
The Bezistan Chronicles
Chapter 12: `Mike Witnesses the Ponies' Punishment'
This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age of eighteen years

Written by Jean-Christophe, (Chris)
Read my stories  at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jean-Christophe_Stories 

"The characters and ideas contained in this story are the writer's and shouldn't be used without permission. Please respect the integrity of the story and don't do any rewrites, make alterations or add pictures'

Chapter 12: `Mike Witnesses the Ponies' Punishment'

As the grim, stone prison looms out of the heat haze; our drivers display a new urgency to arrive at their destination. 

"HYUP! HYUP! HYUP! Move yourselves. FASTER! PULL! PUT YOUR BACKS INTO IT!"

The drivers' exhortations encourage the African slavedrivers to mercilessly lash the backs of the straining draft slaves forcing them to pull even harder and faster. With no other options open to them the unhappy slaves apply themselves with almost superhuman effort to their cruel labour. Their muscles flex and swell, their sinews stretch and tighten and are highlighted beneath the glistening patina of sweat covering their filthy bodies. Their grunts and groans are evidence of the ferocious strain they are under and yet there is no respite from the cruel whips of their tormentors, This `encouragement' is unrelenting and the miserable wretches thrust forward into their harnesses in a futile attempt to escape the vicious bite of the lash. 

Our two transporters move toward one of the smaller building compounds surrounded by high stone walls. This is the quarantine compound where all newly arrived slaves are isolated until they pass all health tests. This is a necessary part of our induction into slavery; one that Prince Rashid sees as imperative in preventing any unwanted diseases or vermin from entering into his wider slave herd. As part of our induction, we will be submitted to stringent health checks and held here until we receive a clean `bill of health'.

The transports pass through a gateway into a large yard and with shouts of "WHOA! WHOA! WHOA!" from the drivers, the two transports come to a stop. Now the exhausted draft slaves gulp air into their bursting lungs as they collapse over their `pushing bars'. Their bodies heave from their exertions and they wait as their tortured breathing slows down and returns to normal. Thankfully, they are about to enjoy a brief rest from their hauling duties. They know however that this respite will be all too short and they'll soon be whipped back into action. They have been in harness since first light and soon they will return to the fields for several more hours of labour. Then finally-exhausted, hungry and thirsty- they will be unharnessed and fed and watered before being shackled and locked in their cages for the night. 

For us - the newly arrived slaves - our journey into slavery is at an end; now begins our transformation into perfect slaves or, as in my case, the transformation into a beast-of-burden.

                                                                                                           >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

No time is lost in ensuring that the draft slaves are returned to the market gardens to continue their labours. Working under the commands of their overseers the Africans quickly unshackle the slaves from our two transports and re-harness them to two waiting drays. As soon as this is done the draft slaves are whipped into action and driven out to the fields. I watch with a fascinated horror; perhaps glimpsing my own future,

Now the two overseers, Ghalib and Jalal, assisted by their African helpers, unlock the cages and order us out of the transports. As we tumble out we are introduced to the instrument that will modify our behaviour and ensure our compliance - the whip. As we are driven along some of us feel, for the very first time, the fierce bite of leather on our naked flesh. I listen as my fellow slaves add their cries of pain and fear to the sound of the whips whilst we are herded into a caged enclosure on one side of the courtyard. Suddenly, I too scream out in agonised pain as the lash curls itself around my lower back and belly like some malevolent, black snake. Tears sting my eyes and there is the awful realisation that this first cut of the whip is to become more commonplace.

We all crowd forward and peer out through the bars of this new prison anxiously looking to acquaint ourselves with our new surroundings. I look out into a paved yard enclosed by high, stone walls. Around three sides of this yard there are buildings which open onto the yard itself. The fourth wall contains two immense, wooden, double gates which, even as I watch are slammed shut by enormous, black slaves. The yard itself is a hive of activity with naked slaves busily employed at various tasks all under the stern supervision of their overseers. 

In a back corner of the yard is a blacksmith's workshop where several white slaves are working as assistants to a muscular, African blacksmith slave. In place around the yard, are a number of structures which fill us with alarm. However, the ones that disturb me the most are in the centre of the yard; to my horror, I recognise these as whipping frames and flogging posts. Several slaves are busily attaching ropes to these contraptions. I watch as the man I now know as Geoff, the estate manager, strides purposefully across the yard. 

"Hello, Ghalib. Hello, Jalal. I see you got the new shipment here in good time. Actually, you're a little early and quicker than I anticipated. As you can see we haven't yet got the prince's two ponies strung up." 

"A thousand pardons, sir," Ghalib replies. "Yes, we drove the draft-slaves hard and they arrived here quicker than we expected. It's important to get them back into the fields. They have another three hours of work left before darkness falls. But let us help you prepare the ponies for their punishment. Where are they? Can we fasten them to the whipping-frames for you?" 

"Thank you! That would be most helpful. The two ponies are chained in the holding area. You four fetch them out. NOW!" Geoff barks at four of the black attendants who scurry to obey his command.

"We need also to prepare for the processing of the new slaves tomorrow. Would you see that the braziers are lit this evening and that the branding irons are left in the coals overnight? Even though the new slaves won't be branded until tomorrow afternoon, it's important that the irons are heated sufficiently to ensure nice, clear markings on their bodies. His Highness is most particular about this, as you both know. And would you please ensure that the blacksmith has their new collars and cock cinches ready for use in the morning; even if he has to work through the night to do?" 

"Certainly, we'll make sure that the collars are waiting for you in the morning and that there are slaves to tend the braziers throughout the night. I believe the whips have been prepared and are now ready for use on the ponies' worthless hides. Have you chosen someone to deliver the lash to their backs?" 

"Not really." Geoff replies. "I know that both of you are experienced in applying the lash to a recalcitrant slave's back. Would you do me the honour of administering the floggings? I suggest that they be strung up facing each other so that they are able to see the other's suffering." 

"It would be our pleasure, sir," Both Ghalib and Jalal readily agree.

Geoff and the two overseers appraise the newly arrived slaves through the bars of their prison as the two wretched pony slaves are hauled out of the holding pen and dragged struggling and screaming to the whipping frame. They are both begging for mercy but they know that none will be shown. 

Their master, Prince Rashid has ordered their punishment and only he is able to countermand his original order. Both slaves are aware that this won't happen as Rashid never grants leniency to a slave once he has ordered punishment. For Rashid to do so would be seen as weakness and send the wrong message to his slaves. So, despite their pleas, they understand that nothing will spare them from their floggings. 

Nonetheless, their fear of the lash is such that they continue to beg for mercy.

Working with the easy expertise that comes from much practice, the black attendants quickly have the two slaves tied to the frames facing each other with their bodies stretched taut. They now begin the preparatory cleaning of the slaves' bodies whilst Ghalib and Jalal test out their whips by cracking them through the air; the two ponies whimper and struggle vainly in their restraints.

"Listen to me and listen well." Geoff addresses the new arrivals. "Your old lives are over - you are now the slaves of His Highness, Prince Rashid al-Bahr and tomorrow will see you processed into that slavery. But now you're to see what happens to slaves who offend His Highness. The two slaves you see before you offended your Master, Prince Rashid. For this they are each to receive twenty strokes of the whip and then sent to work in the fields as common draft animals. I want each of you to watch carefully as they are flogged and to reflect that it could be your own backs that feel the lash should you ever be stupid enough to show defiance or disobedience. We have a zero tolerance policy for slaves who offend and, make no mistake, should you be unwise enough to cause your trainers and overseers any trouble, you will find yourself very quickly tied to a whipping frame and flogged. NOW WATCH AND LEARN!"

"If you're both ready then let's make a start." Geoff instructs Ghalib and Jalal.

The two overseers place their whips to the lips of the terrified ponies and order them to kiss the instruments of their torture and to give thanks to their master for their corrections. Both slaves, whimpering with fear, comply with these instructions and watch as their torturers take their places behind them.

"One moment," Geoff interrupts. "Let's make it interesting for our new arrivals. I suggest you alternate the strokes between the two slaves. Ghalib, if you apply your whip to the back of your slave and then pause as Jalal delivers the next stroke to his slave. That way they will have time to savour each stroke of the lash whilst watching it being applied to the other. And, of course, they know they are to count each whip stroke as it is applied to their backs and to say `thank you' for it. LET'S BEGIN!"

Ghalib's whip hisses through the air to land with a resounding `thwack' on the first pony's back.

"UGH! AARGGH! ONE! Thank you, master." The slave screams out his pain and his acknowledgement and watches as Jalal applies the whip to his fellow slave's back.

Systematically, Ghalib and Jalal continue to lash the two slaves' backs, from just below their shoulders and above their waists, taking care not to apply the whip to the same spot twice. Soon both slaves are crying out in agony as the whips cut bloody welts into their flesh. Gradually their cries subside to whimpers and inevitably both slaves lose control of their bladders.

New to slavery, I watch in horror at the savagery of the scene being played out before us; I am appalled at the inhumanity of our masters. The realisation that I could be subjected to such punishment is now a reality and I resolve to do whatever it takes to avoid such cruel torture.

"Well done, Ghalib and Jalal." Geoff praises the two overseers after the twentieth stroke. "I knew I could rely on you. I'm sure His Highness will be pleased with your efforts. The first thing he'll ask me tomorrow morning is whether or not they were adequately flogged. It'll be my pleasure to inform him of your efforts on his behalf."

"Thank you, sir." Ghalib answers. "Jalal and I were happy to be of assistance. As you can see we didn't apply the whips to the slaves' shoulders or asses. As they are to be sent into the fields and yoked to ploughs we thought it best to leave those areas of their bodies untouched. They will of course wear the heavy wooden yoke across their shoulders and it is better that the beam doesn't rub against fresh whip marks. And of course, their unmarked asses are available for their driver's whip."

"Rest assured," Jalal adds, "they will feel a great deal of pain as they pull their plough. The strain on their backs should stretch and open the welts of the whip. Their suffering will be a constant reminder to them of Prince Rashid's displeasure."

"Indeed," Geoff replies. "I take your point. However, let's get them cleaned up and into a cage for the night. I have arranged for them to be taken to the fields at first light in the morning."

As the slave assistants attend to the two ponies, Geoff turns his attention to the now thoroughly terrified, new arrivals.

"What would you have us do with these new slaves, sir?" Jalal asks seeking direction from Geoff.

"Look, I think all we can do with them now is to get them out of the pen and disinfected. Once that is done, we can chain them in their holding cages for the night. When they are safely secured we can then feed and water them and leave them to rest for the night. As you know" Geoff laughs, "they have a busy schedule to meet tomorrow. The vets will arrive mid-morning and we have to have them ready by then. I have made sure all the equipment is ready for the vets to start work on the slaves as soon as they arrive. Then of course, they are to `entertain' His Highness with their brandings in the afternoon. By this time tomorrow they should be fully inducted into their slavery; though I would think they won't be in any mood to celebrate their new status as slaves of the al-Bahr family."

"Tomorrow promises to be a full day for both the slaves and us." Ghalib adds. "I agree with all you say, sir. Now, with your permission I'll have the assistant slaves get them out of their cage and into the disinfectant shower. It's important that this is done immediately so that there isn't any chance of them infecting the slave herd with any unwanted vermin they might be carrying."

"I agree, Ghalib. Although they appear to be free of vermin, we don't know what pests could be lurking in the hidden areas of their bodies. It's better to be sure than sorry. So let's get them through the disinfectant showers and penned up for the night."

As I see the estate manager and his assistants approaching, I instinctively retreat to the back of my prison seeking to lose myself among my fellow slaves. My senses are still reeling from the brutality of the pony slaves' floggings and I am numb with the fear of my own prospects.

As a former harvester for Prince Rashid, I'm solely responsible for the enslavement of my fellow prisoners. Yet, even now, my concern is for myself and I feel nothing at all for our shared plight; my concerns are only for myself.  In the past I had never bothered to consider what happened to the luckless, young men I'd consigned to Prince Rashid. Their fate wasn't of any concern to me and my only interest in them was for their value as slaves and for the amount of money I was paid to `recruit' them. Now, however, I'm to share that experience of becoming a slave. As traumatic as today's events were they are to pale into insignificance in what awaits us tomorrow.

As the door to our prison is unlocked, my terrified, fellow slaves and I retreat to the rear of our cage; desperately we push against each other to avoid being at the front. Outside the cage the overseers and their assistants are noisily cracking their whips and shouting incomprehensibly for us to exit. Some of the black slave assistants enter the cage and begin to physically drag out those slaves nearest to them and force them into a group under the control of the overseers. Once more we feel the slashing pain of the overseers' whips that are to dominate our future lives. Once out, we are then driven under these whips toward a door in a round, roofless building. Restricted by our ankle chains, we move clumsily and several slaves fall to the ground only to be quickly whipped to their feet by our impatient masters. The door opens and we are driven into a small, circular compound with a concrete floor, surrounded by high concrete walls and open to the air. Once we are crowded inside, the door is slammed shut and bolted from the outside.

I'm reminded of the shower dips used by farmers to keep their animals free of pests and indeed this is what it is. Like those animals we suffer the indignity and discomfort of being sprayed with a foul smelling solution to rid us of vermin. Packed tight, we have no other option but to shuffle around bumping into each other as our skins are stung by hundreds of high pressure jets aimed at us from above, both sides and from beneath us. I close my eyes and mouth and I try to protect my balls by cradling them in my hands as the solution flows down over my body before finally cascading off the end of my cock and down through the valley of my ass-crack. 

I'm unsure for how long we are subjected to this treatment. But eventually, the sprays do turn off and we remain locked in to `drip-dry'.

Then with our wet bodies no longer dripping, we are whip driven out, returned to our prison to be fed and watered and allowed to rest until the morning.

That, as they say, is to be another story.


To be continued..................................




