The Instrument

THE INSTRUMENT

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

Part Six

It was actually quite difficult for me to get to sleep that night - after all the earlier excitement I was pretty aroused sexually, and as I lay there in my bed I really wanted to wank myself, to get rid of the raging erection that was plaguing me. But I knew that I had to perform the following day (well today, actually, as it was now the early hours of the morning) to "break" the new slave, and the Sheikh gets impatient if it takes too long for me to cum once I have begun fucking the reluctant man as he writhes and scream under me: as I get older it takes longer anyway, and although I'm fit and virile as I've told you, it is more difficult for me to cum as repeatedly as I had been able to do when I was in my early twenties! So I lay there, my cock throbbing and begging for release, knowing that I really ought not to do anything about it - but you know how it is: once my fingers had gripped my cock and slid my 'skin up and down a few times, I was effectively out of control, and the result was a foregone conclusion. I just had to carry on until I erupted once more, and was able to lie there and at last contemplate sleep. It's one of the advantages of being a free man in the Sheikh's palace that you don't have to worry about having some disgusting piece of toilet tissue to catch your cum - you can just let it spray all over the bedclothes as the domestic slaves change the linen daily and there will be no horrible dry, crusty patch of dried cum when you slide between the sheets the next night.

Even though I actually had very little sleep I was still wide awake as the sun first began to peek above the horizon - I'm one of those morning people, who always wake up early. Not enjoying lying in bed alone (and in any case worried that I might be tempted to do something about my morning hard-on if I lay there too long), I sprang up, pulled on some running shorts, and went for a run - it's fantastic in the early morning in the desert, when it's still chill from overnight and the air is crisp and fresh. But of course the sun does rise very rapidly, and before I'd finished my regular seven miles it was burning down onto my bare back (I only ever wear shorts when I'm running as I sweat so much that even a tiny singlet gets soaked and then chafes my nipples). Still, it felt good and when I got back to my suite in the palace I decided to enjoy the pleasure of soaping my own body in the shower, and slapped the slave boy who normally ministers to me playfully across his naked rump, to show him I had no need of his services.

I usually take breakfast on the secluded patio area outside my suite, and this morning was no exception. It's good as I don't need to bother to dress after my shower, and I usually sprawl on a lounger letting myself get a nice all over tan as the serving slave brings me my freshly squeezed orange juice, newly-baked croissants, fresh dates and figs, and delicious coffee. The slave was surprised, though, when I pushed him away as he knelt to take my cock into his mouth as I lay there eating; but, as I've told you, I had a job to do and that takes precedence over mere pleasure.

After I'd eaten, even though there's no reason to as I would soon be stripping off "for work", I nevertheless pulled on my usual long shorts and polo short and slipped my feet into leather sandals and made my way through the palace towards the detention area. It's not that I'm ashamed of my body in any way, and there's no reason why I couldn't walk around naked if I wanted to (and indeed sometimes I did, to emphasise to the young serving slaves about the place that this is what a real man looked like); no, it was more of an advance preparation so that as I stripped the prisoner naked, he would see the contrast between his state and mine.

As I walked down to the interrogation chamber the usual sense of foreboding and dread set in as the light dimmed and the ceilings lowered. The remaining captured soldier was sitting there behind the bars at the end when I entered the room, but on seeing me he sprang to his feet, gripped the bars angrily, and began shouting "What have you done with my buddies? Where are they? I demand to know...."

"Silence!", I rapped. "They have been disposed of. And today you are going to enter into the next and final phase of your life, as you become a slave of the Sheikh, the ruler of this kingdom that you foolishly tried to illegally invade."

"Disposed of? What the fuck do you mean? Have they been killed?"

"Of course not! Men like you are too valuable to kill! Strong, virile men make good slaves, and slaves are an expensive item - especially white slaves, as your fellows now are, and you will soon be. Even niggas fetch considerable sums, and the Sheikh generously offered your buddies as valuable and rare gifts to some of his closest friends at a dinner last night. He has decided to keep you for his own pleasure, however, and when he deigns to arrive, you will begin the process of induction into your own servitude."

"You can't do this...."

I just laughed. "Of course we can! And we already have, for your buddies. And we will do so for you. And I would advise you to keep silent and not abuse your owner, the Sheikh, as....."

"No one owns me! I'm a free man...."

I laughed again. "You may have been a free man, but now you are a slave. And soon you will begin to find out what that means to you."

I was bored with the conversation then, and decided to end it. I took the hose used for clearing out the pen from the wall, turned on the high pressure jet, and directed it on to the soldier. It really is high pressure - to give the captives brought down here a feeling of helplessness and to show them that they are now no better than animals, we do not provide any washing or lavatory facilities for them and simply wash out the pen with the hose occasionally. Indeed, there was a generally fetid smell in the place and I could see a neat pile of turds in the corner, and I now swirled these with the jet out of the pen and into the drain in the corner. Turning off the water for moment I commented "There - that's better. Your owner doesn't like the smell of slave excrement, so we're much better prepared for him now. But as you did that load, I assume you're in need of cleansing yourself - remove your clothes."

Well he disobeyed me at first, so I turned up the pressure and played the hose over him - the force of the water was enough to sweep him off his feet and blast him against the rear wall, and I know from having done it before that the sheer volume of water then cascading over him would be making it exceedingly difficult for him to breathe, and he would feel as if he was drowning (quite apart from chilling him to the bone, as the water comes from our own boreholes, deep under the desert, and is very cold).

Occasionally I would stop the water therefore and shout to him "Get naked!", and when he refused I began to batter and drench him again. He did obey eventually of course, but he had that look of dumb, defiant insolence on his face as he removed his sodden garments, to stand in front of me with his hands arranged in a pathetic attempt to conceal his genitals.

"Raise your hands!", I commanded. And when he appeared to be disobeying continued "...or are you ashamed of your cock? I thought all you soldiers were big virile men, with nothing to be ashamed of...."

Reluctantly he raised his hands, and I could see no reason why he might have been attempting to conceal himself - like me, his big strong body was perfectly complemented by a long, thick cock hanging in front of a low-hanging sac that appeared to have really good sized balls in it - I say "appeared", as like so many men much of the splendour of his sexual endowment was concealed by a forest of thick, wiry black pubic hair.

Still, that would soon be remedied!

I turned down the pressure of the water in the hose and played it over his naked body to clean it, then commanded him to turn around. He seemed reluctant, so I sneered "Do you want to expose your soiled body to the Sheikh, or do you want to be clean? I thought soldiers prided themselves on cleanliness." Glaring at me, he turned around and I hosed down his back, then shouted "Now bend from the waist, and spread your butt so we can do the job properly."

I could just tell from the way that he moved, that he hated doing this. Like so many men he was not used to exposing that most intimate part of his anatomy to the gaze of others, and as I played the jet of water over him to wash him clean I could see him flinching, not only from the coldness of the water, but from the sheer indignity of what he was being forced to experience. I smiled inwardly to myself, as this reluctance to expose your ass to another guy is a sure sign that you're "straight" - so when I fucked him, I'd almost certainly be taking a virgin ass.

After that, when I turned off the water he just stood there, initially "planing" the water off his body. He then went to retrieve his sodden clothes and began to attempt to pull his shorts on. "No, leave them off", I commanded. "They're foul. And we've just gone to all the trouble of getting you clean, before your owner sees your body for the first time."

"Look, cut all this crap about 'owners', will you? I'm a man - I'm not 'owned' by anyone!"

I smiled. "Assuredly, you are. As you will see. Now, I would advise you to be suitably respectful to the man who now owns you when he appears - his Highness has a short temper, and has been known to order immediate punishment for obstreperous slaves: punishments that you would find at the very least extremely unpleasant, and at their worst, seriously damaging to your manhood!"

"What the fuck do you mean?"

"Caning, whipping, gelding, crucifixion is the usual sequence."

"You can't be serious! Corporal punishment of prisoners is outlawed by the Geneva Convention And as for gelding....."

"You do not seem to appreciate that when you entered the Sheikh's territory illegally you forfeited all rights that soldiers might or might not have. You are now a slave, and, like animals, slaves do not have 'rights'. Slaves have owners; you are the property of your owner, and your owner can do with you anything that he chooses. And, believe me, the Sheikh has indeed been known to order the immediate gelding of a slave who he judges to be so wilful that he will never respond to training. And, had it not been dark when you were brought here, you would have seen the decomposing body of a slave who attempted to escape, and then, when he was about to be gelded for this crime, struck out at the Sheikh.... The remains of the corpse are left there, with the spikes still holding the wrists to the cross, as a reminder to all of the Sheikh's power. So my advice to you would be to be respectful, and take what is coming to you.... The Sheikh does of course expect you to scream and blaspheme as your enslavement proceeds - a virile, former soldier like you can be forgiven for acting so characteristically and behaving like that. Indeed, it shows you still have spirit, and a slave with spirit, when that is properly subjugated, is a better slave than a purely docile creature. But avoid insulting him personally, and under no circumstances attempt to touch his person in any way whatsoever!"

"Look, there must be some way out of this...."

"None, believe me. The Sheikh has already formally pronounced your enslavement, and all that we are here to experience today is the physical implementation of that act. You were doomed to the life of a slave the moment you illegally entered this country, intent on spying on the Sheikh's activities."

We might have gone on with this futile debate for some time, but at that moment the guards threw open the doors to the chamber, and the Sheikh entered - followed by the boy Marc. Now this was an interesting development, that the Sheikh had chosen to bring this new slave with him, and I stared at the boy for a moment as if searching for some reason why. But he looked no different from many of the other young slaves about the place except of course that he was white, and not a nigga like the rest of them actually in the palace. I did see however that this lack of colour in the skin now showed up several dark patches on his arms, thighs and belly where he was bruised, and it occurred to me that the Sheikh might have been tussling with him and gripping him very hard, causing this. Perhaps the boy was being brought down here to be punished for resisting the Sheikh. It promised to be an interesting morning!

I bowed respectfully to the Sheikh (just a brief bow of course, from the waist, as a free man does to royalty, not the kind of deep, grovelling bow expected of a slave).

"Ah, Steve, good morning", my employer greeted me cordially. "I see you have been busy."

The Sheikh advanced towards the bars, observing the slave closely, and added "I think I have made an excellent choice in holding this one back for my personal use. A most pleasing muscular development, even before he is rigorously trained. And once he is trimmed and shaved, I think his genitals will certainly be exciting. I like a tall man, too - as you are yourself, Steve. Indeed, I believe he is almost exactly the same height as you. And in the same proportion - you both have very long legs, which is something I particularly admire."

I didn't like being compared to a slave like that, but the Sheikh was my employer and so I just smiled faintly, and nodded.

"Begin!", he commanded me. "I have other matters of importance this morning."

We always keep the guards in the room as the gate is opened and the slave is brought out of the cage in case there's trouble - and this was one of those occasions when this policy was sound. The naked slave made an attempt to rush out of the door, not realising until it was too late that the guards only had to touch his naked flesh with the tip of a slave prod as he passed them to cause him to fall to the floor, screaming and writhing with the agony caused to his tortured nerves.

I told the guards to bring the "horse" out into the centre of the chamber, and once the convulsive twitching of the slave's limbs had quietened sufficiently, bent down and grabbed him, hauled him to his feet, and whilst he was still incapable of resisting, thrust him across the "horse" and quickly snapped the wrist restraints closed to hold him there.

Well most of you probably know that one of the things that a new slave experiences, whether male or female, is the "taking of the cherry". It shows them, in a very real way, that their bodies are now absolutely not under their control and that it is their owner who dominates them. The Sheikh is a traditionalist and believes in this little ceremony, but of course it is inappropriate for his royal personage to actually carry out the act itself. It falls to me, as his instrument, to actually rape the new slaves and I suppose it's one of the "perks" of the job (well, I'm not so keen on deflowering the females, but taking a nice tight asshole for the first time is pretty special!).

I looked at my employer for approval, he nodded and dismissed the guards (he is sensitive about things like this, and knows that I wouldn't like fucking in front of those ill-educated low life), and I could begin. There's not much point in making a huge fuss over it, I find - it's always going to hurt like hell the first time anyway, and so you might just a well get on with it. So I dropped my shorts and stepped out of them, and made a bit of effort to slather my cock in as much spit as possible, as much to make it a bit easier on me as it is to help the slave. I stood there stroking my cock to full erection and occasionally bending my head so that a huge gob of my spit could fall on to it.. Then I simply advanced on the naked butt of the slave as he stood there helplessly bent over the "horse", kicked at his ankles to cause him to spread his legs as wide as possible, slapped his butt hard a few times to show him that I was there and in control of him, and then reached down, pulled his cheeks apart, positioned the tip of my cock at his hole, and thrust forward.

His scream was very loud and very long, and I could see the Sheikh smiling in satisfaction as he knew that I had completed the first part of the ritual. I rested for a moment, my hands on the slave's shoulders, waited until his cries had subsided a little, and then I fucked him - fucked him hard. The Sheikh likes to hear that wonderful slap, slap, slap sound as my skin collides with the slave's butt, and finds it particularly enjoyable when the "slaps" are punctuated by the helpless cries of the slave as once more I plunge into him.

It's not all fun, of course - the slaves are never properly cleaned out, and as you continue and the sweat starts to flow, it gets all mixed up with the slave's crap and that disgusting smell starts to rise up. I don't like to think of my cock, and especially to my cock head that is usually protected from the world by my 'skin, getting covered in shit, but there's not much you can do about it as we don't want to spoil the slave's ass by thrusting an enema hose up him first.

The slave was a good fuck, though - his ass was really tight, and having a well-muscled body and a particularly nicely shaped butt made the whole experience a real pleasure. I was so aroused that it only took about three or four minutes before I felt my excitement peaking, I thrust in one last time, threw my body back a bit to make sure I had maximum penetration, and just couldn't help adding my own ecstatic cry of "Jesus fucking Christ!" to the slave's own screams as I shot my load up into him.

I like to lie on the slave for a few minutes after I've cum, partially to allow my breathing and heartbeat to recover, and partially to enjoy the feeling of our sweaty bodies close together, and particularly of knowing that with my weight on him and my cock still up his ass the slave is totally powerless and under my control. But the Sheikh was in a hurry and so I had to forgo this small pleasure and pull out almost as soon as I had done - I stood there, my cock stained brown from his ass juices, and saw the last little spurts of cum just oozing out of my cock as I started to detumesce. Still, no time for delay, so I strode across the room to a basin on the wall and quickly washed my cock, then pulled my shots on to prepare for the next part of the ceremony. Still, I did feel a bit sorry for the slave, though: it's really tough to have been raped like that, and then have to stand there with ass juice and cum trickling down the inside of your thighs - I've often wondered why an asshole can't stop cum sliding out like that, but it never does, does it?

I noticed the boy whispering to the Sheikh, though, and heard the Sheikh give a chuckle of amusement before slapping the boy half-affectionately on his naked butt. As I watched, he strode across the room, stood for a moment jerking at his cock, then entered the slave and began to fuck him in some sort of obscene parody of my own performance a few moments before.

"Highness...?", I queried.

The Sheikh was smiling and put out a hand to restrain me as I went to go across to the boy and the slave. "No, Steve - leave him. It amuses me! All last night, every time I fucked him, afterwards he would curl up against me and ask me what it was like to fuck a man - he has, apparently, only fucked women up until now. So I decided to let him try...."

"But it is hardly seemly, Highness.... This is the enslavement ceremony....."

"Oh, Steve, you are to concerned with protocol! It amuses me to see one of my slaves fucking another, and that is sufficient." I looked at the slight boy, still in that state between "boyishness" and the onset off his full maturity, and had to admit that the sight was not without interest. His slim, boy-ish buttocks were thrusting away vigorously, and the contrast between his hairless legs and thighs and the muscular, hairy ones of the slave under him was indeed rather erotic. But just as I was getting really interested, the inevitable happened and he, as if mimicking me, threw his head back and cried "YES!". Well, I suppose when you're sixteen it doesn't take much to bring you to a climax, does it?

Like me, the boy went over and washed his cock, and then came and stood beside the Sheikh, who curled one of his arms around his shoulders and hugged the naked boy to him. The Sheikh looked at me and said, smiling, "I think you have a bit of a rival here, Steve", and kind of ruffled the remaining hair on the boy's head almost affectionately.

The Sheikh saw me looking, and added "Let us proceed.....", and so I went over and got out the branding irons from the corner cupboard, and plugged them in to begin heating. It's not traditional, I know, as one always thinks of slaves being branded with a red hot iron taken fresh fro ma charcoal brazier, or something like that; but, believe me, the electric models are far superior. For one thing the thermostats on them give you a more precise control of the temperature, and that can be pretty important if you want a nice crisp brand. And for another, it's far simpler - we were in a basement, after all, and the fumes from a fire could potentially be dangerous.

When the large iron was up to temperature, at a nod of approval from the Sheikh I sprung astride the body of the slave on the horse to hold him down and then quickly and without hesitation plunged the iron down onto his left butt as it lay there between my thighs.

The expected happened, of course - the terrible, heart-rending scream from the slave as the iron seared into his flesh, followed by the nauseating stench as his bowels gave way and a trickle of crap fell onto the floor. It went silent then, except for the continuing sobbing of the slave and the sound of splashing as his bladder emptied too.

We weren't finished, of course - that was only the large "S", denoting slave. The Sheikh also likes the upper arm, at the shoulder, branded with his house mark. That's much smaller and so it's a little less painful - or perhaps it's that the slave has been so shocked by the initial brand that he has lost the power to react in the same way to further agony.

I hosed down the floor and the slave's ass then - the cold water providing a bit of relief to his pain, I suppose, and then we were done with the parts of the operation that the Sheikh likes to see personally. He left, taking the boy with him, and I went over and undid the restraints holding the slave to the "horse".

He stood upright - slowly, very slowly, as the muscles of his butt moved and presumably sent fresh waves of pain from the brand through him.

"Bastard...!", he began.

"Look, that's the worst of it over. All slaves here are branded as the Sheikh wants you to understand that with his marks seared into your flesh you are truly his property. Now come on....."

"It's not right! I demand to be treated as a proper prisoner.... I know my rights...."

"You may know what your rights were as a free man, but let me remind you that you are a slave. A slave who now bears the marks of ownership decided by his owner.

And slaves have no rights - none whatsoever. Your owner can do with you as he pleases, and it pleases the Sheikh to have his slaves marked to denote them as his property."

As I was speaking I slipped a pair of loose cuffs on his wrists, pulling his hands behind his back. Then I told him to follow me, and, as a lot of slaves like him who still think of themselves as independent men do, he disobeyed me and simply stood there.

"Have you thought exactly how painful it would be if I slapped your butt, hard, right on top of the brand?"

"Bastard! You can't hurt me any more than you already have. And I can take it...."

Look, I'm not a sadist. And I don't need to prove anything. So I didn't strike him as I could easily have done, especially in the light of his defiance of my order. Instead I simply reached down, took his cock in my hand, and used it as a handle to drag him after me as I strode across the floor. I know from experience that when you're pulling a guy along like that he has almost no ability to resist you!

I led him up the stairs that lead directly into the service yard at the back of the palace, and as we came out into the bright sunlight I could see him blinking after being in the basement's subdued lighting for so long. And then his look changed to one of disbelief as he saw all the slaves scurrying around on their assigned tasks - they were all niggas, of course, as white slaves are as you know rare in those parts, and, like him, they were mostly naked - the Sheikh's philosophy is simple: our climate is mild, indeed, hot, and so a slave has no need of clothes to keep him warm. Equally, a slave need never be modest about his body as it is, after all, the Sheikh's to admire if he chooses. So unless the slave is doing something that might lead to his flesh being injured, he will generally be naked. It actually saves a great deal of money, too, as the palace laundry does not have to be large enough to accommodate the hundreds of sets of slave uniforms that would otherwise be required, as the slaves' hides are easily cleaned. Still, I suppose the sight of all those black bodies, mostly sweating from their labours, must be a little unusual the first time you see them - especially as the niggas we have tend to be very black indeed. They're mostly bought from traders who cull them from the interior of Africa, and unlike the niggas you see in the USA or Europe have not therefore had their colour "toned down" by interbreeding at some point in the past with whites.

We made our way across the yard and through some of the service buildings to the blacksmith's shop - and here was an example of a slave who was clothed: the huge, heavily muscled nigga who served as our blacksmith wore a leather apron to protect himself from the sparks that flew as he worked (and, actually, seeing his bare back, rump and legs from the rear was curiously erotic, I found).

"Collar, cuffs, ankle cuffs for this one", I commanded. "And a cock cinch as he's going to be doing a lot of running."

"Yes, boss!", the blacksmith replied immediately. "The balls too?"

I looked at the slave's balls, which, as I've said, were low-hanging, like my own. I decided it would be better to have these cinched too, with that kind of L-shaped figure-of-eight arrangement whereby one part of the cinch goes around the top of the sac and prevents the balls from ever retracting up into the body, and the second part is like a conventional cock-ring, around the root of the cock and balls, thrusting them forwards and outwards. With very well hung slaves like this I find the arrangement works better as there's no possibility of the cinch slipping along the cock, and having the balls constrained down at the bottom of the sac does also increase the general attractiveness of the "look" of the slave, I think.

Having other work to attend to, I strode off as soon as the blacksmith's huge hand had grabbed the slave's neck and thrust him down onto the anvil, and when I came back a couple of hours later the work had been done with the precision we expect on the demesne - the slave was now tethered by one of the newly-fitted ankle cuffs and was sitting on the dirt floor looking pretty helpless as a lot of new slaves do in those circumstances, I find: the unexpected weight of the heavy iron slave collar and of the cuffs makes their normal body posture "wrong" and they are trying desperately to adjust. Somehow the presence of all these items, permanently secured to them by the rivets that the blacksmith smashes flat when they are hot from the forge, adds to their feeling of utter helplessness and control.

"Not much more now, boy", I said to the slave cheerily. "Now, are you going to follow me obediently, or do I have to use our cock as a handle again? Now it's been cinched it's easy enough...."

"Bastard!", he began. "You can't do this to a guy.... It's not right.... "

I laughed. "We not only can do it, we have.... as you can see and feel. Look, all slaves are collared, and for the job that we are going to give you, the wrist cuffs are necessary. The ankle cuffs make it easy to tether you at night.... And as for the cinching..... Well, it's a kindness, really: well-hung guys like us don't want their cocks and balls flopping around all loose all the time - you'll find it much easier to walk and run like that.... And having them cinched up a bit makes it easier to sit down, too - we're so used to wearing shorts or something that us low-hanging guys can easily forget we've got balls there, and crush them painfully if we sit unexpectedly...."

"Bastard! It's obscene. Just give me some shorts, then, if you're worried about my balls hanging too loose ...."

"As you may have noticed, all the outdoor slaves are naked. You'll be working outdoors, and that's the way you'll be. Now, come on, follow me....."

It was fortunate that it was a Tuesday, one of the days when the peripatetic veterinarian comes to the palace. We have a treatment room, but it's not worth the expense of employing a full-time vet for our slave herd, and we try to get all routine work done on a couple of days each week. In-between times, if there's a serious problem, we call the vet out or make an assessment of whether the slave is too badly injured if there's been an accident, and put him down painlessly. And before any of you even think that this is wrong, let me remind you that slaves - even niggas - are expensive: we never take the decision to have one put down lightly because of the financial loss.

I led the slave into the treatment room and told the vet to stop treating the slave currently on the table as I was in a hurry. I almost had to use my prod to get the slave onto the table before he could be securely strapped down, and the vet looked at me and asked "The usual? Or as this one's a whitey, are you looking for something more exotic? They tell me that it's the fashion in the Capital to have the piss slit exposed, but leave some 'skin...."

"No, high and tight, as usual. His Highness doesn't care for fashion - it's only the nouveau riche from the oil who bother with that stuff. He prefers slaves to be 'skinned properly, traditionally."

The slave had begin to protest and shout as he heard us talking, and wouldn't shut up even when I told him to, so he got his first lesson in obedience: I slapped his belly really hard, four times, as he lay there helplessly on the table, and he then got the idea and just lay silently, glaring at us. He wasn't silent for long, though! The Sheikh thinks that 'skinning a slave is an important part of the process of getting the slave to understand that his life has changed, and therefore he needs to properly experience it. We usually have an argument with the vet about this, as he thinks it's "humane" to anaesthetise the cock first, but on this occasion, as he reached or the syringe and saw me shaking my head, he put it down, shrugged his shoulders, and merely said "Well, I suppose this one is big enough and tough enough to take a little more pain - after all, you've just branded him!".

I nodded, and he began. And, of course, the slave started to scream as the vet ran the scalpel around inside the 'skin to loosen it. The screaming started again as the stainless steel cylinder was slid over the cock head inside the 'skin (and I have to confess, I winced at the thought of that cold steel against the sensitive freshly-cut cock), and again as the scalpel swiftly encircled it, cutting off the excess flesh. "There", the vet said, surprisingly quickly. "It's the new medical adhesives, you know: in he old days it would have taken several minutes to suture the cut ends of the 'skin together, and now all I have to do is apply a line of this glue. He's done - all yours! No jerking off for a week, no fucking for two.... And that's all: the glue dissolves itself away, in line with the healing."

As we left the treatment room, the slave seemed too stunned to speak. I led him over to the stables, put him into one of the pony stalls, and called for one of the stable lads to come and tether him in there by his ankle cuff.

"Bastard!", he whispered again. "What the fuck is this.... You've cut my cock.... Where am I.....?"

"You're in the Sheikh's pony barn, where his real ponies, and human ponies, are kept. We're going to train you as a rickshaw pony for the Sheikh, and this is your home from now on - your very own stall, where you'll live when you're not working. It's really comfortable - we treat you ponies, and the demesne's drays, who also live here, really well.... So you've got a crap hole in the corner, that spigot thing lets you take water whenever you want, and there's fresh straw every day for sleeping on. Oh... And the 'skinning... Well, all the Sheikh's slaves are 'skinned. Not only does he believe it to be more hygienic, but he prefers the 'look' without those long bits of loose skin hanging around. And, of course, he likes to see your cock head: he believes that there should be no part of his property that is concealed from him."

"But it's barbaric, doing this stuff to a man...."

I laughed again. "You still don't get it, do you? You're not a man any longer. You're a slave."

As I turned to leave, one of our teams of drays was coming back from the fields- they must have been on the early shift. They're all really big niggas, of course, to be able to deal with the heavy weights they have to pull - they even make me feel a bit small - but they're generally a happy lot as they all know it's a privilege to work as a dray as you're not coffled together at the neck like the niggas who work in the fields - drays have to have freedom of movement, as in addition to pulling the cart, they are responsible for loading it. And if we don't chain them up when working, it seems pretty pointless to do so when they're in the stables - there's no risk of them escaping, after all (where would they go?), and they know that if they misbehave in any way their punishment is sure - back into a regular coffle! So as they came past and app peered eagerly into the stall where the new slave was lying sprawled, I said "Now, you boys - leave this slave alone! He's new, as you can see. His cock hurts, and you all know what it feels like to be branded. So stay in your own stall tonight, and I absolutely forbid you to even talk to this new slave."

"Yes, boss!", they all chorused immediately. They don't like to risk upsetting me at all. Then they sauntered off to their own stall - one of the large ones, as they do of course all live together in complete intimacy.

"Any you, boy.... Try to sleep. Your training begins tomorrow.", I told the new slave.

End Of Part Six