Get naked, get naked NOW", and in a lower tone, with urgency in my voice, I almost whispered "There's danger here. Now, do as I say, do exactly as I say, or else it will be terrible for both of us."
End Of Part Fourteen