THE INSTRUMENT
By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part Two
The Sheikh had come down to the interrogation room and I bowed low in obeisance to him as I entered. It's a very simple room, really - you don't need a lot of complex equipment if you're going to inflict some "encouragement" on men to get them to tell you things.
One end of the room was divided from the rest by a set of floor to ceiling bars, with a barred gate in it, behind which were six well set-up guys standing there looking defiant and dressed in soiled, scrappy shirts, jeans and desert boots. I smiled inwardly - men who look defiant like that are generally brittle: push at them hard, and sooner or later they snap, and you have them. Men who hide their emotions are much more difficult, as they "bend" more and are substantially harder to break.
The Sheikh took me by the left biceps and pulled me to one side (he enjoys touching my body, and it's not at all uncharacteristic of him to use an opportunity like this to once again feel my hard muscle).
"They are no doubt Western spies", he told me. "I know it, and they know I know it. But I want to hear it from their own mouths. I want to hear them confess to coming to my country to spy on me. And I rely on you, Steve, to ensure that they are properly humbled so that they are able to be honest with me in that way. But they are not to be permanently harmed - they are good specimens, and once broken will fetch a good price in the market. There is a fashion for Westerners at the moment, and it will amuse me to see my colleagues scrabbling to acquire one of these."
"Yes, Highness. How long do I have? As you know, with a group of men like this, it can be very effective to break them slowly - do one today, then allow the others some time for contemplation, before taking a second one....."
"Use your own judgement, Steve. I am having a banquet next week and it would be good to have them available for me to distribute as gifts then. And whilst I do not presume to tell you how to do your job as usually you are a reliable instrument to carry out my wishes, there is one of them who is of particular interest to me - the tall, lean one who is currently at the back. If it were possible to leave him 'unbroken' as you have worked your usual magic on the others first, that would be good: I rather think I will keep that one for my personal use, and, as you know, I enjoy deflowering new slaves myself - well, at least I enjoy using big men like him for the first time. I am indeed fortunate to have you as my instrument to train young slaves up to a satisfactory standard initially."
"I understand, Highness. The tall one - you mean the dark haired one, the one who is kind of slouching and looking relaxed, unlike the others who are of course worried and tense?"
"Exactly so. The one with the blue eyes, like yours. It might be amusing for me to have two dark, blue-eyed men at my disposal."
"But he will be a slave, Highness.... You can't compare him to me." I felt I needed to say this, as I like to remind my employer that I am not a slave, but a free man. He sometimes treats me as if I were a slave, and, I suppose, a lot of the time anyone seeing me in action might be led to believe that this was my status: as my employer's instrument to punish and train slaves I often perform acts in front of his guests which, often, would be performed by slaves. And clearly if I am fucking slaves as an after dinner entertainment, or using them for sexual gratification generally, I will be exposed to the gaze of others in a way which is not normal for a free man. But it goes with the job, I suppose, and, after all, I've got nothing to be ashamed of - my body is hard and tough and the envy of almost every man who sees it, and my cock and balls are nicely in proportion to my tall body and always attract envious looks from the less well endowed. But it is important to keep in the Sheikh's mind that I am a free man - although I do sometimes wonder just how "free" I am: sure, I'm not caged, or made to work in a coffle, I don't wear a collar, and the skin on my butt is smooth as I'm not branded. On the other hand, when I first came here five years ago they took away my passport "for safe keeping", so I'd have to ask for it back before I could leave, and the last time I suggested that I went on a vacation back home, the Sheikh simply said that he needed me and that vacation time would be added to the final payment at the end of my contract. Not that I have a contract, as such: we agreed a rate of pay before I came, and that was it. I was told that I'd be fed, clothed and housed in addition to my salary, which was tax free, so it looked like a fantastic deal. And they say my money's paid into a Swiss account every month, and they show me the account statement if I ask, but I've no real way of getting at the money. Still, I am a free man, not a slave, and it never hurts to remind the Sheikh.
"Oh I can compare two men, Steve", the Sheikh said, smiling. "I am of course very familiar with your body from the many times I have seen you acting as my training and punishment instrument. And when that new man is stripped, I don't doubt that I will make comparisons. But, as you say, he will likely be enslaved for his crimes, and as a slave I will have further opportunities for exploring his body, opportunities that I have refrained from taking with you."
I winced inwardly - he might think that he'd "refrained from taking opportunities to explore my body", but in the course of my duties I'd many times been in total intimacy with him: for example, as I restrained a slave so the Sheikh could fuck him, and then fucked the slave immediately afterwards so that it was not the Sheikh's undiluted semen that dripped out of him; or when I fucked one of the young slaves as the Sheikh lay beside us watching, as he was too tired to perform the act himself. How much more "exploration" of my body did he think was possible? I shuddered inwardly again, as, of course, he'd never fucked me. I'd many times been there, restraining a slave as the Sheikh ponderously manoeuvred his massive body to enter him, and had become totally familiar with his overweight, out of condition flesh as he took his pleasure. And although the Sheikh's fat fingers had explored my own body, testing my musculature generally, and particularly relishing the sensation as he felt my cock and balls before I fucked one of the slaves, he had never attempted to actually force his cock between my muscular butt cheeks. I couldn't help but feel sorry for the tall handsome guy as he stood there in the cage, knowing that the Sheikh had decided to take him and that one day soon I would be restraining him as the Sheikh's cock battered its way into his hole.
As I mused on, I realised I'd just had a very relevant thought: the Sheikh had decided! So it didn't matter whether these men were spies or not! My job as to make them "confess", and they would be enslaved. And even if they didn't confess, they'd be enslaved anyway as the Sheikh had total and absolute power here. He could enslave these men because he wanted their bodies, wanted to present them as gifts to his colleagues, wanted to fuck the tall guy.... And I shuddered again, because as he could do those things to these men, he could, I suppose, do it to me too. There was no law, no concept of ""rights" that would prevent him: he was the absolute ruler here in the kingdom.
I think he saw me thinking, as with a tinge of impatience he now said "I have little time this morning, Steve, but I am in need of stimulation. You may begin to break one of the prisoners."
I took a closer look at the men as they clustered there in the cage, and went over to the bars. "Who is in command here?", I demanded.
I get used to "reading" men like this, and, as I suspected it would be, it was a slightly older, well-built guy who responded "We are illegal prisoners. We demand to be released. We...."
"Oh shut up", I said calmly. "You and I both know that you are soldiers, here on some sort of clandestine spying mission. And as you have broken the laws of this country you are being held as prisoners. And I take it that as you answered, you are in fact in command. Are you an officer?"
"If we are prisoners, and if we are soldiers, as you believe, then we are only required to give our names, and our serial numbers."
"...and your ranks, if you are claiming to be military prisoners. Now, I ask you again - are you the officer in charge of these men?"
He stood there, defiantly silent. I faced him for a few seconds, then said calmly "If I do not get you name, rank and serial number, then we will assume you are not soldiers, but common criminals, and will send you off to the city jail with the regular felons...."
"Joe Kalowski. Sergeant. 4387029."
"Thank you, sergeant. And you are in command of this patrol?" He nodded,
"Very well. Select which of your men I should interrogate first."
"You have no right! We're military prisoners. I demand...."
"Select one, sergeant, or I will pick one."
"You have no right...."
He saw we shrug, as if I really didn't care. Well, I do care, actually - it's always best to begin with the guy in charge, as once the other men have seen what happens to him, they're more likely to break. My strategy is to start with the guy in charge, then, in the second session, to select a guy who looks really tough. And then to tell them all that in the third session I'll be choosing another one of them - and tell them which one, always picking a weaker one. Usually that does the trick - after he's seen two sessions, the weak one is usually ready to confess when I appear the next day to begin work on him!
I went closer to the bars, and appeared to be inspecting the men, as if deciding. Then I called to the guards "Get your stunners ready, and come and open the cage.", adding for the benefit of the prisoners, "The stunners are an adaptation of tazer technology. I would advise you to behave, and avoid the necessity of having the guards use one on you."
"Now, which one.....", I said again, as if selecting.
"Take me, you bastard!", the sergeant snapped, and I smiled inwardly.
The guards manoeuvred him out of the cage, and locked the gate behind him. He stood in front of me, looking defiant. "Remove all your clothes", I said quietly.
"I'm not required....", he began. But I was of course expecting this, and he never completed the sentence. My fist slammed in to his gut, totally winding him, and he staggered backwards. He recovered, though, and came for me, fists in an attacking pose.
Look, I always win these initial encounters. For one thing, I'm prepared and they aren't. And for another, I've been specially trained in the marines to "fight rough" (training they don't give to ordinary grunts as they're too busy teaching them to "respect" the local population, to "understand the sensibilities of those you are protecting", and all the other crap). So I won't bore you with the details of how I scientifically and ruthlessly beat him up - being careful, of course, not to spoil his features or damage him permanently; but inflicting enough pain to make him realise that he needed to obey me.
Finally I hauled him to his feet and he stood in front of me, breathing hard and clearly in some distress. "Right, Joe.... Want another dose? Or are you going to do as you're told?" Before he could answer me, I gave him a way out so he could obey without losing face in front of his men "We need your clothes for examination - we know that soldiers sometimes carry concealed weaponry."
Slowly and reluctantly he unbuttoned his tattered shirt and let it fall to the floor, then bent over to unlace his desert boots, and pulled them and his socks off. I nodded approvingly, but said nothing as he then looked at me, realised I was serious, and undid his belt, pulled down his zip and let the combat trousers he was wearing fall to the floor. He stepped forward out of them, and stood there in front of me now wearing only khaki-coloured cotton boxer shorts.
"When I said 'remove your clothes', I meant all your clothes", I said calmly. For an instant he looked very defiant, but perhaps realised that his situation now was even more hopeless than before - with his desert boots on he might have hoped to kick out at me and inflict some sort of injury, but now he had no chance. Slowly, and reluctantly, his hands went down and his thumbs pushed at the elastic waistband of the boxers, and he let them fall to the floor.
He had a good body, actually - I guessed he was in his early forties, and he had that layer additional flesh that men sometimes put on around that age - still physically fit, but no longer perfect. His torso was smothered in dark, curly hairs that spread on down across his belly to a huge patch of pubic hair that stretched across his groin, and partially concealed his cock and balls - a cock that was, I noted, uncircumcised. How very foolish of his officers to send men on a clandestine mission to this country without arranging for their foreskins to be removed - if they were to have any hope at all of posing as natives, how did they expect to use a public urinal, or fuck a local woman, or do any of the other things that men do where their cocks are exposed to the gaze of others? Like so many men who are on missions to the desert, he was deeply tanned on his lower arms and calves, with a lighter tan all over his torso and upper arms. His lower belly, butt and thighs were pure white, though, and I thought he looked faintly ridiculous with such a contrast in his skin above and below the belt line. Still, no matter - when he was enslaved, all this would be corrected.
I told the guards to pull the "horse" out into the centre of the room - it is of course very important that the other men have a good view of what was about to happen to him - and once in position, they "herded" him, threatening him with their stunners, until he was standing in front of it. I gripped his neck firmly, and pushed him down so that his belly was along the top surface, and then, still exerting pressure on him so that he was not tempted to move, bent down, pulled a wrist towards the shackle on the front leg and snapped it shut, repeating the process with the other wrist immediately afterwards.
Opinions vary, but I prefer to leave a man's legs unshackled to the real legs of a horse. It can make it easier to fasten both arms and legs, I know, but I find that the fact that the man can still move his legs and therefore futilely attempts to do so to escape from the punishment he is being given, brings him more quickly to the realisation that he is powerless. He was fairly typical as he lay there, shuffling his feet uneasily, and I went and stood by his head and ran my fingers through his short, military-cut hair rather condescendingly.
"You are on a punishment horse, Jim", I said quietly. Quietly enough so that it was clear that I was authoritative and in command, but not so quiet that the watching men could not all hear. "You will experience pain here, pain such as you have probably not known before. And it will continue, until you reveal all to us." Actually, that's not true. Beyond a certain point there's no point in continuing to beat a man's body as it only serves to destroy the flesh and if he is determined not to speak, he will not. But as a threat, it sounds good. And, as I have explained, I did not expect to "break" the sergeant - he was merely an example, an assistance in showing his men what would happen to them.
"You've no right....", he began.
"Oh yes we have, Joe! We have the right given to us by the exercise of power. The power that stronger men have over weaker ones. The power that my employer has to direct affairs in his kingdom as he sees fit. You are about to experience that power in action."
"I demand my rights as a prisoner of war..."
"We are not at war. You are not a prisoner of war, therefore. You are a felon in this country...."
"I haven't been tried! How can I be guilty of anything..."
"...because our ruler, the Sheikh, has decided that you are guilty. We do not need tedious legal procedures to demonstrate that. He has decreed it. Now, before we begin, are you going to tell us all the details of your mission?"
"Fuck you!!" he shouted. And, of course, I smiled inwardly as in not so many minutes it would in fact him who would be fucked.
Although it's not strictly necessary, I prefer to "warm up" the butt of the man I am about to humiliate.
And, when there's an audience as we had now, it does of course add to the general humiliation and apprehension that they will experience. I don't use a punishment cane - those are reserved for when the pain itself is the object of the exercise, for instance when a disobedient slave is being punished. Instead I use a leather flogging strap, about three inches wide and just under two feet long on the end of its polished hardwood handle: flicked at the unfortunate's butt it really hurts, but does not leave semi-permanent marks as the cane does. The victim ends up with a very red, very painful, butt, but there is no possibility of breaking the skin.
I went and stood by the man's butt, and draped the leather end of the flogging strap over his buttocks, allowing it to linger there for a few seconds, and lodge in the prominent cleft between the cheeks. He moved his legs uneasily as I did this, and began blaspheming and swearing, but I ignored him to show him that all such pleadings were useless: it was now his destiny to be used for my purposes. The remaining men in the cage had gone silent through all of this, but as I raised my arm for the first stroke, and as it hit and the sergeant screamed, their voices too joined in the general mayhem.
It's generally acknowledged that because of all the practice I get I'm something of an expert with the cane and flogging strap. And I saw the Sheikh's eyes glittering with anticipation and excitement as, acting as his instrument, I systematically reddened the white buttocks in front of me - I know that he would like to do this task himself, as sometimes, in bed, he enjoys slapping the ass of young slave boys; but of course it would be improper for a ruler such as him to actually do it in front of others, and so I act as his agent, his instrument. I carried on the strapping of the sergeant, sometimes beating one buttock, sometimes the other, and sometimes laying the stroke across both. It's also important to vary the tempo, of course, so that the man can't anticipate the arrival of the next blow and thus the suspense is heightened - it makes it much worse for the victim when you do not rain down blows one after the other, but halt periodically and allow the leather of the strap to slide across his flesh, before restarting the beating proper.
After his great shout when my first blow struck, the sergeant had gone resolutely silent, although I could tell by the way his whole body jerked as if not totally under his control, and the way he shuffled his feet between strokes, that he was in very considerable discomfort from my attentions. But, as you probably know, these things build up, and after about ten strokes he began to shout as each successive blow struck, each time starting with a shout as the leather stung his butt, and then, perhaps to show his anger, or perhaps to cover up his shame at having cried out again, a great cry of "fuck!", or "Jesus Christ!".
I continued to thrash him, and as his ass got more and more tender and the blows hurt him more and more, his cries and shouts merged into one continuous noise. His men in the cage seemed too shocked, too stunned, to do anything other than stand there, gripping the bars.
The point of this initial beating is to humiliate the man as much as to hurt him, and personally I am always eager to progress to his ultimate degradation when his virgin ass is fucked. But, as sometimes happens, there is an intermediate stage, and this occurred on this occasion: there was a splashing sound, and I looked down to see piss hosing from his cock as he had lost control of his bladder. I stopped beating him then, so that his loud cries of pain could subside into a general sobbing, as he understood that his body had betrayed him, sobs that sounded all the more humiliating as they did not drown out the sound of his piss hosing down. Fortunately the floor of the punishment chamber is bare concrete so the piss is no particular problem, but as he lay there whimpering quietly to himself I could see his men looking utterly shocked at what had happened.
I went and stood by his head, and said quietly "So, Joe, are you now willing to tell us the details of your mission, or must I proceed to the next stage?"
I have to say I was rather pleased when he stopped his sobbing and spat out "Fuck you!" again. It's rare for anyone to confess of course, but there's always the possibility that they might and then I am denied the pleasure of using their ass.
Turning to the men clustered behind the bars, I said calmly, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, "Your sergeant has had his rump tenderised, and the next step in persuading him to speak is to fuck him. I assume he is a virgin, so this would be a painful process at the best of times - but with a red ass, and with a man like me with a thick, hard cock, it will be particularly difficult for him. One of you men can however help him, if you wish: we will let one of you out of the cage so that you can come over and wank him. You can see his cock and his balls hanging down invitingly between his thighs as he lies here, and you can use his spunk to massage his asshole. That will ease the passage of my cock through his passage, so to speak, and will be doing him a very, very great favour. Now, which of you wants to volunteer to help him?"
They seemed speechless, so I went back over to the sergeant, ran my hands down his butt, slapped it - hard - as he tried to close his thighs together to prevent me going further, then stroked his cock as it hung there. Not many men can suppress their natural bodily functions in these circumstances, and the sergeant's cock began to stiffen and jut forwards towards the horse. As it hardened, I pulled it backwards between his thighs so his cock head was facing the men in the cage, and his balls were displayed sandwiched between his cock and the base of his muscular ass.
I flicked his foreskin back so that his cock head was fully revealed, glistening in the light and already moist from the remains of his impromptu piss - and perhaps from some pre-cum? "See", I called out to the men, "He's ready! Right on the edge! Which of you is going to help out your sergeant? Surely a group of men like you must be used to jerking each other off?"
It was amusing to see the men all looking at each other. I think one or other of them might have actually done it, except that I heard some mutterings of "fag" and "queer", and they all then remained silent.
"So be it", I remarked casually. "Your sergeant is going to experience his first man on man sex unprepared! I hope you men understand what you are about to make him undergo. And that tomorrow, when I move on to the next of you, that you will be little more considerate to your fellows."
I undid the button of my shorts and pushed the zip down, and let them fall to the floor and stepped out of them. I left my polo shirt on, as I know the Sheikh finds it a little more erotic to see the hem of it just touching the top of the flare of my butt, and he also likes the view from the front, too - somehow having a man naked from the waist down is more exciting, don't you think? I stroked my cock to erection - not that it needed much encouragement - and strode up to the bars of the cage. "Take a good look", I told the men, "Imagine this forcing its way through your sergeant's most secret portal. And then think of how he is going to feel as I fuck him. Have any of you ever taken your wives or girlfriends up the ass? Did they cry out as you forced yourself in? Did they scream at you to stop, but perhaps you were too excited, or too drunk, to do so?"
They shouted things at me like "Bastard!", but I didn't care. I slid my foreskin back so that my own moist cock head appeared. "I'm ready, as you can see!
Now, is one of you going to help out your sergeant, or is my cock here going to batter him asshole with no prior stretching, and no lubrication other than the pre-cum which you can see is already preparing me?"
There were lots more cries of "Bastard!" and "Fucker!" and even worse - men like these seem to prefer referring to the female genitalia at times like this, but it seemed none of them was prepared to risk his fellows thinking he was a fag by actually coming to his sergeant's aid. I smiled inwardly, as although it's much harder work, and in some ways it's not so satisfying sexually as feeling the silky smoothness of a well-lubed hole, there is a certain satisfaction to be gained from actually truly raping a man, taking him totally without preparation, when he is utterly unable to prevent it.
I slapped the sergeant on his beefy butt a couple of times more to alert him that the ordeal was about to begin, then reached down and casually pried apart his butt cheeks. The curly hair covering a lot of his body was much in evidence here too, and I suppose that's kind of exciting - well at least for me it is, as most of the men I get to fuck at the Sheikh's place are shaved smooth down there. It's a bit of "six of one and half a dozen of the other" as far as I am concerned, as I think there are merits both ways: the rough feel of the hair in one case, and the rather more silky sensation of a smooth hole in the other. Mind you, I was beginning to wish that the sergeant had been shaved down there - he hadn't showered for some days I guess, and there was a fetid, rank smell coming up from him. And I wasn't too sure, either, if he had been properly clean when he'd last crapped - still, no point in worrying about that, is there? Unless you've given the guy an enema, there's much more of that waiting for you inside, as we know.
I slapped my hard heavy cock against his butt several times, and then let it slide up and down his ass crack as I held it open - my excitement was mounting rapidly now, but I do like these little hors d'oeuvres to the main course as it's not only pretty exciting to me, but it again signals to the other guy that he is under my total control and I can do what I like to him. The sergeant was attempting to struggle and free himself- utterly futile and pointless, of course, and he was continuing to scream and blaspheme and call me all the vile names that a career in the military had taught him. I slapped his butt a couple more times - excruciatingly painful, given the tenderising that had already gone on, but it did nothing to stop him.
My cock was so rigidly hard that I didn't have to use my hand to position the head on his hole as it lay there all puckered and dark, surrounded by its fringe of dark hairs - I cold just bend my legs a little and shuffle slightly to one side to position myself properly so that I was almost "docked" into the depression in his hole. My own excitement was almost unbearable now as the sensitive tip of my cock felt the warm, moist skin of his pucker. And there was no time to waste - I was positively drooling pre-cum and I was worried that I might actually climax if I delayed too long!
Keeping myself kind of positioned properly, I pulled back a little and then thrust forward very vigorously indeed so that my cock stabbed at his hole and then with that rush you get, went in. The sergeant's swearing and blaspheming abruptly turned into a loud, terrible scream as the pain struck him. I gave him no time to recover, though, and thrust forward, sinking my cock deep into him, and feeling the prickle of the hairs on his butt and thighs rubbing against my own skin.
I rested there then, revelling in the feeling of power that I had, and enjoying the way that the muscles in his hole gripped my cock. I waited until his cries and sobs subsided, and then pulled out, and thrust back in, causing him to start his cries once more. I knew that for a strong man like the sergeant, used to being in charge and giving orders to his men, this inability to control his own signs of hurt and terror would be especially humiliating.
It's funny, really - there's an utterly fantastic delight in actually raping a guy, I always think: knowing that you're forcing your cock into him when he absolutely does not want it, and when he's totaly powerless to prevent you. It's absolutely the best sex that your brain can have. But, on the other hand, whilst there's this huge jag of pure sensation thrilling your brain, your poor old cock is actually taking a fair bit of punishment: I think we all get so used to the idea of a guy's hole being nicely stretched, relaxed, and lubed properly that we forget that without all that there's a lot of friction at first, friction that's especially grim for us uncut guys whose cock heads are so sensitive. Still, it doesn't take long, I suppose, for things to get a bit better: I thrust in and out really hard, as I like to hear the slap of my flesh against his as I slam my body against him (and there's that special sensation in your balls as they fly forwards and collide with him - it's quite unlike any other feeling you get from them, I always think) - all this makes me sweat, and he was too of course, and soon your cock is moving a lot better with that lubrication. Mind you, it's not always that pleasant as some of his shit starts to come out, and I reckon that if I wasn't so fired up by then and almost incapable of stopping, it might be rather different and I'd give up.
The Sheikh likes to have a bit of a show, so I needed to slow down a bit then or else I would have cum much too quickly. So I did a lot of little, short, fast strokes: quite a different sensation for me, and of course for him - he'd been shouting in time to the thrust of my cock, before, but now he changed to one long continuous wail again.
In spite of my efforts though I just couldn't control my body. My brain was so fired up with the sheer eroticism of it all, and my cock so stimulated by the feel of his hole, that I knew I was about to shoot. I pulled away, almost popping my cock completely out of him, then thrust forward one last time, arching my back and throwing my head backwards as I did so as my body tried to get the last millimetre of my cock into him.
They all saw my body jerk then, of course - I couldn't help it as great shudders went through me as cum shot out of me up into him. I managed to regain a little control and pull out totally so that they could see the last few small spurts of my cum emerging from my cock (I think I turned slightly so they could all get a good view), and then so as to emphasise to all of them that my seed was deep in him, I simply plunged in for one last glorious thrust, allowing my body to fall forward onto his sweaty back as I did so. It's good to feel the other guy under you then, isn't it? And I took the opportunity of biting the side of the sergeant's neck, so that he would be marked with a big hickey as a reminder, at least for a few days, of what had occurred.
It was time to pull out then, though, and, as I said, I find it a bit disgusting: my cock was covered in his crap, and already there was a thin trickle of crap, sweat and semen trickling down the inside of his thighs. With as much dignity as I could I walked across the room with my cock now not nearly so rigid, and stood at a small sink and washed my cock, then walked back (now totally flaccid) and pulled my shorts on. I slapped the sergeant a couple more times on his butt, just to remind everyone that I was still in control (he shouted again as my hands fell on him), then walked over to the Sheikh and bowed slightly.
"Was that satisfactory, Highness?"
"Oh yes, Steve, eminently so: your usual excellent performance. I do particularly enjoy seeing your thighs and that muscled ass of yours in motion like that - perhaps I should insist that you always go around without shorts, so that I can feast my eyes more often on those sublime parts of your body."
As he said this, the Sheikh reached forward and allowed his hand to rest on my butt, then slide down, very gently - not exerting as much pressure as you would if you were testing the musculature of a slave, but perhaps indicating his desire to possess me.
"I'm a free man, Highness.... Only slaves go bare assed."
"Quite so, Steve. Still, I might hope."
With that he got up and left, and then I, helped by the guards (who, judging by the bulges in their shorts had also found the spectacle very erotic), undid the shackles holding the sergeant and almost threw him back into the cage. We did not, of course allow him to dress again - what was the point? He was going to be a slave, and you don't need to worry about things like that for slaves, do you?
I watched with a faint amusement as the men all clustered around him, trying to comfort him, but some of them drew away as their nostrils picked up the smell of the shit that was now liberally greasing his inner thighs.
"Tomorrow I will be back", I told them. "I will beat, and then fuck, each of you in turn until one of you confesses."
Their shouts of defiance were amusing - there's always one weak one who breaks sooner or later. In fact I'd got one marked out already - a young blond, probably only twenty or so, almost certainly on his first combat mission. After he'd seen me attend to one of his stronger colleagues the next day, I'd let it be known that he was to be my choice for day three - with a night to think about it, and imagine the pain and degradation he would suffer, I felt almost certain that he would break when he was stripped and taken to the horse.
I went out then to do my routine inspection of the general work on the estate, glad that once again, acting as an instrument for the Sheikh, I had been able to satisfy my own desires.
End Of Part Two