



THE LITTER BEARERS





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





CHAPTER 9 - RAPED





Life, then, continued like this.  Morning exercises in the gym,
usually with an admiring audience of watchers on the other side
of the glass, being fed, working to carry the Sheikh's litter he
carried out his daily inspections of the estate, then an hour or
so of whispered conversation, before being fed and allowed to
stumble into bed and crash out into oblivion.



The only change in the routine was that every third morning, in
the showers, we were given razors and told to shave ourselves. 
Because there were no mirrors, we had in practice to shave each
other - not just our faces (it was considered acceptable to have
up to two days of stubble here), but our cocks and sacs had to
be scraped clean, too - although why this was  done, I don't
know, as we always wore the G-strings and tiny shorts when we
were actually working.  I soon got used to having one of the
others pull and stretch my balls as he shaved them, and overcame
my own inhibitions about touching other men to the extent that I
could shave them, too.  And it was at first odd to have the same
razor shaving my face as had a moment before been shaving the
balls of  another man  - but you can get used to anything.  I
also found it oddly erotic to have my companion's cock swinging
against my own naked body as he tried to get into the proper
position for shaving my face, and in turn I had a job to stop
getting an erection when my own cock brushed against another.



This third day was also the time when we got our sexual relief -
as we left the showers, we formed a short line and then in turn
one of the 16-year old naked slaves came along and wanked us
off. He did it completely casually - just grabbed our cocks, and
started stroking his hand briskly up and down.  For him, it was
not at all sexual, but for me it was awful on the first few
occasions it was done - not only had I never been masturbated by
another man before, but I wasn't used to doing it whilst
standing up:  when fucking my own five fingers, I had usually
been lying in bed, or sprawled in an arm chair with a porno
paper open!  As I came, my knees almost gave way so intense was
the emotion as the spunk spurted out from me.



Curiously, the slave had to collect our spunk in a little jar -
not a little jar for everyone, but one jar to old the cum of all
eight of us.  Why was this, I wondered, but of course there was
no explanation: slaves did not need to know this), and we were
not allowed to ask.



After about the fourth of these "milkings", so I had been a
slave for almost two weeks, the trainer looked at me and said
"Boy, it's about time I fucked you.  I told you when you came
that I need to know and understand you all fully, and what
better way of doing that is there than to fuck you?  It gets you
and I really acquainted, in the way that men should be."  



Of course I could not ask him what he meant, and the time for
conversation with my fellows would only  be after work, so I
spent all day pondering the trainer's words and wondering what
was going to happen.



________________________



When we got back that night, I was not put in our cell in the
slave quarters with the others, but was taken back to the
showers.  It was strange to be standing there totally alone, as
I had become perfectly used to spending my time showering and
crapping in the company of my fellows.  I couldn't crap, because
I had become so accustomed to doing it in the morning, and the
regular feeding had "synchronised" my need to crap with the time
in the showers.



I was allowed to wash my own cock and balls, as I was alone, but
a guard watched me intently to ensure this was a purely
mechanical process and that I derived no pleasure from it.  I
was standing there planing the water off my body, when  a guard
went to the door, leaned into the corridor and shouted
something.  



A few minutes later, two of the 16-year old naked slave boys who
were general servants around the Palace (and always
distinguishable because hey were always totally nude, it not
being judged necessary to wear even the skimpy loin cloths until
they were 18)  came in.   They fixed a pipe to a tap on the
wall, and then the guard commanded me to bend over and grasp my
ankles.  I only realised what was happening when I felt the end
of the pipe nuzzling at my anus - the slaves had been told to
give me an enema!



I won't describe the humiliation I felt as these two lads pushed
the end of the pipe up my arse, then turned on the water until
my  stomach swelled and distended.  The guard then allowed me to
stand up, and I had to jog up and down on the spot until the
pain in my stomach was absolutely indescribable - he then
allowed me to go to the shit hole, and almost quicker than I
could bend down, the contents of my bowels shot out under huge
pressure.



The filling up and evacuating were  repeated three times more,
until the water coming out of me was clear.   The slave boys
then fetched a thin gold chain that they fixed and adjusted so
that it hung low down over my hips, prevented from falling off
totally only by the flare of my bum at he rear.  Then a tiny
piece of white cloth was hung from the chain at the front, just
big enough to hide my cock and balls when I was standing still. 
I felt "nude" now, rather than just "naked".  Somehow, wearing
this skimpy cloth, designed to emphasise the allure of my sex
organs when I moved, had turned me from an innocent naked slave
into some sort of sex object.

__________________________



Led by the naked slaves, and followed by the guard to make sure
I did not try to escape, we went out from the dingy slave
quarters and up through the "layers" of the Palace - the
servants quarters in their utilitarian colours and plastic-tiled
floors, the public administrative areas, with much marble and
steel in evidence, and on up the grand staircase into the
private quarters of the Sheikh and his favoured servants.



Here all was pastel colours, he quiet whisper of air
conditioning, and deep pile carpets.  My toes could not help
wriggling as they made their way through the carpet - it was the
first gentle" sensation I had experienced since my arrival at
the Palace!



We went through double doors, and then it was almost as if we
were in a Western style modern hotel -  a long corridor
stretched out in front of me, with numbered doors on either
side. 



We went along the passage, stopped in front of one of the doors,
and one of the slave boys knocked.  Both then fell to their
knees, and bowed their foreheads on to the floor, waiting for
the door to open.  When it did, it was the trainer who was there.



The room was large and luxuriously furnished in the "western"
style, although there were few signs of any individuality - it
looked like one of those large, anonymous hotel suites you find
in plush hotels.   Immediately inside the door there was a large
seating area, with black leather sofas, a coffee table between
them, a small dining table, a desk, and a bookcase.  Through an
arch I could see a large bedroom, with a huge double bed on
which was one of those "designer" covers in bright covers.  Out
through the windows of the sitting area and bedroom I could see
other wings of the enormous Palace, and, out in the distance,
the fields of the Sheikh's estate where the tiny figures of some
of the field slave gangs could just be made out - those poor
guys hardly ever got to rest before they were driven out of the
fields as the light faded.



The trainer waved us in, but dismissed the guard, and shut the
door.  The two boys obviously knew what was expected, because
they went into the bedroom and knelt down with their knees apart
and ankles touching, back straight, and hands clasped behind
their heads so that heir chests were thrust forward.  Their
cocks hung down between their thighs, and they had moved their
knees so far apart that he tips of them were almost scraping the
luxuriously long piled carpet in which the whole of the
apartment was covered.



It was the first time that I had seen the trainer in anything
other than the same small satin shorts we slaves wore as we
carried the litter, and evidently he had changed into "at home"
clothes:  a spotless white silk T-shirt, pale blue washed-out
jeans, and expensive leather loafers on his feet, without socks.
 The effect of these pale coloured clothes against his darkly
tanned skin was dramatic:  he was quite handsome when running
with us around the estate, but now he was a real magazine
fashion plate as he stood there, hands on hips, looking at me.  



I did a bit of a course on body language once, and I know that
dominant men often rest their hands on their hips with the tips
of their fingers pointing down towards their crotch - it's
apparently quite a basic human thing, and occurs in all
societies:  he was in this classic "I'm in control" pose,
whereas I was standing head slightly bent, with my hands loosely
at my side, moving slightly to ensure that my cock was not
peeping out from behind the tiny loin cloth.  If ever anyone was
going to paint a picture called "master and slave", we would
have been the ideal models.



"Sit down", he barked, gesturing to one of the leather sofas.  I
did so, and felt the cool shiny leather on my back and naked
arse.  I had to be careful as I sat to avoid trapping my balls
which were hanging loose under the loin cloth, and I needed to
arrange it properly to conceal myself one I was sat down.



"Well, Steve, it's your first time here, isn't it?",  he said.



"Yes".



"Yes what, Boy?"



"Yes, Master".



"No!  Only the Sheikh and other members of his family are your
owners.  I am your trainer.  Within these walls, where you have
permission to speak freely, you will call me 'Boss'.  Now,
Steve, it's your first time here, isn't it?"



"Yes, Boss".



"Good.  I see you are a fast learner.  Let me tell you the rules
under which we operate up here.

As I said, you have permission to speak to me at all times,
provided you always show me the proper respect I deserve.  And
when you cry out, as you assuredly will as the evening
progresses, there's no need to stifle your cries - all these
executive apartments are fully sound proofed."



"You're here to help me in managing and controlling you litter
bearers.  The little whips I use whilst you're carrying the
Sheikh are only part of it - you have to get to understand fully
your totally subservient role in all respects.  Consequently I
regularly fuck all the litter slaves under my control, so that
you get to realise that you are always under my control and
subject to my will.  I think you're a virgin, aren't you? 
You've never had a cock up your arse before?"



"Yes, Boss, I only went with women when I had sex.  I never even
looked at a guy.  I can't..." 



"Careful, Steve - don't take too many liberties.  Although you
have permission to speak, confine yourself to what's necessary. 
I'm not interested in what you can and can't do - as we have
seen in your training so far, you can do a lot of things you
probably thought to be impossible before.  You shave other men's
ball sacs, you drink piss, and you're regularly milked of your
cum - so don't even think 'Can't'.  You are simply here to do
whatever your masters and controllers want.  Part of the
principle of fucking you is to make you understand that you're
just an animal - that's how we see all slaves, as animals, not
men - and animals have no views one way or the other on how they
are used physically.  They can be in pain and they can be
exhausted, but they have no opinions about any of it - they just
do as they are commanded.  I don't think you know that that's
how we consider you, or, if you do know it at some level, it has
not sunk in deeply and completely.  You'll never experience the
joy of being a slave until your mind does accept this complete
servitude."



What was he talking about, I wondered - the "joy of being a
slave" - I hated it!



"Right", the trainer continued.  "Take off that ridiculous loin
cloth, and let's have a proper look at you.  I don't know why
the Sheikh requires all slaves in the Palace to be clothed, even
minimally - most times he doesn't even think about them at all,
as long as there' always a willing male at hand to service his
every whim.  But when you're brought here, we follow the rules. 
So take it off!".



I stood up, and the sweat that had been running from my back and
arse left a damp imprint on the shiny leather of the sofa - I
had to sort of peel myself off it.



Starting to blush with embarrassment, I pulled the linen slip
off its supporting chain, and felt for the clasp holding the
thin gold around my hips. 



"No, leave the chain", the trainer said as he watched me. "I
like the way it emphasises the narrowness of your hips, and
rests on top of your muscular arse.  It won't get in the way of
what we're going to do, and I might even incorporate it into the
evening's fun."



Whilst I had been naked in front of the trainer many, many times
as he watched us shower and be milked, this had always been with
the other guys and down in the bare slave quarters.  Being naked
here in these luxurious, western-stlye rooms was different, and
it was made worse by the fact that the trainer was clothed:  his
eyes were roaming up and down my body, and being inspected like
this was deeply humiliating.



"Now we can do this one of two ways", he continued.  "I am
certainly going to rape you, but you have a choice:  I can have
you chained to the bed, so there will be nothing you can do to
stop me.  Or you can submit to the inevitable, and lie back and
try to enjoy it - you won't, but you can try.  Which is it to
be?"



I thought that if I was free I could at least try to escape if
things were too hard to bear, so swallowing hard, as it was
really difficult to get the words out, I said "I'll try, Boss".



"Good.  Perhaps you are getting to understand your role in life
- I've been getting worried about you as you didn't seem to be
adapting too well so far, but perhaps you're 'deeper' than I
thought."



He turned and strode into the bedroom, and I realised I was to
follow - it was typical of the slave-owning mentality that
masters expected slaves to understand their masters'
requirements, and they did not issue every little order
explicitly.



"Now lie on the bed on your back with your legs apart.  Clasp
your hands behind your head, and keep them there unless I order
otherwise."



The trainer then started to undress, commenting as he did so
"Basically there are three ways I can fuck you - with you
kneeling, doggy fashion;  with you riding up and down on my cock
as I lie there;  and with you on your back with your legs 
pinned back and your arse in the air."



"You're not experienced enough yet to be able to ride my cock
whilst I relax.  Doggy fashion is easier for a first time fuck,
but I'm going to take you with your legs in the air as I like to
be able to watch a slave's face as his arse is fucked for the
first time."



The trainer was now completely naked, and I saw what had been
concealed under his shorts for the past weeks - a medium length,
thick cock with a foreskin completely covering the head, and
good sized balls hanging low.  He was already getting hard, as
he got onto the bed and knelt between my spread out legs.  He
didn't even seem to be aware of the two naked 16-year olds still
kneeling on either side of us, like two bed-head tables, so used
was he to being surrounded by slaves.



"Right.  This is what you've been waiting for since you came to
the Palace.  Jack yourself off!", he said.



I couldn't believe this - jacking myself off?  I had been
strictly forbidden to even touch my cock, and the three-day
milkings were always done by other slaves.  Now here I was being
told to do it myself.  I reached down and started to wank, but
my cock remained obstinately soft - why was this, when I had
been dreaming of being able to wank myself?  I guess it was
because of being watched so intently - the pale grey eyes of the
trainer were looking into mine, and then travelling down my body
to see how I was getting on, and then returning to stare into
me.  And of course I had the two 16-year old lads kneeling on
either side, and their cocks were now massively erect.  I had
simply never had to masturbate myself with three other guys
watching, and I just couldn't respond.



"What's the matter, Steve?", the trainer asked.  "Surely you're
not shy!  I've seen you masturbated several times in the milking
sessions, and I think one of these boys is one of the ones who
we use regularly down there - but of course I can't be sure as
there are so many of them and most of these slave boys look so
alike!.  Anyway, get a move on - I have not got all night!  If
you can't get a hard-on, I'll have one of the slave boys tease
you a bit."



I continued to wank desperately, whilst my chest, neck and face
started to get suffused with the bright red flush of one of the
most intensive blushes I have ever experienced.  And of course I
was rewarded - my cock gradually went to full erection, and 
after a few more strokes, I started to cum.



Just at the last moment, the trainer leaned forward and pushed
by cock backwards, so that my spunk spurted out and landed on my
stomach and chest.  The pools of milky white stickiness lay
there on me, contrasting sharply with the dark chestnut tan of
my skin.   



"You'll be glad you shot a big load", trainer said. "Now put
your legs in the air, reach out and grab your ankles, and pull
them back as far as you can towards your head.  Then hold them
there, and make no further movement of your arms or legs unless
you want me to whip you within an inch of your life."



I did as I was told, and of course by arse went into the air,
and my arse hole was fully exposed to him between my
spread-eagled legs.  The trainer leaned forward, dabbed the
index finger of his left hand into one of the pools of cum that
was now trickling down my belly towards my pecs, and reached
down and started to probe my arse hole.



I'd never been touched here before, and I tensed as I tried to
stop the trainer's finger from probing into it.



"Steady, Steve", he said.  "This is for your own good.  I'm
going to slick your arse hole with your spunk, so that you're
lubed up a bit before my cock penetrates.  Don't try to stop me
by tensing your sphincter muscles, as I will get it in anyway,
and it will only be more painful for you.  Think of having a
good crap, and make those actions with your arse muscles -
paradoxically, pushing outwards will help my finger in."



And of course the finger went in, and I writhed a little
momentarily as he touched something sensitive inside me.  I saw
a thin smile cross the trainer's lips as he observed this.



He then took his finger out, and again used my spunk to lube two
fingers, which were then probing and pushing into my arse hole.  



"I need to stretch you a bit, as you've never had anything up
there before", he said.



Again, I writhed as something went off inside me, and my
previously semi-flacid cock sprang into a full  erection with
the foreskin peeled back to show my glistening cock head with a
pearly bead of pre-cum hanging from the piss slit.



Again the trainer smiled. "Some guys are never lucky enough to
have the fun of having heir prostate tickled - just think of all
those straight men, fucking their boring women night after night
and never knowing what it is to have sexual pleasure from
something as simple as this - you're leaking pre-cum, and your
cock had not even been touched since that miserable effort to
jerk off." 



"Right, that's enough of that.", he continued as he reached
again for my spunk, and this time used it to smear all over his
own cock which had risen to a magnificent erection whilst his
fingers had been up my arse.



He shuffled his knees on the bed to reposition himself, and then
I felt the warm, moist tip of his cock probing at my arse.  He
pushed forward, to no effect.



"Come on, Steve, relax!", he said.  It's going in whether you
like it or not, and you can either help, or have a lot of pain
as I force it.  Now remember what I said about pushing out..."



I did as I was told, because I could see the sense of what he
was saying, and I felt the incredible tight pain as his cock
stretched my arse hole muscles and started to enter my body.  It
went on and on - how much more could there be?  Then there was a
slight relief, and above the roar of my own blood in my ears I
heard him say "That's the head in and my flange is inside. 
It'll be easier now - just he shaft to go".



Again the pain returned, somewhat diminished, though, as he
leaned forward and gradually slid his cock all the way in until
I could feel his wiry pubic hair pushing against the shaved area
under my balls and in front of my arse hole.



I had tried to keep silent whilst all this was going on, but a
great "Aaaahhhhh..." Escaped my lips.  All this time the trainer
was staring down into my eyes, and he now started to move his
hips in and out, so that his cock slid up and down in my arse
hole.  He went slowly at first, and in spite of myself I
couldn't help giving one of those little cries from the back of
my throat each time he pushed in.  I realised I was almost
whimpering, with my breath coming in small whiffles, and I lay
there and inwardly analysed my own reactions.



After about twenty of these gentle thrusts, he changed pace and
went much faster, thrusting his own hard pubic area into me with
every stroke.  It was too much - I actually cried out with each
thrust, in spite of wanting to take it without any further sign
of emotion.



On and on he went, until suddenly he cried out "Jesus....", as
he came, and then he collapsed forwards onto me.  



______________________



We lay there, with his head on my chest, and he told me I could
relax and let my legs down.  Then he slowly withdrew from me
totally, and knelt there between my legs still staring at my
face.  He leaned forward, and used his thumbs to ever so gently
brush beneath my eyes - I realised that tears were coursing down
my cheeks.



Still looking at me, he said, softly, "It's good to see you cry.
 Some slaves just lie there and dumbly accept it.  But to have a
rugged, masculine man like you actually shed tears shows hat you
are getting in touch with your sexuality, and it is starting to
be harnessed to your understanding of your role in life.  Don't
worry about it - I know you can bear much worse pain than that,
and you do almost every day - those tears are a mixture of pain
reaction, the shame of being violated in a way you currently
find repulsive, and the sheer joy of sexual relief.  Take them
into yourself, and understand what they represent in your slave
life." 



"Now hands behind head again", he commanded as he continued to
stare at me.  



I obeyed, of course, and then he straddled me and "walked" on
his knees up the bed until his thighs were under my arm pits and
his cock was hanging over my face.  I could see my spunk, mixed
with his, coating it still, and flecks of what must have been my
blood where the entry into my tight arse had caused some small
tearing.



"Now clean up my cock", he commanded. 



I turned my head sideways to avoid his cock, as he thrust it
towards my lips.



His gentleness in wiping my tears was gone in an instant, and a
stinging slap from his open hand, given with full force, almost
knocked my head off.



"How dare you refuse a cock that you have been told to take", he
rapped. "Evidently your conditioning is not as far advanced as I
thought.  What's wrong with it?  You've taken enough of the
water carriers' cocks by now not to be worried by a cock in your
mouth.  And it's only my spunk and yours on it, with a bit of
your own blood!  Normally a cock that's been up an arse is
covered with shit, too, but I don't like that which is why I had
you properly cleaned out in the showers earlier."



"Now take it, and lick it and suck it clean.  Doing this service
to my cock is another important stage on your road to being
totally in my power.  You should treat my cock with reverence
and awe, and be grateful that I am even deigning to allow you to
take it between your lips.  Get started!"



I moved my head back centrally, and did as I was told.  But as I
licked and sucked at the

spunk and blood, tears broke out again - I don't know why.



"Good boy", the trainer said after a few minutes, and he lowered
himself so that his warm arse was now resting comfortably on my
chest.  



He sat there for a couple of minutes, all the time looking at
me, and I did not even feel like saying anything, even though I
knew I had permission to do so.  After all, what could I say?



But then the trainer leaped off me  lightly and stood by the
side of the bed.



"Just one final thing for tonight, then I'm finished with you
this time.  You've still got some of my spunk up your arse, and
in this country free men are always worried that a slave might
carry away their juices, then get them sucked out of them later
for breeding purposes.  To avoid that we always make sure that
slave spunk gets thoroughly mixed in, so that no one could be
sure they would be breeding from the semen of a free man!"



"So these two boy slaves are going to fuck you now.  Do you
know, we refer to young slaves like this as 'spunkers'?  That's
because at this age a boy is at his most virile and fertile - a
16-year old, especially one who has been specially bred and then
trained, as these have, can have more erections, and produce
more spunk, than even the most virile hunk a few years older. 
They're at the peak of their power, and they'll pump a good load
up you to mingle with any remaining traces of mine".



"For this though I think we'll have you doggy style.   Kneel on
the floor, spread your legs, and press your shoulders into the
floor".  



As I did this, the still naked the trainer sank into a deep
armchair and sat there, totally confident in his nakedness, as I
did as I was told.



Then I felt the cock of the first boy press into my arse, and
his strong muscular hands gripped my body, digging into my ribs,
to get a firm hold on my.  The pain was less - but what did I
feel?



At one level, this was even more humiliating than being raped by
the trainer - a 16-year old boy was using my arse as a
repository for his juvenile spunk.  There was less physical
pain, because my arse had been stretched by the trainer's rape,
and even though these were virile lads, their cocks were anyway
not as thick and meaty as the trainer's.  Although mostly full
grown at 16, men's sex organs do still continue to mature and
grow until they are about 20.



But at another level, I was calmer and more composed as the lad
thrust away - I think it was the fact that the trainer's eyes
had been watching mine all the time he was raping me, and I felt
that he was mentally gauging my reactions and "testing" me as he
did it.



The first lad was soon done, and the second one took his place. 
He too was mercifully swift.



"Kneel", the trainer commanded, and I lifted my shoulders from
the luxurious carpet and stared up into his eyes as he continued
to sit there after watching the boys at work.



"Get into the bed", he then said, to my very great surprise.



I gingerly pulled back the covers to reveal crisp, white linen
sheets.  Looking at him, and seeing a nod of approval, I slid my
legs down into the bed, and lay there with the sheets just below
my pecs.  The trainer got out of the chair and came over and
slid in beside me.



I hadn't felt anything over my body, and especially not
luxurious linen, since my enslavement, and it was a novel
sensation to have fabric on my legs and body again.  But even
more curious was feeling the trainer's body pressed so
intimately close to mine.  He lay on his stomach, pressed
against my left side and very close to me.  One leg was thrown
over mine, so his thigh was resting against my cock and balls. 
One arm lay across my stomach, and he rested his head on my
chest.



"This is what men should do after sex", he said.  "Lie with
their lovers, and just enjoy the calm after the passion of the
sexual act.  I'm sorry you had to be fucked by the two spunkers,
but I'm sure you understand the need.  Now, tell me... How was
your first fuck?"



I didn't know what to say!  How could he turn from my trainer,
with absolute control over my life, the man who had just raped
me, into this gentle person whose warm flesh was exciting to my
own?   Tears started to flow again, and he moved his hand to
cradle my head and move his towards mine. 



Kissing me gently on the eyelids, which I had closed to try to
stop the tears, he said "Hush. Don't worry.  It takes some
slaves like that the first time, as they start to realise the
hopelessness their position.  Stop thinking of yourself as a man
- try to have the attitude I and the masters have towards you -
you are a piece of man flesh, that we own totally, there to do
our every bidding and totally devoid of any wants, needs or
desires of its own.  If you can do this your life as a slave
will be much better for you."



And with that, he got out of bed, pulled the sheets off me, and,
taking one last look at my naked body lying there, said "OK., 
Back to the slave quarters. After our next session, we may talk
more."



I got up and put the loin cloth back on.  Watching me doing
this, the trainer said "Next time, I'll push your cock under
that chain to keep it out of the way whilst I fuck you - I
thought it was going to spoil one of my thrusts as it nearly
flopped between us."



As I stood there, I realised there was a problem - spunk was
leaking out of my arse hole and starting to trickle down my
legs.  Seeing this, the trainer commented "That's normal - your
arse is stretched and relaxed, and the muscles are anyway
designed to hold turds in, not lovely slimy slave spunk!"



At the start of the evening I didn't think I could be any more
embarrassed and humiliated than I had already been - but walking
back through the luxurious corridors of the Palace to the slave
quarters, with spunk sliding down my legs, was indeed worse. 
And as I went along one corridor there were a lot of masters and
their women in expensive, formal evening wear:  I just knew they
could smell the reek of sex coming from me!







CHAPTER 10  A DAY IN THE LIFE OF PRINCE AHMED



I woke at dawn as usual.  Another day of boredom in the Palace
stretched in front of me, as I lay there in that half dreaming,
half waking state.  I let my thoughts run away - what would the
day bring?  Would something relieve the boredom of my life?  It
was all very well to spend my time cosying up to my Uncle, but
there was a whole world out there to be enjoyed, and the West
had more fun to offer a man of my refined tastes than did
hanging around here on the Estate with a lot of naked slaves in
the Palace - it wouldn't be so bad if they actually were naked,
but Uncle insisted on those ridiculous loin cloths for the
indoor servants.  And his litter slaves - well, how stupid to
have those gorgeous hunks of man flesh covered by those
ridiculous skimpy shorts.  There would be a lot of changes once
- if - I inherited uncle's power and wealth!



I continued to speculate on my future - I think I was uncle's
favourite, but how could I be sure he would actually come across
and that there wouldn't one day be an unpleasant surprise in his
will?  Of course he had spent all that money on sending me to an
expensive British public school, and then to Harvard, so I must
mean something to him.  But was he expecting me to make my own
way in the world?  But if so, why had he invited me back to the
Palace after my education - it was supposed to be for a "visit",
but it was now over a year.



Of course there were some advantages - at school, my lovers and
I had had to keep our passions concealed, as we would have been
expelled even for something as inconsequential as wanking each
other.  And in the sixth form, when we were seriously into
fucking, we had constantly to stifle our cries of pleasure at
night in case any of the masters heard.  Harvard was a real
liberation, as I could fuck away to my hearts content, and there
were lots of gorgeous guys on the campus - but there was the
constant need to "chase", arrange pick-ups and meets, and then
the possibility of getting a bed mate who was really bitchy - I
had several mildly unpleasant arguments with some of the one
night stands I found.  So I suppose life at the Palace had some
advantages - endless supplies of man flesh just to pick from
then fuck, in whatever way I wanted.  And if the slave wasn't
sufficiently compliant, I could always enjoy seeing him lashed
instead.  But perhaps it was all too easy - there was some sport
in "the chase", and just taking what was there whenever I wanted
it was becoming a bit boring.



I really ought to get up, I supposed, so I kicked out at the bed
slave , catching him in the ribs, to make sure he was awake and
alert to my needs.  The hunk I had fucked last night was pressed
against me still, snoring gently, but I soon woke him with a
slap to his balls, and gestured to him to get out.  I supposed
he went back to the sex slaves' quarters, and I trusted that the
normal arrangements for him to have a spunker fuck him
immediately he got there to mingle slave spunk with any of mine
that might still be up his arse would work.  But I couldn't be
sure - there were so many slaves in the Palace, and so many
layers of "management" that it was difficult to ensure orders
were carried out to perfection.   



I mused on - I know I am a perfectionist.  But haven't I the
right to be?  My Uncle's establishment supported about 3000
slaves, and surely with all that man flesh available, my simple
wishes and commands could be carried out perfectly.  But I was
always detecting signs of inattention and sloppiness in the
slaves, and I had to be constantly vigilant, and hand out
punishments daily, to ensure my standards were not eroded too
far.



But now it really was time to make a move.  So I started my
first piss of the morning - this bed slave at least had got it
right - just the correct amount of suction to ensure no piss
spilled out, but not so much that I felt he was "vacuuming" me. 
After I had finished, I got out of bed and went into my
bathroom.  Everything seemed to be right here, too - perhaps
this was going to be a good day after all.  The bath slaves
looked fresh and attentive, and the water in the containers they
were holding looked to be at the right temperature.  So I
gestured for my shower to start, and the tall shower slaves
started to gently pour the water from the containers over my
head - yes, it was right!  I had actually had my steward write
down the temperature I liked, but even so, about one morning in
five the slaves got it wrong and it was half a degree too warm,
or too cool.  Of course they ere then whipped thoroughly, but
that didn't compensate for them spoiling my first shower of the
day.



I decided to have a long shower that day, and I knew this would
cause someone grief as a procession of slaves was needed to
carry the containers of my shower water into the bathroom and
pour them over me.  I didn't really know how many bath slaves
there were - after a time, all the very tall, nicely
proportioned guys looked much the same, especially as it was my
policy to have them  all totally shaved to prevent any
unpleasant bits of their pubic hair falling on to the marble
floor where I might tread on it.  But then, what did it matter -
as long as there were enough slaves, whether that was 10 or 20,
who cares?  There was enough spare slave power in the Palace
that it was not an issue.



A slave gently towelled my body partially dry with a rough towel
and was just about to start the more delicate task of using one
of the soft towels on my genitals, when he phone rang.  The
phone slave at once handed it to me (no calls would ever go to
that phone that were not for me, as the Palace switchboard
efficiently screened all calls and only routed to my phone those
that I wanted to hear.  So the phone slave knew that when it did
ring, he should press the "answer" button and hand the
instrument to me immediately.  One of he problems when I was in
the West was that I had had o carry my own phone around,
dragging at my belt, and sometimes I got calls I didn't want to
take.  Having a slave dedicated to carrying the phone was
altogether more satisfactory, I thought).



It was my mate Abdul, wanting to play tennis later, and I
decided to chat with him for a bit. I sat down, and to my
irritation felt the back of the slave who had knelt down to
provide a seat for me was warm - I hate feeling a slave's warm
back against my naked arse, and my usual seats have to be kept
cold, and hosed down with iced water and dried quickly, before I
use them.  When I had finished the call, I ordered all the bath
slaves on duty that morning to be whipped for this lapse - I t
was one of the small signs that my exacting standards were not
being fulfilled to perfection.  Perhaps a good whipping of the
whole crew would remind them about what they were there for.



My dresser slipped the cool linen robe over my head, and the
soft white leather slippers on to my feet.  He looked a bit
different from yesterday's - was he?  Who could say - one slave
was so much like another, and you really couldn't spend all your
time looking in detail at them.  As long as they did their
assigned tasks to perfection, that was all that mattered.



_______________________



I wandered on into my breakfast room, and the serving slaves
rushed to put my usual breakfast of fresh fruits, sweet
pastries, and hot strong coffee, in front of me.  I really must
get the decoration in this room changed, I thought - I was
getting tired of the current pattern, which I had had for about
18 months now.  It was fun to pick out the matching slaves for
the table and to hold the light globes, but I had been looking
at them now for so long that I was bored, and needed a change.  



Glancing down through the glass table top I saw the four pure
white slaves crouching there, holding it up.  I had got the idea
from an antique table I had seen in a shop in Paris - a plaster
model of a black slave was holding up the ornate top of a low
table intended as a coffee table in a smart salon. As soon as I
was back I had decided to adapt - and improve - on the idea, and
had hunted the auctions for four white slaves to crouch and hold
the heavy glass table top above their heads on the palms of
their hands.



Hunting for the right slaves had been more fun for me that
looking for an antique table would have been, and it took weeks.
 In the end, I decided that there were no suitable men in the
market at he moment, and a trawl through the slaves on the
Estate also revealed nothing - I wanted big strong men, about
23-25, with pale skins and blond hair.  In the end, I had to  go
to one of the slaving companies with my specification, and they
went out and captured some guys in Sweden.  Of course the price
was then astronomic, as Sweden is so controlled and there are so
few vagrants or prisoners that the prison guards can sell, that
the men have to be captured from "normal" lives, so the risks
are high.   When I got them, I was so pleased that I
commissioned the same company to get me four more, and these men
were now standing in the four corners of the room, legs apart,
holding the light globes above their heads.



I remembered how enjoyable it had been to prepare these eight
men - even though they were blondes and pale skinned, they had
thoughtlessly exposed themselves to the sun and there had been
distinctive differences between the colour of the flesh on their
upper bodies and legs, and that around their cocks and arses
where it had been covered by their swimming trunks.  As well as
having their body hair shaved away (I was fastidious in not
liking slave's pubic hair anywhere near where my food was
prepared or served), I decided that their skin should be
bleached as I couldn't wait for their tans to fade naturally. 
The chemicals the slave masters used were probably too strong,
as the slaves moaned and cried when it was applied to them, and
they came out of the process red and raw.  But it soon cleared,
and I had my slaves properly white, to match the marble on the
floors and walls, within two weeks.  Now, of course, they were
never allowed into the sun, and it was interesting to see this
very white flesh on slaves when most of those around the Palace
were tanned, or were from slave stock that was naturally
swarthy.  As I eat, I wondered what happened to these slaves
when I wasn't eating - judging from the splendid muscles they
all had, I supposed they must be constantly exercised.  The
muscle definition was that you get from the gym, rather than
from manual labour - understandable, really, as they would have
to be ready to be put back in place in my dining room at a
moment's notice, if I came back to my quarters.



Still, the decor was 18 moths old.  Perhaps I should change them
for blacks.  No, not blacks - too much of a contrast with the
marble floor.  I didn't want the expense or disruption of
changing the floor.  So I'll go for olive skinned, Mediterranean
types.  I told my remembrancer of my decision, so that he could
tell my secretary later in the day to arrange appointments for
some of the slave traders to bring potentially suitable slaves
for my inspection.  How did people manage without remembrancers?
 I only had to tell the slave a thought I had, and it would get
transmitted to others on my staff, faultlessly.  Business men in
the West went around with little electronic recording devices,
and even laptop PCs, to keep notes on - but what then: they
still had to be transcribed and acted on.  The remembrancers who
followed me around (several were needed, as if I was being very
creative, a new one would be needed to relieve the current one
at fairly frequent intervals) could not only pass on my
commands, but could also convey to my secretaries, seneschals
and stewards my tone of voice, and my mood, at the time - these
things are so important in making sure your orders get
implemented exactly as you would want. Another example, I
thought, of the West getting it wrong - why burden busy men with
mobile phones and electronic gadgets, when a couple of slaves
could look after the phone for you and record your thoughts?.



As I mused on, I idly kicked off one leather slipper and
wriggled my toes into the warm moistness of the groin of one of
the table leg slaves.  It's nice to feel the soft silkiness of a
good pair of shaved balls with your toes, and I probed deeper,
thinking I might touch his arse hole with my big toe.  But I
caught his balls awkwardly, because there was a stifled cry of
pain, and the table top shook a little as he almost forgot
himself and lost his grip.  He quite broke my mood of
contemplation, so I ordered all four slaves to be whipped after
breakfast to remind them that they were objects, parts of the
furniture, and furniture does not cry out!     



______________________



So what should I do with the rest of my day, until my tennis
game with Abdul?  I thought a spin in my new racing litter might
be just the thing.  And I might run into Uncle on his daily
inspection round, and he would see that I was concerned for the
Estate, too.



I made my way out to the stables, and something had gone wrong
as the stable master was not expecting me.  I strode past him,
and went along the cat walk above the pony slave pens.  Stopping
above the pen where my two racing litter slaves were kept, I
looked down.  There on the straw their bodies were still
sprawled, asleep, their long black legs intertwined and their
arms wrapped around each other.  It looked like some obscene
parody of proper, loving, sex between masters!   The stable
master had seen where I was heading, and after unlocking the
barred gate to the pen, burst in and smartly lashed the naked
backs and arses of the slaves, so they woke and leapt to their
feet.  I was interested to see that they still managed morning
erections - habits must die hard!



The stable master could see I was displeased, but I told him to
have them prepared quickly for duty and waste no more of my
time.  I strode back along the cat walk, and I could see from
the empty pens that there must be a lot of activity on the
Estate that morning - most of the pony slaves were out, and
there were only about ten of the long-limbed, scrawny messenger
slaves still in their holding compound.



By the time I had got back to the door of the stable, my litter
was waiting for me.  I was pleased with this, as it was to my
own design - very thin stainless steel tubes, supporting a light
but comfortable steel mesh seat.  This was designed for speed -
unlike Uncle's massive litter where he could sprawl but which
could only go at a fast walk or a jog, I only intended this
litter to be used when I was in a hurry, so sitting down in
comfort was not a hardship.  Losing all the weight in the seat
meant that the supporting poles could e smaller and thinner -
and hence lighter - so the weight was further reduced. I had
thought for a long time about whether I should have two, four,
six, eight or even more slaves to carry me, and had gone for a
really radical solution:  just the two!  I had decided that two
really strong, long limned slaves could probably perform better
on short to medium length journeys at speed with this light
litter - using more would only add to the weight (you'd need
longer, heavier carrying poles, for example, so adding more
slaves doesn't produce a proportionate increase in speed or
range).  If I was going to invest in more slaves, I would have
the extra ones following the litter, so they could take over if
the first two tired.  But I had never got this far with my plan
- quite apart from the difficulty of finding two more slaves to
match those I already had, in practice I had found they could
perform as well as I required with enough encouragement from the
whip.



The two slaves burst out from the stables, and even in the short
time he had had, the stable master had evidently managed to get
them washed down and oiled.  They stood there in the sunlight,
gleaming like polished leather.  I was really pleased with
myself over these slaves - I had got them at a very low price in
an auction - I was just about to leave, when I saw them come up
as the last lot, and there were no bidders so I got them knocked
down to me for fifty dollars.  I heard several laughs from the
other men there in the audience, and wondered why.  I know
blacks are not the most favoured colour of slave, and these were
really black, and they were big, no, massive.  I guessed they
must be Nubians who had been captured in Africa, because they
were about 6'9" tall, very heavily muscled, and absolutely coal
black.  Like most Nubians, they had very little body hair, and
only a small amount of tight curly black hair on their heads. 
Their cocks were in proportion to the rest of them, and
uncircumcised, and they had really low-hanging, big balls. Even
allowing for the colour, I was surprised to have been able to
get two such magnificent specimens for such a low price -
especially as it was evident that they were so evenly matched.



But when we got them back to the Palace, the slave master soon
reported to me that my new slaves were trouble with a capital T.
 They just refused to be trained, and were spreading dissent to
the others.   Beatings and whippings had had no effect, and the
slave master wanted to know what I wanted done as he was
concerned that further flogging might damage their flesh
irreparably.  So, as usual, if you want a job done properly, do
it yourself - I had to go there personally to really understand
the problem.  After observing them for a few minutes, I
recognised that the slave master had failed to understand that
these two slaves were proud - proud of their bodies, and their
masculinity.  They were not going to bow down to a life of
slavery.  They still thought of themselves as "free", and
gabbled away angrily in their strange language, and it was clear
they were reinforcing each other's strong sense of personal
freedom.



I called the Palace veterinarian, and gave him my orders.  When
I next went to the stables, my two slaves were properly subdued
and now understood what slavery was about.  I had had their
vocal chords cut, so they could no longer shout and rant, or
tell each other what to do. And they knew they were no longer
men, as I had had them castrated.  All their body hair,
including that on their heads, had been shaved off.  I had also
had them circumcised, as I personally don't like to see a
slave's cock head concealed - this is another sign of manhood in
most African tribes, so losing their foreskins had probably
taken away their manhood symbolically, just as losing their
balls had taken it away practically.  



The veterinarian had argued with me, briefly, about the
castration.  He had suggested that he simply snip the cords
holding their balls, so they were sterile, as you do for slaves
that might come into contact with women.  But I wanted them to
know they were no longer men, and wanted the balls removed
completely.  Then he suggested slipping prosthetic balls back
into their sacs, to preserve their appearance - but that wasn't
what I wanted, either.  Although they had lovely big,
low-hanging balls, these men were to be runners, and I thought
it kinder to have them removed totally - those low-hanging
swingers would always have been uncomfortable if they were to
run naked, and I didn't want the magnificence of their bodies to
be concealed by even the tiniest G-string.   



Then he suggested testosterone injections to keep them "virile",
but my only concern was a possible loss of their muscle tone,
and I knew that the harsh, continuing exercise regime I was
ordering for them would mean that this was absolutely not  a
problem in their case!



So here they now were, magnificent specimens of muscled
slave-hood, shining in the sun.  Taking away their speech, and
their own perception of their masculinity, had turned them from
uncontrollable and untrainable animals into properly useful
slaves. One subsidiary advantage of the castration was that
their body hair did not really re-grow, and so on occasions like
this when they had to be readied quickly, no time was lost with
shaving.  I mused that perhaps more of the worker slaves might
benefit from castration, and told my remembrancer to note it for
me to investigate at a later date. 



I seated myself in the chair, the slaves picked up the litter,
and we set off.  It always surprised me how many slaves were
needed to ensure I would lack for nothing on the journey.  My
remembrancer of course jogged along side me in case there were
thoughts of mine to be captured, and we were followed by four
messenger slaves as I might want to send back to the Place for
something,  two slaves carrying a cool box with a selection of
iced drinks and snacks in case I should be hungry, and two
slaves carrying parasols that I might want to have carried over
me later if I tired of the sun.  My phone slave brought up the
rear with my mobile phone in case there ewer urgent calls for me
- it wasn't considered polite to use it for "routine" matters
like ordering a sex slave from the pleasure pool in the Palace,
as such tasks were better performed by the messenger slaves.



I had chosen to have the two slaves carry my litter in the down
position initially, holding the poles in their hands.  This of
course gave me an excellent view of the leading slave, and I
couldn't help but admire his broad muscled shoulders that
tapered to a narrow waist, before flaring out into a magnificent
arse packed with power and muscle.  But it was his legs that
were a special delight - his long, heavily muscled thighs were
the power house that enabled him to run long and hard whilst
carrying my litter.  I snapped the order to break into a run,
and emphasised this by lightly slashing at the slave's arse and
back with my whip - not enough to break the flesh, but enough to
cause pain.  I usually like to drive myself - some guys have
chauffeur slaves to do it for them, and this might be OK with a
staid, slow, wallowing litter corresponding to the Western idea
of a "family car".  But when you've got a specially designed
"sports roadster", like this one, half the pleasure is in
driving it yourself.  I really couldn't understand my uncle - he
had carried the concept of a "chauffeur" to the extreme- he
actually used a man, rather than a slave, to caper along driving
the eight slaves in that huge litter of his!  I suspected that
the  "trainer", as my uncle calls him, probably didn't whip the
slaves properly.  All that would change one day, when I was in
charge here!



There's a real trick in training slaves to carry a litter fast -
almost any group can do it at low speeds if they're careful, but
as the slaves run, there's the possibility of very unpleasant
jolts and jars for the master, and an nauseous sensation as the
litter itself bobs up and down.  I had spent a lot of time
overseeing the training of this pair, and had given instructions
to the slave master that they were to hold the poles with their
arms slightly bent, not straight down, fully extended.  It's
harder work for their biceps to take the full weight on the
slightly bent arm, of course, but then the slave can absorb some
of the jolts and bumps.  Better that the slaves' muscles shriek
with exhaustion, than that the master should suffer unnecessary
discomfort.  This pair had learned the lesson well, because in
spite of our speed, the ride was remarkably smooth.



Leaving the Palace pleasure grounds, we went through the first
of the fields on the Estate, where he field slaves were as usual
hard at work.  They were of little interest to me - I don't
particularly enjoy looking at the dirty, unkempt, ill-matched
slave bodies in these gangs.  Some of my English chums I still
have from school, when they have come to visit, have been
excited by the thought of 100 men chained together  in this way,
utterly deprived of any trace of humanity, but for me a slave
has to be neat, clean, properly muscled, and well trained to the
task he is assigned to.  He shouldn't need chaining, and
constant whipping to make him work - whipping is to correct
errors, no to provide constant stimulation.  Uncle has 20 gangs,
2000 field slaves in total, and thinking about this I could also
see why the Estate was now starting to breed its own stock -
about five slaves died, or needed replacement for some reason,
every week, and the expense off buying them in was considerable.
 



Slave prices had been steadily rising for some years as demand
outstripped supply because of the increasing sophistication of
society.  At one time the slavers could pick up vagrants and
homeless easily and ship them out for enslavement, but this was
becoming more difficult in most "Western" countries because of
the intervention of charities for the homeless, and so on.  At
the same time, the large fortunes being made by Western
businessmen in high-tech industries meant that they could afford
plantations of their own, so the demand for fresh stock was
going up - although these were usually not on such a lavish
scale as Uncle's, it all contributed to demand.  If 10
billionaires have plantations each with only 200 slaves each,
that's the same as a proper establishment, like Uncle's, being
added to the market.



I commanded the slaves to assume the raised position, and they
lifted the poles up and rested them on their shoulders.  I now
had a much better view over he fields full of working slaves, as
I tried to see where Uncle had got to on his inspection tour. 
Some owners always have their litters carried at shoulder height
as they prefer the longer view it gives , but usually I don't: 
for one thing, the slaves can't run as fast, and if they do get
any speed, it's more unpleasant because you don't have the
"shock absorber" effect of their bent arms.  And of course you
only see the head of the slave in front, not his whole body as
it powers along - and I do get a certain satisfaction from
seeing the rippling muscles in a good body working really hard. 
But the biggest disadvantage is that you lose the ability to
encourage the lead slave with the whip - unless you go to the
"chauffeur" principle, which I don't.



Still, we didn't have to go like this for long as I spied
Uncle's litter two fields away, so I commanded the slaves to
resume the normal carrying position, and we raced towards the
Sheikh.



As we came up to Uncle's litter, the curtains were closed  so I
knew that he must be being pleasured by one of the Palace sex
slaves. I don't understand why he's embarrassed by this - I know
he gets sucked, and fucks, in front of slaves all the time, and
of course that includes his litter slaves and following
entourage.  But why should he be concerned that I or any other
man might see?  Fucking a slave is after all perfectly natural,
and we all do it.



However he had evidently finished, because the curtains were
drawn back and the naked pleasure slave got off the litter.  



"Good morning, Uncle", I said pleasantly.  I decided not to make
any enquiry as to how he had enjoyed the pleasure slave - if he
was embarrassed enough to have he curtains drawn, he probably
didn't want any mention of it.  As usual, his grossly fat body
was sprawled across the heaps of cushions piled on his litter.



"Greetings, Nephew.  It's good to see you out here."



"Yes , Uncle, I thought I would come and ensure that the
overseers were keeping the slave gangs up to the mark" (I might
have scored a point here - so I emphasised the  theme). 



"You can't fool me, Nephew!", uncle said with a twinkle in his
eyes so that I knew he was not cross with me, only amused at his
own perspicacity in seeing through me.  "I think you are more
interested in exercising your new racing litter than in the real
business of the Estate.  Come closer, and let me see more."



I commanded the slaves to go alongside, and uncle gave the whole
ensemble one of his penetrating looks.



"You've had those slaves irreparably damaged, I see", he said.
"Was castrating them really necessary?  You've lost all breeding
value in the pair."



"Well, uncle, they only cost me fifty bucks the pair to start
with, so there's no great financial loss. And they were
completely wild and untrainable until I had had them muted,
circumcised, and castrated.  Far from decreasing their value, I
have dramatically improved it:  Abdul offered me 5000 dollars
for them only last week - not a bad profit, I think!"



"I suppose you may yet prosper", Uncle replied. "And I have to
admit there's a certain interest in seeing those big cocks just
hanging there, with nothing behind them.  Did you consider the
prosthetic balls that are becoming popular, rather than complete
sac removal?"



"Yes, Uncle, but I wanted the slaves to have a constant reminder
that they were no longer 'real' men - these were proud warrior
types, and if they still had the outward appearance of men, I
thought hat their enslavement would not properly 'take'.  And
they have to run - bouncing big balls up and down all the time
causes them unnecessary pain, and can slow them down as they try
to protect their balls from aching.  You know I like my slaves
fully nude, unlike you, as I think a totally naked slave body is
more pleasing ho the eye than one hung around with little scraps
of cloth."



"Well, each to his own taste.  Now, are you going to keep me
chatting all morning?  I have to visit the quarries yet.  Why
don't you accompany me?"



I thought swiftly - going to the quarries with him would
reinforce my appearance for concern for the Estate, and might
put me in his good books.  But I found the whole thing boring,
and, anyway, I had a tennis game planned with Abdul, so I
politely declined.



After our customary family farewells, each of our litters set
off - Uncles' slowly, trailing its crowd of messengers, human
steps, carriers, scribes, and the myriad others without whom any
journey for the Sheikh would be unthinkable, and my small,
slimmed-down group of only eight, at a fast run back towards the
Palace.



____________________________



I decided to get a bit of a lead on Abdul by spending the rest
of the morning with my tennis coach, so I directed my litter
around to the Palace sports complex, where they lowered the
litter to the ground so I could dismount.  The slaves looked
completely done in - I suppose I had run them rather long and
hard that morning - but that was no excuse for them sinking to
the ground and lying  there trying to massage their legs the
moment my back was turned.  If I hadn't turned around because of
the noise of a low-flying aircraft, I wouldn't have known - but
once I saw them like that, I did of course have to take action. 
So I told the remembrancer to have them flogged in the stables,
as they must learn that they were to behave like well trained
animals at all times, and not give in to human weaknesses.



In the sports complex I went first to the tennis courts, to
ensure that my tennis professional was exercising properly and
that my orders were being obeyed.  When he wasn't coaching me or
playing with me, I required him to be either working out in the
gym or on court volleying balls from an automatic feeder.  Of
course I knew that I had little hope of catching him out - the
myriad of slaves around the complex would have warned him of the
approach of my litter, and even if the lazy bastard had been
just sitting around in the sun, he would have sprung into motion
moments before I got there.  



He was indeed on the court, and perhaps I had misjudged him
slightly, because I ran my hand down his back and over his arse
and it came away covered in sweat:  it was unlikely that he
could have worked up that much if he had only starting chopping
at the balls a few minutes ago.



He knew what I was there for because I was his only pupil and
only opponent, so I did not need to tell him to get ready for
play whilst I went into the changing room to put on my gear.



My comments in the bathroom that morning had obviously had an
effect, because the slave who knelt down so that I could sit on
his back to have my shoes removed was deliciously cold - indeed,
there were "goose pimples" over a lot of the flesh on his thighs
and arse.  This wasn't just from cold water, so I asked the
seneschal of the sports complex how he had managed to ensure
proper comfort for me.  



"There was a large walk-in refrigerator moved out of the Palace
kitchens during a refit, highness", he explained, "and we knew
of your liking for a cold seat, especially after a hard match. 
So we arranged for it to be installed next to the changing rooms
here, and when you are expected we put a number of slaves in
there to chill down:  they usually come out blue with cold, as
the refrigerator was for keeping chilled meat, so we need to
take care to let them warm up slightly before you use them, but
not so much that they are again back at normal body heat".



This was truly excellent, and I complimented the seneschal on
his work.  If only all the paid servants in the Palace had such
an appreciation of the needs of a master, and used the slaves
entrusted to their care in such an imaginative way!  I asked the
man if he wanted to move and become my house steward, as I felt
that standards had been slipping slightly recently, and he was
delighted at this mark of preferment and confidence I was
bestowing on him.



The dressing slave slipped my jock strap over my feet, and as I
stood up,  neatly pulled it up and settled my cock and balls
comfortably in the soft cotton pouch.  I slapped the slave hard
across the face, as he was little too vigorous - there was just
a possibility that I felt a small twinge of discomfort because
he had not displayed proper reverence for my balls.  Then he
similarly helped me on with my shorts, and shirt, and another
deliciously cool slave back was waiting for me to sit on whilst
the slave put on my socks and tennis shoes. 



Then I was ready to go on court, and my coach was waiting. 
Whilst I was dressing he too had put on standard tennis shorts
and a shirt to go with the white socks and tennis shoes that
were of course all he wore whilst practising.  I had initially
thought that he should go totally naked, like all the other
slaves I had specially selected for my pleasure, but he said
that he could not play properly in bare feet and so I had
relented and allowed him socks and shoes.  It was, in fact,
vaguely interesting to see the nude body dressed in this way,
and I had been considering giving other slaves perhaps one
article of clothing.  But on the court, when he was coaching or
playing with me, I liked him in the same immaculate tennis
whites as I wore so that I could pretend that it was a normal
game, perhaps in leafy green Surrey, the home of tennis.



He was his usual surly self, and did not properly genuflect when
I came on court.  I had had perennial problems with this slave,
and although I had had him whipped on several occasions, I did
not want to totally break his spirit as I wanted a real game
when he fought me as hard as he could on court.  I was a pretty
good player, having learned at school and played in the Harvard
team, and I didn't want a slave to pander to me:  if I won, I
wanted it to be fair and square, and the problem with some slave
players is that they will deliberately lose a point or two in
order to "please" the master.         



I had given up on trying to get normal slaves up to my standard,
and the solution to my problem came to me in a flash one day as
I sat in the President's box at the American Open in Flushing
Meadows (the Sheikh had been given several complimentary
tickets, as the Americans were, as usual, trying to curry favour
with him).  I needed one of these professional players as my
opponent, so I told the Sheikh's agent to hire one for me.  But
none of them was prepared to give up life "on the circuit" to
spend his days in the Sheikhdom, as they still believed they
might "make it big time", and the very top guys were of course
no longer interested in the money anyway.  



I spent the rest of my time at the tournament moving around the
outer courts, looking at the young players.  I wanted one who
was fairly low down in the international rankings (so that he
would not be missed, and so that he was at a standard just
better than my own), and of course one who had a body that
excited me as I was going to be spending a lot of time looking
at it.



On the last day, when I had almost given up, I had seen this
27-year old Slav player, with typical Slav looks - quite dark
skinned, curly black hair, a lot of hair on his arms and legs,
and enough curling up over the top of his shirt to tell me that
his body was probably heavily haired, too.  But best of all was
his smile - it was wide and open, and he did it a lot!  He was
the height I like for an exercise slave, about 6'1", and when I
learned that he was single, and was not in fat a Slav but an
American so his English was perfect, his fate was sealed.



They took him two days after the tournament ended, so there
would be confusion surrounding his whereabouts for some time - 
his friends would assume he was travelling on to the next
tournament, whereas he was in fact in a cage aboard the Sheikh's
private jet, bringing him to the Palace. I had decided to tell
him of his new role personally, so I was there when the cage was
unloaded off the truck from the airport and saw him crouching
there, shouting and swearing and demanding to be let out, and to
be allowed to phone the American ambassador.



Two guards had to hold him when he was freed, whilst I calmly
told him that he was now my slave, and what his new duties would
be.  "Fuck you, man", he screamed at me, and actually spat in my
face!  He had to be brutally punished for that, of course, and
many masters would have had him castrated as a matter of course
for daring to abuse his master in such a way.  But I needed
spirit in this guy, but, obviously, not so much!



The reality of his new situation probably only started to come
home to him when the guards carried him off into the next room,
that was equipped for punishing new arrivals.  In spite of his
verbal abuse and physical struggles, they expertly stripped him
(there's a knack to it - if you strip enough writhing men, you
soon learn how to get the clothes over contorting limbs), and
carried him over to aerial pillory.



I'm particularly proud of the aerial pillory, as it is my own
adaptation of the old device - the head and wrists are held
immobile between the beams as usual, but instead of the cross
beam being attached to an upright making a "T" with it so that
part of the slave's body is not fully exposed, the beam is
carried by two uprights, about seven feet apart.   With his
wrists and neck firmly clamped, both the front and back of the
slave are totally exposed, ready for punishment.  Over the years
I have found that this pillory is very good for inspiring terror
in slaves - if you just tie them to a post or something, they
can lean on it for support or some tiny concealment.  But with
the whole body exposed in the pillory, they are completely
powerless, and they know it.



I went up to him, and told him that he simply had to be punished
for daring to spit at me, but that first I intended to examine
him fully.  He continued to hurl abuse at me as I ran my hands
over his body, probing to see whether his muscles were in
perfect tone, and where he might need specific training.  But
when I hefted his balls into my hand to fell their size and
texture properly, he called me the most disgusting names, and he
continued as I rolled his foreskin back to get a good look at
his cock head.  I didn't demean myself by personally feeling up
his arse as I assumed that like so many American men he was not
properly clean up there, so ordered one of the slaves to probe
him and report on whether it seemed that it was virgin and
unstretched.



He continued to rant and rave, so I slapped him hard - very hard
- across both cheeks.  That shut him up momentarily, and I was
able to tell him that I was ordering  fifty lashes, and he
should be grateful I was being merciful and allowing the whipper
to place them over his back, arse and thighs - 50 lashes on the
back alone, I pointed out, would cut it to ribbons and leave him
permanently scarred, whereas the scars from this lashing would
probably heal after about a week.  I think it was only then that
his situation stated to really come home to him, and he started
to appear reasonable and asked me to forgive him.  But slaves
need to learn, deep down at the inner level on which the body
operates, and you can't risk deception and lies from the brain. 
So I gestured for the whipper to begin, and stood right in front
of him watching his face contort, and then start to scream
aloud, as the punishment continued.



He fainted at some point during the lashing, but I allowed the
whipper to continue without waiting for him to regain
consciousness- I didn't expect he would appreciate this little
kindness on my part, but I sort of admired the guy's spirit, and
was feeling generous.  Still unconscious, they carried him off
to a holding cage, and I ordered that he was to be properly fed
and watered and brought before me in one week.



At our next meeting, he was of course totally naked already, and
I commanded him to turn around so I could see how the whip marks
were proceeding.  Rubbing my hands over the scabs that still
littered his back, arse and thighs, I was pleased to see that
they were indeed all superficial, and that they would fall away
soon leaving the flesh undamaged - I have an excellent whipper,
and he can place all sorts of whips with such precision on any
part of the body I order, leaving just the amount of damage I
have ordered - none, light permanent scarring, or deep permanent
scarring.



"Listen, Jamie", I said, "And listen well, as I am only going to
tell you this once.  You are no longer a tennis player on the
international circuit.  You are a slave in the Sheikh's palace,
whose primary role is to play tennis with me.  I say primary
role, as I may from time to time use you for other little
services, depending on how I feel, but more of those later. 
Don't expect you will be rescued- no one knows you're here, no
one will ever find out, and your absence has not even been
missed in the USA. You have seen my power already; I can order
you whipped at any time, or beaten until you are within an inch
of your life.  I can have you castrated, your limbs amputated,
or even have you killed:  no one will question my orders, the
guards will obey instantly, and there will be no retribution of
any kind for me.  So learn your new role, watch how other slaves
behave, and start to emulate them."



"I am going to have you shaved and tattooed with my ownership
marks today, and then you will spend the rest of the day working
on your game - you've been away from it for just over  a week,
after all.  Then tomorrow, we're going to play.  You'll play me
to the best of your ability, and if you win, that's fine.  But
if you lose, I'll order a spanking for you."



"Take him away".  He had started to protest at this point, but I
pointed at the whip that one of the guards was holding to remind
him of what he had just experienced, and he became a little
subdued.



The following day I went to the sports complex and was already
changed into my whites when I ordered the guards to bring him
before me.  "Don't say a word, if you want to keep the tongue in
your mouth.  If you say anything before I ask you a question, I
will have your tongue cut out", I said as he came into the room.
 I saw him go to speak, then think better of it - perhaps he was
getting the message that I was in total control.



Freshly bathed, with his hair cut very short and crisply razored
around the edges, and with his balls shaved and pubic hair
trimmed back a little, he looked much better than the dirty,
snivelling wretch I had seen the day before.  I ordered him to
turn around so that I could see his slave tattoo on his arse,
then went and did the close body inspection again I always like
to do with new slaves - it emphasises to them that I am in
control, and that as far as I am concerned they are just pieces
of meat.     



"Right!  Let's play", I said, "And remember, if you lose, you
get spanked."



"I can't play like this!"



"Why not?  Are you ashamed of your body?  It looks perfectly
good to me, in fact, very good!  You're young and in great
shape.  You're well hung.  Why should you be ashamed to display
your body to your master?"



After some discussion I understood the importance of tennis
shoes, so I allowed him to be given those, and we went on to the
court.



That was the first of many games we played, and at the end, when
we were both covered in sweat, I again examined his body,
telling him that I wasn't sure that I shouldn't have him shaved
all over.  But having a really hairy slave was a bit of a
novelty, so I allowed him to keep his body hair but gave orders
that his balls and arse crack were to be kept shaved.  We'd been
on court for over two hours, and I could see his exposed flesh,
particularly on his arse, turning red from first stage sun burn
- Jamie would have problems sleeping tonight, I thought!



"That was fine", I told him.  "No spanking for you today. Now go
and rest, and we'll play tomorrow - in fact, we'll play most
days, always for the same stakes."



I now used him most days, either for an intense coaching session
or as a partner in a game, but I'd only recently allowed him to
wear whites on court (but not with  a jockstrap, so there was
still the occasional flash of his cock visible up the leg of his
shorts).  He couldn't win every game, of course, and on a couple
of occasions I had had one of the big blacks summoned to give
him a good spanking.  It's not so much the physical pain of a
bare-arsed hand spanking that hurts so much as the humiliation
of it, I think (although the pain can be pretty intense).  A
grown man doesn't like being made to lie across the naked thighs
of another man, and have his bare arse spanked - it's pretty
humiliating, and Jamie was no exception to the rule - I think I
saw a tear starting to form in the corners of his eye after the
first spanking!   I knew from my knowledge of slaves that Jamie
needed some "incentive" like the threat of a humiliating
spanking keep his game really on edge.



I had of course also fucked him, as I make it a rule to fuck all
the personal slaves around me. I had found him very attractive
when I had seen him first at Flushing Meadow, so fucking him was
not an onerous chore that a master has to do. And as he was
indeed a virgin (and "straight", as he kept telling me as I got
down to it) there was that added touch of excitement as my cock
breached his sphincter for what I knew must be the first time. 
But I didn't make a habit of it - I have only fucked him about
20 times so far, as I believe in specialising the uses I put
slaves to.  Jamie was for tennis, and fuck slaves from the
Palace sex pool are for fucking. 



But returning to the present, I saw he was still surly - he had
never really fully accepted slavery and his role in the Palace,
and was want to make the odd biting remark, or to be less than
cheerful.  I had tried to change him, telling him one day that
the next time he failed to be pleasant to me I would have him
circumcised.  He clearly didn't believe me, or his temper got
the better of him, as the next day he was surly again as we
walked out on to the court.  So I told him to stop right there,
then summoned the veterinarian and had him cut actually on
court, without anaesthetic, just held down over the back of a
slave by two other slaves.  I thought that losing his foreskin
actually on the court would serve as a constant reminder to him
of the need for civility to his master, and I had told him that
this time it was his foreskin - next time it would be his balls.
 



That was over 10 days ago, and we had only just started playing
again after his cock healed.  He didn't like being circumcised,
and complained that his cock head was sore from rubbing against
his shorts, so perhaps that was why he was less than cheerful. 
But I reminded him that I would take his balls if matters didn't
improve, and perhaps he did see that I was perfectly serious
about this.  I would, in his case, go for the prosthetic
implants I think, as I liked the look of him practising naked. 
There really was no problem with the testosterone injections to
keep up his body tone, so I was thinking that I might have him
done anyway as it would be interesting to see if I could put him
off his game by calling him a eunuch at a crucial point in the
match. 



We practised - hard - for about an hour, then a messenger came
on at a break and told me Abdul was here.  I told Jamie to
follow me (he still did not quite have the trick of walking
respectfully one pace behind his master), and went out to greet
my guest.



__________________________



Abdul is such a follower!  I don't think he ever has an original
idea of his own!  There he was, changed, accompanied by a slave
who he introduced as his tennis coach, Jim.  He had had Jim
taken three weeks before, without telling me, so that he could
surprise me with how his tennis had come on.  He had done
exactly as I had, going to Wimbledon to look at the lesser
players, then selecting one he liked.  Jamie and Jim obviously
knew each other from "the circuit", and looked dumbly shocked to
see each other in the same circumstances now.



We played two really gruelling hours of doubles, and Abdul and
Jim narrowly beat us.  We awarded Jamie as the prize to Jim, and
Abdul and I sat in the changing room laughing, as Jim tried
inexpertly to take his prize - fucking Jamie - in front of us. 
Jim couldn't  manage to sustain an erection as he approached
Jamie's bare arse sticking up in front of him, and had to be
given a light whipping to encourage him, and have a slave's
finger constantly massaging his prostate to finally get him to
the point of fucking.  It really was amusing - these two studs
must have seen each other in the changing rooms many many times
on the circuit, but it was only here that they could fuck in
front of an appreciative audience!



______________________________



After we had changed, I invited Abdul to stay for a light lunch
and I asked his opinion of replacing the white slaves with pale
olive ones.  He didn't think this was a good idea - but I
wondered if this was perhaps because he was busy trying to copy
my brilliant furnishing idea, and was buying Greeks or Turks or
something for his own dining room! 



After lunch, Abdul departed in his litter with Jim running along
behind in the usual retinue of messengers, food carriers, and
other ancillary slaves.  It was good to see Abdul following the
fashion I was setting so closely - he now had a racing litter,
too, but I didn't think his blacks were as big and powerful as
mine - although he had had them completely shaved castrated, and
oiled!



My whole afternoon was given over to office work.  There were so
many details of the Sheikh's estate that he was now delegating
to me, and my e-mail screen was filled with messages.  I could
hardly dictate my replies to the typist slave fast enough to
keep apace of the stuff arriving!  By about four o'clock I was
so bored, and my muscles were aching so much from sitting in one
place, that I sent down to the sex pool for a slave to come and
suck me off.  I don't think that the elegant society hostess who
received my reply to her invitation to a charity party in Monte
Carlo two months hence could possibly imagine that I dictated it
to a naked slave, whilst a handsome 30-year old slave expertly
sucked my cock to completion.



_____________________



It was one of those big formal dinners at the Palace that night.
 Uncle invited seven neighbouring sheikhs over.  Most of them
came too far to be able to use litters or pony chariots, so they
were forced to use cars or helicopters.  As a mark of respect to
my uncle, to indicate that they knew his hospitality would be of
the finest, they all came unaccompanied by their usual retinue
of body slaves, and only had at most 10 of their own slaves each
with them - those who truly were indispensable, like their
remembrancers.



The banqueting hall looked sumptuous.  It was lined with slaves
holding light globes above their heads, and each guest had a
silken couch to recline on.   Behind each couch was a large
black with an ostrich feather fan to waft cool air over the
diner, and a young spunker was stationed near the head of each
couch in case any of the guests wanted to slip into a young arse
between courses.  Older slaves from the sex pool were
strategically stationed around the room, and they had been told
to form pairs or triads and constantly stroke, suck and
generally exhibit each other's bodies in a slow gyration (whilst
not, of course, cumming - that would only happen if a guest
commanded it).



As well as their tiny loin cloths, the waiters (who served the
food onto plates held conveniently in front of the guests in the
outstretched arms of kneeling slaves), had been made to wear
black bow ties on elastic straps around their necks.  Somehow
this made them look even more erotic than their muscular bodies
usually were.



The meal went on for at least three hours, whilst Uncle and his
guests discussed world politics, and, importantly, slave price
futures.  I thought it was never going to end.  I was bored and
so I drank too much.  It was just as well I didn't have to get
up to go to the lavatories as you would at a Western banquet - a
piss slave gently sucked me when the alcohol worked its way
through my system.



Finally, it seemed as if the meal was over, and I was looking
forward to bed.  But Uncle had a surprise for his guests, as his
steward announced "Gentlemen, for your further pleasure, his
highness is proud to prevent a spectacle of wrestling".



I groaned inwardly, as I knew how Uncle liked to see naked
slaves writhing around in wrestling matches.  The last time this
had happened, the five bouts went on for two hours, and whilst
sweating, muscular, trained bodies are always fun to watch as
they wrestle (especially when they are "fights to the fuck"
where the winner fucks the loser), you can have too much of a
good thing!  But Uncle had excelled himself tonight, and as the
spectacle started, even I strained forward in complete
fascination at the eroticism of the scene that unfolded.



A large cage was wheeled in to the middle of the floor of the
banqueting hall, and in it were nine US Marines, in full uniform
(minus guns, knives, and so on, of course).   "Gentlemen", the
steward continued, "These nine men - one sergeant and eight
troopers - are crack US Marines captured in the neighbouring
state two days ago.  They are not slaves yet, as they have been
held in this cage believing they are prisoners of war.  Tonight
marks their official entry to slavery. All we have had done to
them is to bathe them, clean the clothes, and shave their faces.
 Their short hair is just as we found it - American Marines
often have these 'buzz cuts' - and, as we shall see later, they
have not yet had their slave tattoos, or their arses and balls
shaved.  You will see tattoos, but those are ones that they have
voluntarily inflicted on themselves whilst on service - there's
a lot of Marines slogans such as 'Semper Fi'.  They are going to
strip wrestle for you, with the winner of each bout fucking the
loser, in a knockout competition".



At this, there was uproar in the cage as the marines grasped the
bars, shook them with fury, and shouted out that here would be
no strip wrestling, no wrestling of any kind, and no fucking,
fuckers!  This was the best demonstration possible that these
were truly wild marines, and not just slaves dressed up to act
as marines.



But Uncle is a careful man, and plans these things so that all
will be perfect.  At a gesture from him, guards opened the cage,
pushing the marines back inside with electric cattle prods. 
They pulled out the sergeant, and locked the cage door behind
them.



Chains slowly descended from the ceiling, the wrists of the
sergeant were attached with a spreader bar to them, and they
retracted into the ceiling until the sergeant was standing there
almost on tiptoe.  All of us, including the marines, were now
watching with bated breath to see what would happen next. 



One of my uncle's slave masters came on, and with a razor sharp
knife deftly sliced down the side seams of the sergeant's shirt
and trousers, then whipped them away so he was standing there in
T-shirt and boxer shorts.  The T-shirt then went the same way,
and the audience cheered as the man's muscular chest, nicely
furred, with big, dark tits, was revealed.  The slave master
then stood in front of the sergeant, put his thumbs inside the
waistband of the man's boxers, and slowly - I think this was
deliberate, to heighten the tension - wriggled them down over
his hips and let them fall to the floor.   The sergeant's tackle
was then fully exposed, and there were admiring gasps as this
man was horse-hung - a very big, thick, uncircumcised cock, and
two very low-hanging, pigeon-egg sized balls.   



The sergeant began to swear as the slave master started to
slowly wank that massive cock, so we could better appreciate it,
but at a gesture from him, this was soon stifled as a slave
reached from behind and slipped a ball gag into his mouth.



We all leaned forward to get a better look at the cock as it was
now jutting skywards, and the slave master teased the foreskin
back to display the huge, red, shiny cock head.



"Right, you marines", the steward continued. "Your sergeant has
one foreskin, two balls, and one cock.  You will fight in pairs,
with the objective of stripping the clothes off our opponent and
wrestling him naked until you overpower him and can fuck his
arse.  It's to be a proper fuck, and the bout will not be over
until we see your spunk dripping out of your opponent.  If you
refuse to fight, or fail to fuck the loser of a bout, your
sergeant will first of all be circumcised in front of you.  A
second refusal and he loses one of those big balls, a third
refusal turns him into a eunuch, and should there be a fourth
refusal, his cock will be cut off and stuffed down his throat. 
Following that, we will select one of you, and further refusals
will get this man the same treatment."



"Now, first pair."



Guards opened the cage, and after some discussion, gesturing and
prodding, two men came out.  The slave globe lights dimmed, and
a spotlight dramatically lit up the centre of the room.  The
pair were a young blond lad about 19, and an older, darker, more
muscular man of about 25.  They circled each other, but then
stopped, and shouted out "Fuck you all.  We're not fighting like
animals!".



There was no hesitation. The slave master reached down, pulled
the sergeant's foreskin forward as far as possible, then using
his razor sharp knife cut around it.  He held up the ring of
skin, whilst the sergeant stood there, blood dripping from his
cock, his body writhing in agony.  



This scene was a real turn-on for me - the two marines who had
refused to fight were frozen in amazement.  The others inside
the cage looked stunned, too.  I had a huge erection, as I
though of the dilemma these marines faced, and gestured to the
spunker to suck me off.  All around the room I could see Uncle'
guests had been similarly affected ,and several were getting
relief in the same way.



"Now, fight", the steward intoned.



The pair took one look at the sergeant and the knife of the
slave master hovering near his balls, and started to grapple. 
They gradually lost their clothes, and I saw they had nice
bodies (or, rather , nice bodies for men who have not been
specially trained to have nice bodies, just to have tough,
working bodies).  It was clear that the young blond was no match
for his older companion - although he was a good fighter, he
just did not have the power or strength to resist the older,
heavier man.  He was soon overpowered, and the steward commanded
"Now fuck him!"



The older guy started to shake his head, but when he saw the
slave master's knife approaching the sergeant's balls, he said
"Sorry, Scott", to the younger one, flipped him over onto his
stomach, and tried to fuck him.  Most of us laughed a lot,
because it was really funny to see this totally inexperienced
straight guy trying to fuck a non-cooperative guy.  He went
about it quite the wrong way - he didn't get the young guy's
arse in the air, and made no attempt at lubrication.  He even
seemed to have difficulty in getting an erection!  I don't think
there was much actual penetration, because the young guy did not
cry out enough, but, eventually ,there was spunk and the steward
announced the bout was deemed to be over.  The two naked marines
were taken and made to sit against a low bar, to which their
wrists were chained - I felt almost sorry to see them sitting
there, with their cocks and balls peeping out from between their
thighs because their knees were drawn up to their chins - they
were both obviously completely embarrassed at being naked, and
the young blond was crying with shame.  The older guy just
looked furious.



We enjoyed three more bouts of strip wrestling with the other
pairs.  As I imagined they would, after the first pair's refusal
and then their capitulation to the inevitable, we had no more
problems.  The three remaining pairs of marines all came out of
the cage and started to fight without a quibble.  Then there
were two semi-finals where they of course all started naked, and
the grand final!  We all had a really good evening, as soon we
were betting on who was going to be the evening's winner - I
cleared fifty thousand dollars by backing my judgement, and
going in early on for the winner of the first bout.



But all good things have to come to an end - the nine naked
marines were loaded back into the cage, and stood there, the
picture of dejection, as it wheeled off.  I heard lots of the
guests wondering when these men would come up for auction, as
they had always wanted a real marine.   I told my remembrancer
to find out, as I was determined to use my winnings to buy the
winner - perhaps no one else had noticed that he was a lean,
mean fighter, and he was still a virgin!



_____________________



Still laughing, and with a sizeable erection, I went back to my
apartment and my slaves undressed me.  A selection of pleasure
slaves had thoughtfully been brought up from the sex pool
already, so I didn't have to wait whilst one arrived, and still
thinking of that marine, I chose a 32 year old, tough-looking
slave with black hair for my bed that night.



After I had fucked him and he had cleaned my cock neatly, I
decided he should stay:  it helped my erotic memories of the
marines fighting to have a hard body lying beside me in my bed,
and I wrapped my legs in his, and squeezed his balls until he
cried out in pain, to remind me of the evening's entertainment. 
Before I drifted into  sleep, my bed slave pushed his head up
the bed from where he was kneeling at its foot, gently nuzzled
my cock, and took my last load of piss from me so that I could
have a night's sleep undisturbed by the pressures of a full
bladder. 

 

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



How Ahmed treats litter slaves



Naked litter slaves



WATCH THIS  SPACE



 















 



