The Bezistan Chronicles
Chapter 7: The Whipping-yard

This is s story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age of eighteen years

Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris)
An archive of my stories can be found 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 rewrites. Alterations or add pictures.""

Chapter 7: The Whipping-Yard

"Come along, slave. STOP DAWDLING!"

Obediently, I quicken my pace in response to Daoud's reprimand.

As I follow along behind him, I'm suddenly overtaken by fear. I know my caning is imminent and I am trembling. Of course, I have only myself to blame. Foolishly, I had defied my Master's orders and now I'm to pay the price for my disobedience.

Through my fear, I promise myself NEVER to disobey a command or cause offence to my Master again. I'm about to learn an invaluable lesson and, even though I'm not yet aware of it, my caning will focus my mind on the true relationship that ought to exist between a Master and his slave; that is - a slave MUST always have his Master as the pivotal point of his existence.

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Prince Rashid enjoys keeping his palace slaves in a state of perpetual fear. He relishes his power over them and delights in punishing a slave at the slightest provocation. To this end he has a punishment-yard attached to the palace complex where any unfortunate slave can be sent at any time of the day or night. 

The yard is under the control and supervision of a trusted but brutal overseer, assisted by two, enormous black slaves. This overseer is a powerfully built man who can be relied upon to wield either a cane or whip to maximum effect. To aid him in his duties, the yard is equipped with a variety of flogging posts, whipping frames and trestles to which the unfortunate slaves are fastened for chastisement. 

He has, at his disposal, a large variety of whips, paddles and canes from which to choose. These instruments of punishment consist of the simple one tailed whip, the more complex `cat of nine tails', paddles and canes of varying thickness. There are also massive bull-whips designed to cut deeply into the slave's flesh which permanently disfigure him and condemn him to future service in either the mines or quarries. 

Along one wall of the yard are a number of cage like holding- cells where slaves are placed to await their punishments. From within these pens, they are able to witness the floggings of other slaves prior to their own whipping thus adding to their own torment. 

Overlooking the yard is a luxuriously appointed pavilion from which Prince Rashid and his guests can watch his slaves being flogged. When hosting a dinner party, Prince Rashid will randomly choose slaves to send to the whipping-yard where these whippings serve as entertainment for his guests. Those guests who dine regularly at the palace relish these entertainments and eagerly adjourn from the dining-room to the pavilion to watch the floggings of the wretched slaves. 

There, they recline on Roman style couches and are attended by some of the prince's pleasure slaves.  Anxious not to join their luckless fellow slaves in the yard below, these attendant slaves work assiduously to gratify every perverted need of their Master and his guests.

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"Move yourself, slave." 

Once more Daoud, the major domo commands me to hurry along; the irony of me hastening to my punishment isn't lost on me.

"It's time to get this over." He adds, as we enter through the tall wooden gates into the punishment-yard.

Fearfully, I look around and see we are in a courtyard enclosed by high walls and open to the elements. Erected at intervals around the yard are a number of wooden frames and posts. I shudder as I notice that these are stained dark with the fear-induced sweat and the blood of the countless unfortunate slaves who have hung suspended and suffered much whilst held firmly in their grips.

Looking up, I see a large, awning covered terrace at one end overlooking the yard; I wonder at its purpose. At the opposite end is a series of cages, two of which are occupied; one by a black slave the other by a white slave. Both are fearfully peering out through the bars of their cells as the two enormous black slaves work on the whipping frames. The fear of these two penned slaves is palpable and I'm overcome by terror of this place.

"What have we got here, Daoud?" a loud voice booms out as a heavily built overseer walks towards us. "Are you bringing me another slave for punishment? What's this one down for; a flogging or a caning?"

"Greetings, Mustapha. I'm sorry, just a caning. I know you prefer using the whip to a cane. However he is to receive ten strokes. That might be of some consolation to you. I see you already have two others in the cells." Daoud notes as he approaches the two caged slaves. "I'm not aware of them being sent down for punishment."

"The prince sent them down here just before he left for the airstrip. I understand he has a shipment of new slaves arriving this afternoon. I don't know what misdemeanours these two have committed but they must surely have angered him. He has ordered that they each receive ten strokes of the whip. However, he doesn't want their backs permanently marked. After their floggings they are to be returned to the trainers at the Bezistan and prepared for sale. They mount the auction block at the next sale."

"I recognise them as the two I assigned to serve His Highness at lunch. Truly, they must have angered their Master. Still we both know it doesn't take much for a slave to `piss him off. The black one is an African and the white one is an Italian. They are fine slaves and should sell well. They have been fully trained and their holes are well-practiced. Their throats have been trained to swallow the largest of cocks and their mouths and tongues provide much pleasure. His Highness has personally assured that they are ready to service their new masters' cocks. It is indeed a fortunate man who can afford to buy such perfect slaves."

"Indeed, Daoud. It IS a fortunate man who can afford to own such slaves. Their purchase price is way beyond my meagre resources. Still, I do have the consolation of using my two black slaves. They are a delight to mount and as an added bonus they both resent being fucked. I like taking a slave against his will in the knowledge that he can't do a thing to prevent it. Well let's have a look at this slave. Come here, slave and display." 

I tremble as Mustapha addresses me but I obey his command.

Once I am in the display position, Mustapha begins a cursory examination of my body. 

"He presents well. However, I don't think he's from the palace, am I correct Daoud? What has he done to deserve such a severe caning?"

"You are quite correct Mustapha. He's from the stables and he stupidly angered Prince Rashid by not properly displaying his body for inspection."

"Well today's caning should prevent any similar dereliction of duty on his part. He'll have a sore ass for at least a week after I've finished with him."

Placing his hands on my shoulders, Mustapha turns me around and firmly grasps my buttocks in his hands. I tremble at the touch of his rough, calloused hands.

"His ass is well padded; quite fleshy in fact. I'll need to use a special cane on this one so that the pain penetrates through the thick layers of muscle. Just as well we have a range of canes to suit all occasions. I see he has welts on his ass already. No doubt put there by His Highness."

Opening one of the holding cells, Mustapha roughly pushes me inside with "In you go, slave" and slams the door closed. I stumble and fall to the straw covered floor. Then, turning to Daoud, he adds.

"We'll keep him locked up while I attend to the other two. He can watch them being whipped and anticipate his own punishment."

"That's an excellent idea, Mustapha. His suffering will be the greater for seeing the pain inflicted on the other two slaves."

Curious, I scramble to my feet and peer out through the bars of my prison to watch the grim drama unfolding before me.

"You two," Mustapha shouts at the black slaves, "are those frames ready? If so get your black carcasses over here."

Moving to the front of our cages, Mustapha and Daoud peer in at the three of us.

"Who'll be first?" Mustapha taunts "The black or the white?" 

The two palace slaves fearfully back up to the rear wall of their cages in a vain effort to
escape. 

"You pick Daoud."

"Let's go with the Italian slave first." Daoud answers. The trembling slave begins a babbling plea to be spared. Even as he begs he knows that he can't expect any mercy.

"I like your choice, Daoud. BRING HIM OUT." 

Mustapha instructs the two black slaves as he unlocks the door of the cage holding the Italian slave. As the attendants enter, the slave grabs hold of the bars and vainly struggles as they prise his fingers loose and pull him out of the cell. Then, they drag him, kicking and screaming, across the court-yard to one of the whipping frames.

Working swiftly, they soon have him in position between the two upright posts with his ankles shackled to iron rings at ground level and both wrists fastened by chains to a beam above his head.

Mustapha approaches the sobbing slave and runs his hands quickly over the chest and stomach. Then moving behind the slave he runs his hands over the back and buttocks. 

"We need a bit more tension." 

He instructs his slaves who begin to turn tension wheels on the upright posts. The slave feels the stress on his body as the chains pull his arms upwards. 

"We need to ensure that the body is stretched taut to an acceptable level. We don't want him to sag under the whip. This way, with the slave stretched he will feel the lash more acutely."

Once more he runs his hands over the slave's body. "More yet." He instructs the two Africans as he continues to gauge the strain on the slave's body. 

Finally when he is satisfied with the tension he gives the order to stop. The Italian slave's body is now stretched taut with every muscle and tendon highlighted. "Clean him." Mustapha now instructs his slave assistants.

Picking up a bucket placed nearby, the African slaves begin to thoroughly clean the slave's body with a strong smelling antiseptic solution. The immobilized slave futilely tries to resist their assault on his helpless body.

"It is necessary to sterilize the slave's body prior to a flogging." Mustapha explains. "We have to take care that the slave isn't infected by his ordeal. After all he is an extremely valuable head of livestock and deserves to be treated as such. For that reason his body is scrubbed down prior to his whipping and again after his flogging as a precaution."

Mustapha strolls over to a rack containing the numerous whips and canes at his disposal and carefully chooses a cruel looking whip. As he returns to confront the hapless slave he sadistically and loudly snaps the whip through the air causing the suspended slave to flinch.

"I suppose I'm old-fashioned but I don't really like those new-fangled, synthetic whips. At heart I'm a traditionalist and prefer whips made of buffalo or hippopotamus hide. A slave under a hide whip really feels his punishment. Still, there's a place for this new type of whip as the slave usually heals without any scarring. Anyway, the way a slave screams under the synthetic whip suggests to me it's capable of inflicting great pain. This particular one is the one I use almost exclusively. As you can see, Daoud, it's weighted at the end and is long enough to encircle the slave's body across his back and around his chest and belly. That way the slave feels the lash on both the front and back of his body."

"I'm impressed; Mustapha and I look forward to watching your skill at using this new whip. Do you have to wait for the slave to dry before beginning?"

"Yes, but in this heat he'll soon dry and then we can begin."

Again Mustapha torments the slave by rapidly snapping his whip through the air. The loud crack of the whip is enough to set the now petrified slave wailing and begging for mercy. Once more, Mustapha runs his hands over the slave's body for a final test of its tautness. 

"Ahh, his body is stretched to perfection, Daoud. The slave's body needs to be rigid so that there is no moving away from the lash when it strikes. Suspending him too loosely means there is an amount of give that minimises the full impact of the whip. But come feel for yourself and run your hands over his body."

"I see what you mean, Mustapha." Daoud exclaims as he too runs his hands over the slave's taut body in an appraisal of his superb musculature. "I note that his skin is now dry to the touch. Is it time to begin his punishment?"

"You're very eager to see the slave flogged, Daoud." Mustapha laughingly replies. "Still with your duties in the palace, I guess you don't often get to see the punishment of the slaves under your control. Yes he is ready, but these things can't be rushed. There is a certain question of etiquette to be observed in flogging a slave. First allow me to remove my shirt as I find it a hindrance to freely swinging the whip and besides I always raise a sweat; more so with three slaves to punish. Then, of course, I must explain to the slave his part in the proceedings."

Quickly removing his shirt to reveal a strong, muscular upper body, Mustapha speaks to the Italian slave. 

"Slave, listen to what I have to say and mark my words well. Before we begin you will kiss the whip to be used on you three times and thank your Master for sending you to me for correction. Then you WILL count each stroke of the lash from one to ten as it lands on your body and say `THANK YOU SIR'. Should you fail to do so then that stroke will be repeated."

Turning to Daoud, Mustapha explains. 

"As Prince Rashid's instrument of discipline he allows me a certain amount of discretion in the use of my powers. His Highness fully endorses my actions to increase the punishment if necessary. So you see it really is up to the slave himself whether or not he receives more than the ten strokes which his Master has ordered." 

Then he barks to the slave. 

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND SLAVE? SPEAK UP!"

"Please sir, yes sir."

The wretched slave replies through his tears.

"Then let us begin." Mustapha holds the whip to the slave's lips. Petrified the slave kisses it three times and in a trembling voice whispers. "This slave thanks his Master for this correction."

"SPEAK UP, SLAVE! We didn`t hear you."

"Please sir, this slave thanks his Master for his correction, sir."

"That's better. Now, let's make a start. Shall we?"

Satisfied, with the answer, Mustapha takes up his position behind the slave. Then, with an expertise gained by much practice, he swings the whip making it whistle through the air. There is a loud `thwack' as the lash wraps itself around the slave's naked body. The slave screams in pain and terror and forgets to count the stroke.

"Stupid slave, you forgot to count." Mustapha admonishes the sobbing slave. "Let's begin again."

"AARHH! SHIT..., Oh SHIT......., AARHH........." 

The slave's long, drawn-out scream of agony reverberates around the enclosed courtyard as the whip encircles his waist. Then suddenly he shouts.

"STROKE ONE! Thank you, sir."

I watch in fascinated horror as Mustapha applies his cruel whip to the slave's back and I hear myself counting out each stroke along with the Italian. I desperately want his torment to end but I know it won`t until he has received his ten strokes plus the one he'd missed counting. 

I will myself to look away; yet I cannot. My attention is held fast by the appalling spectacle before me. It is as Daoud said only a few moments ago - "my suffering IS the greater for watching the pain inflicted on my fellow slave."

I cover my ears in a vain attempt to shut out the slave's pitiful cries of pain; but I still hear them above the vicious crack of the whip. I wonder at the offences committed by the two slaves that caused their Master to punish them so cruelly. I'm not to know that they are guiltless and are being whipped at his capricious whim. 

I, of course, have offended him and so I know that my own punishment is warranted. I've been conditioned over the years to accept one of the most important laws of slavery - "if a slave offends his Master then the slave is punished."

Vividly, I recall my former father's whipping when we were first enslaved and I'm completely overwhelmed by the sheer brutality and cruelty involved in flogging a slave. I wonder at the inhumanity of it, and then I remember that we slaves aren't human.

Strangely, I feel great sympathy for the two slaves. Normally, I have a slave's indifference to another slave's punishment and I have always watched the caning of my fellow stable slaves dispassionately. I'm always grateful that it is they and not me who is being punished.

Now, I have the overwhelming urge to piss and yet I restrain myself. I quake as my balls draw closer to my body and my cock shrivels with fear.

Obscenely, by comparison, the two black slaves are rampantly aroused and even Mustapha and Daoud are sporting erections that are `tenting' their trousers. It is obvious that they are enjoying the punishment of the Italian slave.

At the sixth stroke, the slave loses control of his bladder and he is now standing in a puddle of his own piss.

"That usually happens." Mustapha explains to Daoud. "There are very few slaves who don't piss or shit themselves under the lash. I don't know whether it's fear or pain that loosens their bladders and bowels, but it inevitably happens "

I look through the bars into the pen holding the African slave. Unable to watch the whipping of the Italian, he is hunched in a corner with his face to the wall and with his knees drawn up to his chest. Seeking security, he holds onto the bars of his prison with a vice-like grip. Rocking back and forth on his toes, he is moaning pitifully.

"NO! No! No! No! No! ..........Oh please.... I don't want to be whipped.... Pleaseee.....NO!" 

He flinches with each crack of the whip; it is as if his body is already feeling the fiery sting of the lash.

I imagine time has stood still for the Italian slave, but as he counts out the tenth stroke his ordeal is ended. Now, as Mustapha holds the whip to his lips, the slave expresses his `gratitude' for his punishment by kissing it three times and sobbingly thanks the whip-master for his correction. 

"Thank you sir. This slave thanks his Master for his punishment."

Stretched taut, the slave is unable to relax; there is no drooping of the shoulders or sagging of the knees to ease his suffering. Immobilized, I sense every breath he takes only adds to his pain. His back, between his shoulders and his ass, now wears a fiery red criss-crossed pattern of stripes. Over the coming days, their red fury will gradually fade, until in a few weeks from now, his back will return to its former pristine beauty.

I'm not to know about his state of mind, but for the slave each stroke of the whip is now seared forever into his consciousness. He will remember this flogging each and every day until the end of his slavery. It has made him a better slave and, `good' slave that he now is, he will commit himself to serving his masters with loyalty and devotion. Now, without hesitation or question, he will submit to whatever debasement or perversions his Masters wish to visit upon him.

"What happens now, Mustapha? Do you take him down and move him back into a cell to recover?"

"Normally that would happen. However His Highness has ordered that both slaves remain suspended until he returns this evening. He wants to inspect them to determine that they have been punished to his satisfaction. Probably, they will be rested in the cages overnight before being delivered to the Bezistan in the morning." 

Mustapha replies then instructs the black slaves.

"You two, bring out the other slave."

Numb with horror, I watch as they enter the African slave's cage; desperately, he tightens his grip on the bars. Piteously, the attendants pry his fingers loose and drag him to his feet. He loses control of his bladder and the bright, yellow stream of his piss sprays around the pen and over his handlers. 

As the terrified slave struggles in their firm grip, he loudly begs for non-existent mercy. His pleas, however, are in vain as he is quickly manhandled out of the cage and into a whipping frame alongside the quietly, sobbing Italian slave.

His flogging is a repeat of the one administered to the white slave and soon he is screaming out in pain. As his whipping continues he, like the previous victim, counts out each stroke as it bites into his firm flesh.

Then, it too comes to an end and he is left suspended ready for his Master's inspection. Both slaves are now to endure the agony of having their whipped bodies scrubbed down by the two, black slaves who will give little thought to the pain their actions cause them.

As I look upon the whip striped backs of the two slaves, my mind is reeling at the sheer horror and barbarity of what I have witnessed. The prospect of my own impending punishment sees me retreat to the back of my pen where I cringe in a corner where I cry tears of fear and self-pity.

Today, I have seen another aspect of slavery which in the cloistered world of the stables was whispered about but not seen. I now appreciate that my slavery, to date, has been benign in that the cane rules at the stables rather than the whip. But here, in this terrifying place, I have seen the awful demonstration of my Master's power over his cowed slaves and the terrible instrument of that power. 

I am afraid! Very, very afraid!

Now, I listen as Mustapha grotesquely explains to Daoud that whipping a slave is good for him and that today's floggings will serve as a life changing experience for these two slaves. He adds that the short time they have spent at the palace has spoiled them; they have been shielded from the full horrors of slavery. Within the palace, they lived the easy lives of service and pleasure slaves and they haven't experienced the rigours of true slavery. They are unaware of the suffering of the field slaves or the appalling conditions of those wretched slaves toiling in the quarries or the saltpans.

Tomorrow, he continues, as they are taken back to the Bezistan, they will see at firsthand this `real' slavery in action. They will see the work slaves labouring under the whip in the fields and irrigation ditches and they will pass the teams of sweating, straining draft slaves hauling the heavily laden drays around the estate. 

Hopefully, they will have the good sense to make a favourable comparison between their own good fortune and that of these wretched, work slaves. And their gratitude to His Highness, in choosing them to serve as pleasure slaves, should be boundless. Proudly, he boasts that today's whippings will have given them some feeling and understanding of what it means to be a real slave and cause them to focus their minds on the awful alternatives to
being a pleasure slave.

The further training they are about to undergo at the Bezistan, will equip them to be truly obedient and submissive slaves and, at its conclusion, they will eagerly devote all their energies to pleasing their new masters.

Mustapha assures Daoud that when they are exposed to public scrutiny prior to auction, the two slaves will enthusiastically, display their bodies hoping to attract a good master after which they will proudly take their place on the auction block.

"Whipping is good for a slave. It establishes in his mind, the reality of his life - total loyalty and devotion to his master." 

Mustapha sagely tells Daoud before adding. 

"And now, I beg your indulgence, Daoud. I'll take a short rest to allow my whipping arm to recover. Then, we'll deal with your slave."

Fearfully, I now await my own imminent punishment.


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















