



THE LITTER BEARERS





By Pete Brown   (petebrownuk@yahoo.com).  For Master John.





CHAPTER 6 - I BECOME A LITTER SLAVE



After the Sheikh and his entourage had left, my seven new
companions and I were alone in our cell.   We were permitted to
talk in this cell - the only time that we were, really: 
although the rule everywhere in the Palace was that slaves only
spoke when asked a question, or when given permission, these
circumstances did not often arise for litter slaves.   When
carrying a litter, you were just a beast of burden, and so there
was no need to question you.  So we had to be silent for most of
the 24 hours, and it was only his brief period, between the end
of the day's toil and "lights out", that we could exercise our
voices.



Whispering away, I learned a lot in a short time (slaves were
not allowed to make a lot of noise, even when speaking was
permitted).



All of us had been enslaved in the same way - we had all taken
on work for companies like the firm that I had worked for in
London in various countries around the world, and had all
gradually been estranged from "normal" society in some way by
the combination of constant moving and long hours.  There were
two Australians from Sydney, another guy from England, like me,
two Americans, one from Houston and the other an ex-marine from
San Diego, and two mid-European guys.  The last two had had an
interesting variation on the work process played on them - they
were from one of the newly-freed Russian republics, and had been
promised work in England if they were prepared to be smuggled in
to the country as illegal immigrants.  They had been happy to do
this, and had worked away for four years, living a life of
semi-concealment from the UK authorities, but all the time
thinking that they were making lots of money to send back home. 
And, of course, when they were finally "harvested", it was easy
- there was absolutely no record of them in England at all!



Our "job" as slaves was to carry the litter containing the
Sheikh as he made his progress around his holdings on his daily
tours of inspection.  The Sheikh, I knew, was a very over-weight
man (I had thought him to be about 20 stones), and his litter
had to be strong and sturdy to be able to carry him in the
comfort he required.  He insisted on a big, wide litter,
luxuriously appointed with cushions to recline on and shielded
from the burning sun by a silk canopy.  That's why there were
eight of us - the combined weight of the Sheikh and the litter
needed this many of us to carry it (and even then, at the end of
a long tour, you really knew it, my companions said).  Most of
the other notables in the area had small, light litters rather
like canvas stretchers that ambulance crews use, and they were
carried by only four slaves.  But our Sheikh liked his comfort
and luxury, and hence the need for eight of us.



The Sheikh was also very insistent, I was told, about the "look"
of his litter bearers - indeed, about the "look" of all the
slaves with which he surrounded himself in the Palace.  My new
companions told me that when they met other litters, the slaves
were all body colours, with different hair styles, and so on: 
obviously the slaves would all be the same height so that the
litter did not tilt as it was carried - but it was only our
Sheikh who insisted that all his litter slaves had their hair
cut  the same way, had the same amount of body hair, and had all
got the same leg lengths as well as the same overall heights. 
Having to accept the one black into the team had made the Sheikh
upset, but it is extremely difficult to find eight "near clones"
of exactly the same heights and leg length.  Even with the
thousands of slaves on his estates for the Sheikh to choose
from, he had not so far been able to get a "set of eight" all
the same.  He had continued to search for many months, and that
was why he was so overjoyed when his nephew had presented me to
him as a present.



Life as a litter slave was, apparently, hard, but not extreme. 
We were well fed, to ensure that we kept our bodies in their
well-developed state: the Sheikh liked the aesthetic pleasure of
seeing hard muscular men's bodies, and so there was no
suggestion that we would be starved - saving money on our food
would be as silly as putting low-grade petrol into a high
performance sports car.  We were "encouraged" by the litter
driver with light whipping if we started to flag, but the
whipping usually did not break the skin - again, why risk
spoiling the pleasure of our flesh by ugly scars?  And whilst
our legs, lungs and hearts got enough hard exercise every day
from carrying the heavy litter for miles, we were also exercised
each morning to ensure our upper body musculature remained "in
proportion".



Two of the guys had been litter slaves for over four years, and
all the others for at least two.  They all said how being the
Sheikh's slaves was better than anywhere else - it was a "good"
life as a slave here in the Palace compared to other places they
had been.  And even in the Sheikh's service, being a "pampered"
Palace slave like us was actually better than being a common
field hand, or working down the mines, or in the quarries.  I
couldn't believe what I was hearing - how could this be a "good"
life, totally deprived of my freedom, and having to talk in
whispers whilst locked in a stark, featureless concrete cell?



"Look", said Will, one of the two Aussies, "If you were a slave
in the fields here, you'd be whipped constantly to keep up your
work rate - they don't need to worry about not breaking the skin
and spoiling your appearance.  You'd be fed really basically, as
field slaves are cheap to buy and there's no point in lavishing
a lot of money to feed them, and you'd work totally nude, day in
and day out, from sunrise to sunset under the boiling sun.  Most
field slaves only last about ten years before they're worn out".



"And it's even worse in the mines, where there's a big risk of
being killed in roof falls - why waste a lot of money on
elaborate mine safety, when you can buy another batch of miners
at the next auction?".



"At least as relatively 'pampered' parts of the Palace staff we
get fed regularly and well.  We're punished - sure, all slaves
are - but there's no permanent damage.  And we're not sexually
abused - I think all the Arabs see us simply as a 'team', not as
individuals.  They don't want to take on eight big muscular
guys, so they don't think to split us for a night and fuck us
one at a time."



"And the Sheikh is a pretty good master.  On the first place
where I was a slave after I was enslaved and sold, all those who
were not going to be bred from were castrated as a matter of
course.  I was about to be gelded myself, and it was only
because the Sheikh was there on a visit and saw that I was what
he wanted for this team that I was saved - he bought me from the
Master whilst I was in the holding pens waiting for the next
visit of the castrator."



"Yes", I protested.  "But we're not free!  Having to live like
this and work like this means we're animals, not men!"



"Oh, come off it!", Will snapped back. "When you were in London
working for the firm before you were enslaved, what was it
really like?  If you were like me, you worked about 13 hours a
day, six days a week.  And you lived in a small, grubby room. 
You had no mates, and no time for anything other than working. 
You never did anything, and never went anywhere, other than to
and from the site.  And you were so god-dammed tired after work,
all you wanted to do was completely flake out."



"So it wasn't so different than being here:  we work less hours,
as it happens.  And it is tiring.  But I'm not usually so
exhausted and totally weary as I was in Oz.  And this room where
we're kept at night isn't so bad."



"One big difference is that I have some real mates here.  I had
no time or anything like that in Oz, and I bet you didn't in
London, either.  We're a proper team, and we really like the
hour each night when we're allowed to talk like this."



"The only problem is poor Mikky and  Stefan here", he continued,
indicating the two guys I had been introduced to as being from
Russia". 



"Whilst they were in semi-hiding for those years in London, they
found they really liked each other and became proper fuck
buddies.  They are of course absolutely forbidden to do that
here, as none of us is even allowed to touch his own cock, as
you know, let alone  to have any form of sexual encounter with
another slave.  It's incredibly tough on those two long-time
lovers to have to be with each other all the time, and not be
able to fuck, or even wank each other!"



I was about to reply, when a guard came up to the gate.  All the
guys jumped up, and stripped off their shorts and G-strings and
passed them through the bars into a laundry bag the guard was
holding open.  I did the same, following their example. 
Specifically looking at me, the guard said 

"Remember, no more talking now as it's lights-out time.  And
don't even think of touching your cocks!" , and he gestured
upwards to indicate a TV camera and microphone hanging from the
ceiling of our cell.



The guys shuffled off, and we got onto the bunks - there didn't
seem to be any particular bunk that was the permanent place for
any one guy.  The bunks had plastic-covered mattresses, but no
sheets, blankets or pillows or anything - you just lay there,
naked, on top of the mattress.  I guess that's how they were
able to monitor the "no cock touching" rule.



Mikky and Stefan took one bunk for the two of them, and "spooned
up" one behind the other.  They kissed each other tenderly as
they were lying down, but of course could not say anything.  I 
was surprised that I wasn't outraged by this - I had always been
a bit horrified at the thought of men going to bed together for
sex, but somehow, seeing their masculine bodies lying there
almost innocently, and the tender way that they had treated each
other to a goodnight kiss, it all seemed perfectly normal and
natural for two virile guys to be like this with each other.



The lights went out in our cell, except for the dull glow of a
night light and a red fuzz from around the TV camera, which I
took to be infrared light so they could see what we were doing
whenever they wanted to.



I didn't think I was going to sleep, but the rhythmic breathing
from the others and the little snuffles and quiet farts that
guys make as they're going to sleep soon lulled me off.



__________________________





I was in the middle of a deep, deep sleep, with a dream about
living in a luxurious house, in a warm country, by the sea, with
a huge sail boat moored in the bay and with a close, loving
companion with whom I had fantastic sex (funny - I think it was
with a guy, not with a woman.  But I'd usually always dreamt of
living with a fabulous woman before) when I woke - suddenly!

That's probably why I remembered the dream - you usually only do
so when you wake up in the middle of one.



I realised someone had slapped me hard, on my naked arse, to
wake me up, and saw Mikky standing in front of me, grinning.  I
was about to say something, when he put his fingers to his lips
to remind me of the "no talking" rule.  I was massively erect,
having had such a vivid sexual dream moments before, and went to
try to cover my crotch in embarrassment.  But then I saw Mikky's
giant prick waving around just in front of my eyes, also
massively hard with the foreskin fully retracted, so I didn't
bother.  



I got up to join the others standing in the middle of the cell,
and we were all more or less erect - after all, how else would
you expect to find eight big muscle studs first thing in the
morning?



A guard opened the gate of our cell, and we filed out into the
corridor, and marched along in single file, in step, along the
plain concrete. As I spent more time in the future working in
the litter, I found we all naturally did everything "in step" -
it ws, after all, important to give the Sheikh assmooth a ride
as possible.

  We went up the stairs at the end, where it was somewhat
lighter and the walls were painted that sort of institutional
green colour you find in hospitals, prisons, and the like, and
then out through the gates that marked the slave quarters.



As we went along the better-finished and furnished carpets, we
passed numbers of "house slaves", wearing what I now saw was the
fairly standard uniform for these men:  a small loin cloth, just
barely covering the genitals.  Providing the slave was standing
still, or walking slowly, the cloth concealed his cock and
balls.  But if he was running, or doing any kind of work, there
would be flashes and glimpses of his tackle as the cloth
revealed glimpses of them.  All of these "house slaves" were of
course men, and I think the youngest I saw was sixteen, and the
oldest about thirty five - although they could have been older,
but "wearing well" from a relatively good, stress-free life.  



There were also one or two people who I took to be "masters", as
they were clothed - mostly in Western dress, but some in full
Arab costume.  From the brief glimpses of their lives that I was
to see from time to time, I soon learned that there was a
"hierarchy" in operation:  the Arabs in Arab costume were
definitely superior to those in Western dress - perhaps, if you
had a job in the Palace as an accountant or something, you were
made to wear Western dress to show your inferiority to the
Sheikh and his family.  But of course you would know that you
were still infinitely superior to the slaves, in their loin
cloths, or the field workers, who were totally naked. 



None of the people we passed even gave us a second glance,
though, so the sight of eight muscled hunks proudly swinging
along the corridor in the buff was not a surprise to them.  



We went out from the carpeted corridors into an area that had
cool marble floors, and there was that faint smell of chlorine
in the air that says "swimming pool and health suite" in most
places:  it was rather like going from the carpeted and
furnished lobby of a posh hotel into the sports complex.



We ended up in a gymnasium, with the usual polished wooden floor
you find in such places.  But it was divided in half, with a
plate glass wall running from floor to ceiling.  On the other
side of the glass there were all the normal sorts of equipment
you see in any "health suite" - rowing machines, weights
machines, running treadmills, and so on.  They were in use, as
you often find early in the morning, by the "sporty set" -
mostly young guys with fair bodies, in their twenties and
thirties, "working out" before going off to the office for the
day.  As you would expect, they were in a variety of exercise
gear - track suits, grey exercise shorts, T-shirts, and so on. 
It looked just like a conventional "Western" gym for executives,
as you would find in any large city.   



The only things that marked this out as not being a conventional
gym - apart from us eight naked hunks on the other side of the
glass wall - were the instructors.  In most Western gyms you
find the instructors have a "uniform" of some type - usually
smartly-cut shorts, and a polo shirt with the gym's motto on it.
 But the instructors here wore only the tiny G-strings that I
had seen us litter slaves wearing under our shorts yesterday. 
Like all gym instructors, they had fine, toned bodies, and
somehow the G-strings seemed to emphasise their sheer nakedness.
 But they were doing all the things you find instructors doing
in a gym - setting up the machines for the clients, pacing them,
encouraging them, advising them on the proper way to exercise,
and so on.



The guys who were exercising didn't even seem to notice the
almost total nudity of the instructors.  But then I saw one big
difference from a Western gym - finishing his exercise, one of
the men turned to the instructor who had been pacing him and
said something.  The instructor at once hooked his thumbs under
the strings at the sides holding the G-string pouch, and pushed
it down and stepped out of it.  Without stopping, he teased his
cock so that it hung down smoothly on top of his low-hanging
balls, after being freed from its confinement.  The man took a
long, slow look at the now totally naked instructor, and then
said something else whilst nodding his head slightly in that
sort of way that you do when you're agreeing with something, or
looking forwards to something.  The instructor turned, and they
started to go out of the gym, with the guy putting his arm over
the instructor's naked shoulder and sort of hurrying him on, as
if he was impatient to go somewhere.  It was exactly the sort of
thing that you do when you've decided you want to fuck someone,
and you're leading them off to the bedroom.



I was later to learn that early morning exercisers frequently
took the instructors back to the changing room and fucked them -
if they hadn't had a sex partner the previous night, the young
bucks wanted to exercise their cocks as well as the rest of
their bodies before work.  It was much more convenient for them
to be able to do this at the gym, where there was a choice of
instructors on display, than to have to order up a boy from the
Palace stock of sex slaves, as there was "no waiting".   Slaves
who were to be instructors in the gym were, I was told,
specially chosen not only for their nicely defined body shapes,
but because they had handsome faces, nice smiles, and tight
arses!     



As we stood watching the exercises on the other side of the
glass wall, a slim, defined man came into our half wearing just
the same kind of small satin shorts that we had been wearing the
previous day. 



"OK, men, you know the drill!  Ten laps of the gym, fast, to get
you warmed up.  Go!"



He stood there in the middle, as we all raced around - and it
was fast!  I didn't think we were supposed to be "runners", but
this was a sort of sprint ten times around the considerable
space. It left us all panting and sweating, with our hearts
racing.



"Good", said our instructor.  "I like to see you properly warm
before we start the serious work.  Now get the apparatus out".



The others obviously knew the routine, as they went to cupboards
in the side wall and got out two poles - these were five metres
long, made of some sort of heavy, solid plastic, and in
circumference about the size of a dinner plate.  One of us could
not lift a pole by himself, they were so heavy.



For the next thirty minute we did various exercises with these
poles, four of us to a pole.  We had to straddle them with our
hands underneath the pole and run - or try to run - up and down.
We sat on the floor to one side of the pole, then picked it up,
swung it over our heads and down to the floor on the other side,
and then back, and so on.  We stood up, with the pole raised
high in the air above our heads, then had to flex our arms up
and down.



I forget all the exercises this first time, although I was to
become very familiar with them later.  They were all designed to
increase the strength and power of our upper bodies.



There was also a subsidiary purpose to this - when we were in
full motion, with the poles swinging high in the air, quite a
lot of the exercisers on the other side of the glass wall
stopped what they were doing and came across to look - I guess
the sight of eight big studs, exercising hard, is a real turn on
for some people.  



After that, ropes were released from the ceiling, and we had to
pull our way up and down them just using our hands, keeping our
legs rigidly at right angles to our bodies and being forbidden
to get any purchase with our feet to help us on the ropes.



It was really hard, brutal exercise, rather  like marines would
do in a training camp, I guess, and very far removed from the
machine-type exercises going on on the other side of the glass
wall.



Our instructor always showed us what to do, but of course for
him some of this was easy - shinning up and down a rope with
your hands is not so much of a problem if you're fit and only
ten or so stones!



But just as my muscles were shrieking with so much pain that I
felt I really could not go on, the session was over, and the
instructor told us to pack away the kit until tomorrow, and get
out to the showers.



_________________________



In the showers, the idea of the glass wall was again put to good
effect - on our side of the glass, there was just a plain white
tiled area with four shower heads and a hole in the middle of
the floor.  Through the glass, we could see a luxurious area
with beautiful ceramic tiles inset with gold, glittering
stainless steel fittings in very modern designs, 'designer'
wooden benches to sit on, piles of fluffy white, incredibly
soft-looking white towels, and many handsome slaves to help the
exercisers.



As we stood there watching, a couple of guys came in from the
gym, talking together as guys do when coming back to the
changing rooms.  Slaves at once came up to them to help them
strip off their sweat-soaked exercise clothes.  There didn't
seem to be any actual showers in the other area, but I soon saw
why:  the two men simply stood in the middle of the floor, and
the naked slaves produced shower heads on the end of hoses,
which they raised in the air to provide a "custom" shower
exactly where it was convenient for the men.  Other slaves stood
there holding shower gel and soap out on trays in front of them,
where it would be most convenient for the showerers.



The two men continued to talk to each other just as you do in
showers at the gym, and seemed to be totally oblivious to the
naked slaves surrounding them who were constantly moving and
manoeuvring to ensure that he masters had the best possible
shower with the least possible effort to themselves.



After a few minutes, one of the men reached out a hand and at
once a slave opened one of the huge, fluffy towels, and helped
the master wrap it around him.  The slave took a small towel,
and dried the master's legs where they were exposed under the
first towel, and then any other parts of the master's body that
the master indicated, by subtle gestures that seemed to be
second nature to him, that the slave should deal with.  



It was clear that these men were used to having slaves minister
to their every whim, and took it for granted that their life was
to be made as easy as possible by the ministrations of the
slaves.  It was also apparent that the slaves were highly
trained - neither of the men said a word to the slaves as they
were deep in conversation with each other, but the slaves
understood what hey should do next for the master.



When they were dry, the men started to dress, helped by the
slaves who held out their clothes for them as needed.  They
didn't use the good-looking wooden benches at all, however: when
the men wanted to sit, so that their shoes could be put on,
slaves at once knelt down with their forearms on the floor to
make seats of their naked backs, just as I had seen the night
before in the Sheikh's private audience room.



But here was no luxury for us - one at a time, we had to squat
over the hole in the centre and crap.  Then the shower heads
came on, and we showered with rough soap - we had to wash each
other, but there was of course no touching of each other's
cocks.  No towels for us, either - we dried by planing the water
off each other's bodies with our hands, then stood around whilst
the rest evaporated away.  It was clear that we were in this
divided shower room so that we could be an extra entertainment
for the men on the other side of the glass wall - they sat their
on their naked seats, watching us for a small amount of interest.



I later learned that masters who did not want to be seen by us
"work" slaves (they could see us, and we had seen them) had an
identical area, with full slave service, in their changing room,
just around the corner from the glass wall.  But, actually, I
would imagine that if you grew up in a slave-owning society, you
would not even think about being embarrassed by a slave seeing
your body:  to you, they are after all just like animals, and
you would not be concerned about a pet dog or cat seeing you
naked or performing the most intimate acts.



Our instructor then appeared, and led us off  "to breakfast". 
We went out of the Palace complex itself, in to a courtyard.  We
stood there in the already hot, bright morning sun, whilst piles
of the "slave biscuits" were handed around, and big pitchers of
water.  We stood there, devouring our food and swilling down the
water, waiting for the work day proper to begin.



But this was to be a different day, it seemed, because the
"instructor" (I found later he had a very different role)
appeared again and said



"You boys are in for an easy time today.  The new slave has to
be marked, and the Sheikh will not accept his litter with only
seven slaves holding it.  So he has decided to spend the morning
working on papers.   Whilst I take the new slave for marking,
you others can just loaf around here in the sunshine - make sure
you keep rotating yourselves, though, as you know the Sheikh
likes his slaves EVENLY tanned!"



With that, he gestured to me to follow him, and we went back in
to the Palace.



________________________     





We went back though the luxurious "public" areas of the Palace,
which was now much busier as the morning was getting properly
under way.  As well as being the Sheikh's home, the Palace was
also the administrative centre of the Sheikhdom, so there were
lots of ordinary office workers  for whom the Palace was their
workplace.  But they did not even give me a second glance as I
strode, naked, behind the instructor through the quite busy
corridors.



We went through the "administrative" centre, with people at PCs,
on the phone, and so on, through doors into an area which was
obviously much more of a manual work are - it's like in a big
office block in the West, when you finally get down into the
area where there's the post room, goods inward, and so on:  the
swanky carpets and pictures and so on give way to plastic-tiled
floors, and plain painted walls.  So too it was here in the
Palace - we were entering an area of kitchens, store rooms, the
laundry, and so on. 



Finally we went through a door into what appeared to be a
first-aid room :  it was tiled in white, with white plastic
tiles on the walls, and examination couch in the centre, and
cupboards on the walls behind whose glass doors you could see
packets of drugs, syringes, bandages and the other things you
would use for "first aid", as well as blood-pressure gauges
other simple medical instruments.



The instructor who had been leading me said "Whilst we're
waiting for the doctor to come, let me tell you who I am.  I'm
only going to tell you once, so listen carefully."



"I used to be a slave - I was a enslaved when I was 23, having
been harvested in Leeds. I was auctioned and bought by the
Sheikh's agents as a boy for use in the Palace's sex centre -
that's where all the men are kept whose only purpose is to be
used whenever any of the Palace functionaries or the Sheikh's
relatives want a bit of no-strings sexual release.  A lot of
these functionaries are the sexual partners of each other, but a
lot of times one of the Arabs in the Palace just wants to be
sucked off during the working day, or he gets back to his
apartment at night and can't be bothered to make arrangements
with one of his regular partners.  So he looks at whose
available in the sex centre on closed-circuit TV, then simply
calls down for one of the slaves to be sent to him to perform
whatever services he chooses at that time."



"I was a popular choice, and was used very often:  they like
Western men because it allows them to prove their dominance and
virility over 'effete' Westerners.  And, as you see, I have a
nice body:  not overly muscled, but well defined, without an
ounce of fat.  I have a good-sized cock, and big balls.  After I
had been fucked the first few times, I got to like sex with men,
and soon got a reputation for being good in bed, and laughing a
lot when being used by my master."



"But I knew my time in the sex centre was limited - they do like
variety, and after a man has been there for about six months,
he's usually replaced.  All I had to look forward to was a
future in the mines, in the quarries, or toiling in the fields."



"One day, the Sheikh had called for me to be taken to his bed
chamber early in the morning, as he wanted to be sucked off
before he got up.  So I was crouching over him in his bed, with
his dick right down my throat, sucking like mad.  The contrast
between us was of course great:  I was 23 and he was 50;  I was
lean, trim, muscled, and fit and he was fat, flabby, and
completely out of condition;  I had a nice big cock and he was
just average - and, just between you and me, he had difficulty
in sustaining an erection unless the slave servicing him was
very expert;  and, of course, most of all, he had absolute power
over me, whereas I was just a piece of man flesh that he had
bought and was using."



"He came, eventually, down my throat and I continued to suck him
as his erection subsided, whilst he lay there making little
moaning noises of satisfaction.  In spite of myself, as I did
not find him at all physically attractive, I did of course have
a huge hard on:  it's a trick you soon learned in the sex centre
- every master likes to think that you are physically turned on
by him!".



"The Sheikh's slaves then came in and got him up and dressed.  I
would normally have gone back to the sex centre to service
another master, as the mornings are one of the busiest times,
but the Sheikh saw me standing there, with my huge hard on, and
told me that I had given him very great pleasure.  He commanded
me to wait, as I would accompany him that day so that I could
service his cock again if he felt the need of more relief during
the day."



"When the Sheikh was ready to leave, he motioned for me to
follow him.  Although I had of course been naked when I was
servicing him, in accordance with the Sheikh's liking, I had
been wearing a micro loin cloth when I arrived from the sex
centre.  So I quickly retrieved it, and refastened the string
around my hips so that I was not totally naked when we left the
Sheikh's bed chamber.  I followed him through the Palace, and
out into the courtyard, where he got into his litter which was
then carried by a rather ill-matched set of slaves."



"Just as we were about to set off, the Sheikh noticed me again
and commanded another slave to fetch some shorts for me -
although a micro loin cloth was considered highly appropriate
wear for a good-looking slave inside the Palace, outside, when
there was a lot of exercise to do, the Sheikh likes slaves to
have their cocks and balls properly supported.  The slave soon
came back (you learn NEVER to keep the Sheikh waiting!), and I
put the shorts on.  I remember they were warm and slightly
moist, so I supposed they had been stripped off some other slave
a few moments before, just out of sight of the Sheikh."



"I jogged along beside the litter for an hour or so - it was
easy for me as I was not carrying it, and a real pleasure to be
able to exercise my muscles freely in the open air.  I used to
go to the gym a lot in my former life, and ran a couple of miles
each morning, and I really revelled in the feeling of 'freedom'
to run again."



"The Sheikh then decided he wanted to be sucked off again, so he
commanded me to join him on the litter.  I dropped my shorts, of
course, and, naked, knelt between his legs, lifted his robe, and
started to tease his cock with my tongue to get it erect so that
I could properly suck him off. It was quite difficult - I
usually did this in a stationary bed, and the motion of the
litter made it difficult to keep my balance between the Sheikh's
legs whilst not letting his cock fall out of my mouth or, even
worse, without catching his crown too tightly on my teeth:  
there's a real art in pleasuring a guy properly by teething his
crown lightly, and causing him an unpleasant sensation by
gripping it too tightly.  I needed all my concentration."



"One of the litter slaves must have been very clumsy, because
the litter lurched and I almost nipped the Sheikh's cock with my
teeth.  He jerked his body up in annoyance, to strike me, and
just at that moment a shot rang out - a sniper had fired at the
Sheikh, but had missed because of the Sheikh's movement."



"Guards soon located the sniper, and later that night he was
castrated in front of the Sheikh as a special after dinner
entertainment.  Then just as he thought the worst was over, they
performed a full penectomy on him, too.  All this, of course,
was without anaesthetic.  You can still see him today, chained, 
crouching outside the rear gate of the Palace:  naked of course
so that everyone can see the little piss-slit he has on his
smooth crotch - it's an object lesson to others who might be
tempted to try to do harm to the Sheikh!".



"But the Sheikh decided that I must have seen the sniper, and
that therefore I was instrumental in saving his life.  He gave
me my freedom - I was no longer a slave!  The only condition is
that I can't leave the Sheikhdom - I cannot go back to London,
in case I upset the whole process of locating suitable slave
material, and their harvesting."   



"Although I had been 'straight' in London, my time in the sex
centre had given me a real appreciation of the pleasure that men
can get from, and give, each other.  I really enjoyed taking a
master's warm, bare cock up my arse.  I love the taste of cum,
and seeing the look of pleasure on a master's face as I suck him
to a climax, then continue until he is dry and drained.  I
wanted to be a 'master' and take good-looking studs to bed for
MY pleasure."



"So, after discussion with the Sheikh, I accepted the job as his
litter master.  I am responsible for the training of his litter
slaves, and for controlling you when the litter is being used. 
You saw me this morning running your daily exercise sessions,
and when we go out with the litter, I monitor your performance
and whip you if necessary to make sure the pace does not flag."



"As a free man, I can wear what I like, and could dress in a
shirt and slacks to do my job.  But when I'm with the litter
when it's out, I need to run a bit - you all go at a slight jog,
but I need to go from side to side, so I have to run to be able
to cross in front of, or behind, you.  I told you I used to
enjoy running, and I still do.  So I find it's better to wear
sports kit - sometimes I wear proper 'Western' kit, with a
T-shirt and running shorts, but, mostly as a favour to the
Sheikh, I choose to wear the same sort of abbreviated shorts
that you litter slaves are given.  Other people who see us out
think that I'm just another slave that forms part of the
Sheikh's entourage, but it then gives him a bit of fun to shock
those who don't know him well by calling me over and treating
this 'slave' as a free man!"



"I like to know all the litter slaves really well, and there's
only one way of really knowing another man:  you need to have
them in bed with you, naked, and then fuck the brains out of
them.  So some time soon, I'll send the guards to fetch you from
the litter slaves' cell one night, and I'll really explore your
body.  I think you're a virgin - yes?" 



He saw me nod, and continued "A lot of you really big muscular
guys are like that.  You've never really had a boy friend, and a
lot of men are put off by your sheer size.  They think they
won't be able to fuck a really big, deep, muscular arse properly
and are scared to try.  But I like big men, and I particularly
like taking virgins the first time:  naturally I fuck 'bare
back' because there's no risk with the slave stock here - you're
all regularly tested for all sorts of disease.  I expect you'll
cry out, in spite of yourself, as I ram myself home up you -
everyone does, the first time.  But afterwards, I'll know you
much better as I will allow you to talk after the sex;  and you
will have a new respect for me as a Master."



He was going to carry on, but the door opened and a man in a
white doctor's jacket came in.  The trainer and the doctor
exchanged a few pleasantries, and then I was told to lie across
the examining table, thrust my arse into the air, and spread my
arse cheeks with both hands.



"Is he another virgin?" The doctor asked the trainer.



"Yes, as you know, they mostly are."



"I'll need the speculum, then, to stretch his arse open a bit",
the doctor said, and soon I felt a cold metal instrument probing
at my arse cheeks.



I'll tell you some other time about the pain I was caused as my
arse was forced open, and how the doctor then used a flexible,
stainless steel surgical probe, with a tiny TV camera at the
end, to insert a small black object far up inside me. He then
went to a control panel on the wall and keyed in some numbers,
followed by the pressing of a red button.  I gasped as there was
a new kind of sharp pain right inside me, somewhere near where I
think the appendix is.  The doctor went back to his flexible
instruments, and moved them around again whilst watching the TV
screen.  But it was soon all over, the instruments were
withdrawn, the speculum taken out of my arse, and I was
commanded to stand up.



"Right", said the trainer. "You've just been 'chipped'.  The
doctor here has inserted a small radio device high up in your
gut.  The pain you felt towards the end was when he sent it a
signal to open its spring jaws - it's now lodged firmly inside
you, into the gut wall and will soon get encysted by your body. 
You can't get it out, except with a surgical probe like this, or
a major abdominal operation."



"The purpose of the chip is twofold:  firstly, it enables us to
locate you anywhere on the planet, rather like that system there
is for finding stolen cars in America.  The global satellite
positioning system gives us your location to within three
metres.  And secondly, it transponds a unique code when it's
interrogated by a device such as an airport security gate, or a
hand-held scanner passed over your body."



"So we can always locate you, if you should dare to escape.  And
if you ever do make it to the airport, you'll never get on a
plane.  And, believe me, you won't walk out of this country
across miles of desert!.  It's also useful for settling
ownership disputes - this transponder code will now be
registered on a central database, so that the Sheikh's ownership
of you is indisputable.  If he sells you, the data base is of
course updated."



He then told me to follow him, and we went into the next room
where there was a slave with a tattoo gun.



"Now for amore visible sign of ownership", he said.  And, to the
other slave, "Get to work - I have a lot to do today."



The next two hours were taken up with the tattooing of my slave
marks - marks I still have today of course - in the traditional
places.  The Sheikh's house mark on my left arse cheek, a "band"
round my right biceps, with my slave number inset in the middle
of it, and my name (in Arabic, of course) just above my left
nipple.  Last night I had seen that the other seven had been
tattooed, but was too tired, or so overawed by my new situation,
to really notice them closely.



But when we eventually got back into the courtyard, I saw that
all eight of us had the same sort of tattoos, in the same places.



The trainer shouted a few commands in Arabic, and a slave
appeared carrying a pile of cloth.  These were our G-strings,
and our tiny satin shorts, and we stood there in the sunshine
putting them on.  We were then led off, by our trainer, and I
got the first sight of the Sheikh's litter, between the poles of
which I would be spending so much of my future time.    



  

TO BE CONTINUED.....   Still to come....





Life as a litter slave.

	A visit to the Sheikh's holdings

	The Sheikh's recreations

	Estate transport



Ahmed comes to live at the Palace.



How Ahmed treats litter slaves



Naked litter slaves



WATCH THIS  SPACE



 















 



