



THE LITTER BEARERS





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





CHAPTER 7 - LIFE AS A LITTER SLAVE





As soon as we were "dressed", the trainer led us off to the
litter and I got my first sight of it (I say "dressed", because
I felt deep humiliation sweeping over me as the tiny satin
shorts seemed to emphasise, rather than conceal, our nakedness. 
They were almost transparent, and it was only the little
G-string that added an extra layer of cover over my cock and
balls that prevented me from being seen totally.  As it was, I
could feel the fine silky material clinging to my arse, that was
sweaty from the hot sun.  Glancing at my companions, I saw that
they were in the same position and you could actually see their
flesh through the damp, translucent material as it clung to
their muscled arses.  I now understood why I had had such a
prominent tattoo on the arse - not only did it mark me indelibly
as mere property of the Sheikh, but its outline could be clearly
seen through the fabric of our tiny shorts).



The litter, in whose shafts I was to spend so much of my future
life, was gigantic - I supposed it had to be, considering the
size and bulk of the Sheikh.  The central part was about half as
large again as a double bed, and was covered in pale white silk.
 It was heaped with cushions, so that the Sheikh could arrange
himself comfortably, and the whole was covered by a canopy
supported from gilded poles at each corner so that the Sheikh
could be shaded from the sun.  Curtains could be drawn between
the poles if the Sheikh desired privacy, but these were
currently tied back with silken cords.  This central part was
supported on two long stainless steel tubes, one at each side,
that stuck out at the front and rear.



Our trainer told us to "take our positions", and my seven
companions arranged themselves, two to each part pole, leaving a
gap behind the slave at the front left hand pole. The trainer
snapped at me to get in", and I could see that for symmetry, to
get two guys on each pole, that was where I should go.   We
stood inside the poles, four at the front, and four at the rear,
perfectly matched specimens of almost naked male flesh.  



There was a hand grip set into the pole where each of us slaves
was standing, and on the trainer's command we all bent down and
took hold.  The trainer shouted at me because I had simply bent
from the waist - and I saw that all my companions were bending
at the knees, keeping their backs straight, as they reached for
their grips.



"You idiot!", he raved.  "Do you want to put your back out? 
Hasn't anyone ever  told you the correct way to go about picking
up heavy weights?  Do you think the Sheikh would be pleased if,
after he had paid good money for you, you were injured on your
first time out?  Just do what the others are doing!"



I felt humiliated again - not so much because I had done the
wrong thing, but because his advice was of course right and so
"normal", but so far removed from my previous life.  I knew
perfectly well about lifting heavy weights, because all my
experience on the building sites had given me a healthy respect
for my back muscles.  It was just that I could not make the
mental adjustment from lifting things when I was in England,
fully clothed, and doing so here in the desert, wearing these
humiliating shorts and with seven other men similarly dressed.



The trainer then commanded "Up", and we all stood up, lifting
the litter from the sand.  It didn't feel that heavy, really,
with its weight shared between the eight of us, and I later
learned that the most advanced engineering techniques had been
used to produce the underlying framework of steel that would be
light, yet strong enough to bear the weight of the Sheikh
without it buckling, sagging, or twisting.  Even so, I soon
learned that something that seemed light at the start of the
day, without the Sheikh on board, would be an oppressive burden
after a few hours!



The trainer then came along with shiny stainless steel
handcuffs, and cuffed my left wrist to the pole.  "There's no
real risk of you escaping", he said as he did it, "but we find
it better to chain you all to the litter as it makes you more a
part of it.  It's quite clear that you are permanently attached,
and it makes you think twice about doing anything foolish like
attempting to drop it over a cliff - you'd all go with it!".



I could see what he meant - I felt completely powerless now,
chained to the litter.  All my freedom of action had been taken
away - where it went, I went.  I was just a cog in a machine, a
human machine, designed only to give pleasure to the Sheikh,
with no thought of me at all. I felt insignificant and
unimportant.  I had always been proud of my body, and had
revelled in its strength and the power I thought it brought me,
but now I knew that this power was no longer mine.  I was simply
going to be used like a draft animal, and my body was no more
than a tool for the Sheikh.  I felt despair starting to sweep
over me - something that had been so much a part of my
personality was the thing that had contributed to my downfall
and enslavement.



The trainer snapped "OK, you know the form - around to the
Palace entrance to wait for the Sheikh.  Normal walk pace", and
we all set off.



I soon saw that it was important that we walked in step, to keep
the litter stable, and in practice this was not difficult - I
was quite close to the slave in front, and my companion to my
right was only a foot or so away, so it was natural and easier
to actually keep step with them.  



We walked out of the courtyard, and around to the front of the
Palace, where we were commanded to stop at the foot of the steps
leading down from the grand entrance.  The sun was blazing down,
but there was no shade as we were outside the canopy that
shielded the doorway - we just had to stand there getting hotter
and hotter.  



It would have been kind to let us put the litter down, but we
were not allowed to do this - we just had to stand there,
bearing its weight.  After a few minutes I naturally shuffled my
feet and shifted my weight slightly from one leg to the other,
to get a bit of respite from the tedium.  At once there was a
stinging pain across my shoulders, as the trainer lashed out at
me with the tiny whip he carried.  It wasn't enough to break the
flesh, but it stung me sharply and unpleasantly, and I cried
out, involuntarily, as much with the unexpected nature of the
blow as with the actual pain itself.  And of course I felt a
strong feeling of outrage - I knew I was to become totally
subservient, and this was just another step in the process.



"Keep perfectly immobile", I was commanded. "You're not some
sort of tourist here to look at the Place, you're a bearer slave
and what would have happened if the Sheikh had come out and seen
you shuffling around like that?  He has paid a premium price to
acquire you slaves as bearers, and he deserves perfection in the
way that you do it.  Don't dare move again until you are
commanded to."



I stood there, inwardly fuming with rage, but there was nothing
I could do about it without risking a further whipping.  I saw
that what was happening was that being a slave was more than
just actually doing the work I was required to:  slavery as
practised here in the Sheikhdom was also about achieving total
dominance over us slaves.  We not only had to be big and strong
and work hard, but we had to be constantly alert to doing it
"properly", to an arbitrary set of rules laid down by the Sheikh
and his slave masters and overseers.  All our free will had to
be ruthlessly eliminated.  Our whole thoughts were to be
directed at performing as slaves, not as men.



__________________



We waited and waited, and I completely lost track of time.  Two
young, slim lads who looked to be about eighteen,  in the
"standard" dress of a tiny loin cloth, came out and walked up
and down beside us as we stood there.   They had long, silken
tassels on the end of short sticks, and they flicked these at
our bodies and heads to keep away the flies that were starting
to be troublesome as they were attracted to the smell of the
drying sweat from our perspiring bodies.  As the lads moved
around us, I kept getting glimpses of their cocks as the loin
cloths moved out of synchronisation with their bodies - this was
obviously another way of emphasising "slave" - if you stood
perfectly still in a loin cloth, you were decently covered.  But
any movement such as walking or running, would occasionally
expose you to your master's view.  The whisk of the silk across
my shoulders and ribs was almost ticklish at times, but I knew
better than to do anything about it like squirming slightly, or
moving at all - was I already starting to get a  "slave"
mentality, I thought?        



After a further almost interminable wait, a flurry of activity
began at the top of the steps as slaves came out and spread a
wide, red silk carpet down the steps.  Four massive near-naked
blacks then came and stood on either side of the carpet,
carrying the enormous ostrich feather fans I had seen on my
first day in the Palace, and started to fan gently back and
forth to create a movement of air over the steps.  Finally,
puffing slightly at the exertion, the Sheikh appeared and made
his way slowly down the steps towards us.



I was expecting to be given an order to put the litter down so
that the Sheikh could mount easily, but instead, just as he was
almost at the side of the litter, three muscular slaves
appeared.  The first two knelt side by side, alongside the
litter.  The third then lay across the back of the one nearest 
the litter, and I saw that in effect the three slaves formed two
steps up to the platform.  The Sheikh then simply trod over
their backs, using them as steps, and mounted. I thought that
this was another form of the total subservience and degradation
that was being practised here in the Sheikhdom - three
good-looking "normal" men were simply having their bodies used
as a tool for the convenience of the Sheikh.  What might I
become, I wondered, at the Sheikh's whim? 



As his 20-or-so stones settled down onto the litter, I felt the
strain in my left arm increase.  But we had to stand rigidly
still as the Sheikh shuffled around, making himself comfortable
in the nest of silken cushions on the platform.  Evidently he
was at last satisfied, as he said something to the trainer, who
in turn snapped "On my mark... Normal pace... One, two... OFF"
and we moved away from the Palace.



It wasn't actually that bad, at first.  At a reasonably fast
paced walk, eight strong guys could carry the litter and the
Sheikh without too much effort.  The trainer ran alongside and
around the litter, directing us constantly to keep in step,
speed up, slow down, turn, or whatever.  He almost seemed to be
doing more work than us, as he was soon glistening with sweat
and his silken shorts turned semitransparent, as were all of
ours.  He flicked at us occasionally with his whip, but it
wasn't so much a punishment as an admonishment to keep properly
in line with the strict requirements of being a draft animal in
the Sheikh's service.  I started to feel like an animal - I had
no purpose but to walk in step with my colleagues, no free will
to determine where I was to go, a whip to guide and goad me, and
the manacle securing me to the litter so that I was an integral
part of the machine.





_________________________



We moved away from the Palace complex, and off down one of the
tracks on the estate.  There were fields one either side of the
track, filled with growing crops, and in one of these a group of
workers were tending the emerging plants.  As we got nearer, I
saw that the workers were slaves - I should have expected this,
I suppose!



It was soon apparent, however, that there was a difference
between being a litter bearer, or a slave in the Palace:  all
these field slaves were totally naked, and they each had a steel
collar that was welded around their necks.  A steel wire ran
through loops on these collars, so they were effectively
tethered in a long line, and this line of slaves worked its way
methodically across the field, hoeing the weeds away from the
crop.  They did seem to be wretched - all the other slaves I had
seen so far were short haired, and clean.  These guys were
shaggy-haired, with unkempt beards, and dirty bodies.  



An overseer walked up and down the line of toiling slaves, and
lashed out at individuals from time to time.  And this was a
real whip:   where it hit the naked shoulders or arse of a
slave, there was a distinct weal, and, judging from the scabs I
could see, blood would not be uncommon.  One slave briefly
stopped work, crouched down whilst still in line, and dropped a
turd from his arse.  He could do nothing more after this than
simply stand up again, and continue working as the line, moved
on.  There was no means of cleaning himself, and the turd simply
lay there, covered in flies, after the line had passed.  The
slaves who wanted to piss didn't even stop moving - I saw a
couple dribbling piss away as they continued to hoe.  Someone
told me later that keeping the slaves unkempt and dirty was a
deliberate policy, to emphasise their completely animal status; 
occasionally, when a slave's hair was so long and matted that it
interfered with his work, he would simply be shorn.  And the
slaves were "dipped" in disinfectant once a week to keep lice
and the worst skin conditions under control.  But otherwise they
were totally untreated - no washing, no grooming, nothing - just
toil all day, be locked in a crude shelter over night, and toil
again the following day.



This policy could, however, backfire - sometimes after being
subjected to the harsh work regime in the field gangs, a
previously unexceptional slave might "blossom".  Spurred on by
the work, muscles would bulk up and harden, and a mildly
handsome slave could, under the grime, be seen now to be a real
Adonis!   But after a few months in the gangs, the slaves were
no longer "house trained" - they were so used to pissing
whenever and wherever they wanted to, that they had simply
forgotten to control their bladder muscles and just let the piss
out whenever it wanted to.  It proved almost impossible to train
a slave to go back to being "normal" after  this happened, and
so there was some wastage of potentially valuable slave
material.  But it was considered to be a small price to pay -
the general humiliation of keeping all the field slaves totally
naked was more interesting to the Sheikh than a mere profit that
might be garnered from the resale of a previously "cheap" slave.



Our litter was commanded to stop, and the Sheikh gestured the
field overseer to him.  They exchanged some words that I did not
understand (my Arabic was then non-existent), and then the
trainer commanded us to "off" again.  This process was repeated
many times in different fields, and I estimated we must have
seen at least 1500 naked field slaves toiling away on the
Sheikh's land.



________________________



At one of the stops, before we set off again, the Sheikh said
something to our trainer who in turn rapped out orders in
Arabic.  From behind the litter, where I had not previously seen
him, a young slave came up and was given orders by the trainer -
he nodded in comprehension, then sprinted off back towards the
Palace - and I do mean sprint!  This slave was a least six foot
six tall, but was extremely thin and wiry.  Whereas all us
litter bearers were chosen for out compact, hard, defined
muscles, this boy had been picked because he was a runner - it's
rather like the differences between a mastiff and a greyhound, I
suppose.  He was not wearing a loin cloth as he was not an
"indoor" slave, but neither was he totally naked - instead, his
balls and cock (which seemed to be long, in proportion to his
body), were contained in a mesh G-string:  they were thus
supported, but visible to all.  



This slave was, I was told that evening by my companions, one of
the  special messenger slaves who followed us everywhere.  When
the Sheikh wanted something from the Palace, he was sent
sprinting off with the Sheikh's orders.  He was thin and wiry
because he needed speed - the Sheikh hated to be kept waiting -
and had been specially selected because of his long, runner's
legs.  Unlike us who worked hard and slow for long periods, he
only needed to operate in "burst mode" occasionally - he would
be exhausted when he got back to the Palace, but that didn't
matter as long as the Sheikh's orders got through.  Two or three
of these lads followed us, so there was always another to
replace him should the Sheikh have further orders.  He was
allowed the luxury of the mesh G-string so there should be no
inhibition to his fast sprinting - long-limbed sprinters usually
had long cocks and low-hanging balls, and they did not want the
runners to worry about injuring themselves - speed was to be the
only thing on their minds. 



__________________



We continued on our way, and after I would guess about four
miles we came to the quarries, where gangs of naked slaves were
toiling away mining - there was, I later learned, a small
quantity of gold in the rocks.  No mechanical methods used in
"traditional" Western mining could extract it economically, but
with limitless "free" slave power, it was worth while.  But, in
any case, the quarry served another purpose:  it was not so much
the value of the gold that interested the Sheikh, as the sight
of the five hundred or so naked slaves attempting to recover it.
 He enjoyed the power that this activity gave him over another
set of strong men.



Everything was done totally manually - slaves in pairs used
sledge hammers and wedges to split the rock away from the
quarry's edge.  They always worked in the same pairs, I was told
later, as they needed an enormous amount of mutual trust:  the
slave holding the wedge in place was totally dependent on the
accuracy of the hammer-wielder to avoid horrible injuries.  By
making them work always in the same pairs, and with the jobs of
hammerer and wedge holder alternating throughout the day, they
quickly built up trust in and reliance on each other - indeed,
most of the pairs of magnificently muscled slaves we saw
(because this hard exercise made for excellent physical
development) were lovers as it was natural for them to have such
a relationship after working so closely and interdependently all
day.



The lumps of rock were dragged away by other slaves who were
equipped with harnesses around their upper bodies, leading to
chains and small sledges on which the boulders were loaded.   



The next stage of processing - crushing the rocks into smaller
pieces - was done in mills driven by slaves on treadmills.  I
guessed this must be one of the worst jobs in the quarry, as
there was no respite at all for the men who stood in a long line
on the top of the treadmill, endlessly trudging "uphill" to
drive the wheel around.  Whilst the pairs of slaves who were
splitting rocks and the slaves who were dragging the boulders
worked largely at their own pace, the slaves on the treadmill
were of course easily controlled:  two guards with long whips
paced up and down the line of sweating men, "encouraging" them
whenever the pace started to slacken;  and of course no one
slave could go slower than the rest, as otherwise he would be
dragged down into the mechanism as it turned away underneath him.



The crushed rock was transported in wheel barrows by more
slaves, and entered into a building where chemical treatment was
carried out.  This was one of only two building on the quarry
site - the other being a long, low "cattle shed" structure,
which was the overnight resting place of the slaves.   

        

_________________________



The trainer ordered us to stop, and three  slaves again formed
"human steps" to allow the Sheikh to alight.  He moved off to
speak to his overseers and slave masters, and whilst this was
going on, for the first time for several hours we were allowed
to lower the litter to the ground.  We were of course chained to
it, so, gratefully, as we had been on our feet constantly for so
long, we also sank to the ground by its side.



The trainer came around and unchained us from the litter, then
told us to hurry up and re-form:  for the rest of the day, we
were rotated:  I had been one of the two on the front left pole,
and now I was on the back right.  This was, I felt, merciful: 
my aching left arm could rest, whilst my right arm now took up
the load.  I suddenly stopped myself - what was this?  Was I
really thinking the Sheikh was "merciful" in allowing me
physical relief from a situation that he had placed me in in the
first place?  Was I acquiring a slave mentality, that was
grateful for any small "mercy" from his master?  But I didn't
have time to speculate further on this, because my right wrist
was now chained to the pole, and, on command, we got to our feet
and stood there, at attention, awaiting the return of the
Sheikh.  The "rotation" was of course for a much more practical
purpose - the Sheikh wanted all  of his litter slaves to be
perfect specimens, and if we had only borne the weight of the
litter on one side all the time, we would have become over
developed on that side.  





But before we began our afternoon's activities, there was one
more thing:  we needed water!  We had been toiling in the hot
sun for several hours, and all of us were dry and parched, and
our bodies were crying out for water.   As valuable specimens we
needed to drink to keep us in good shape (and so that we could
perform adequately on the return journey), but the Sheikh's evil
enterprise had found a way of humiliating us further whilst
performing this necessary task. 



In turn, each of us was allowed to kneel in the sand, and was
allowed to drink from one of a series of giant black slaves. 
Our water for the afternoon was the piss of one of the blacks: 
we had to take his cock between our lips, and suck greedily as
he released a stream of warm piss into our mouth.  These blacks,
my companions told me that night, were "waterers" to all the
slaves in the quarry - their only function was to drink gallons
of water from the one well in the quarry, so much that their
stomachs were distended with it - then go to the various gangs
and release it to them as needed from their cocks.  



In the careful way that so many of the aspects of the slave
society on the Sheikh's estate worked, this was actually not a
bad way of doing it:   in a hot country, you don't only need
water, you need the salt that your body has sweated out
replaced.  The piss from the slaves was naturally salt, of
course, and so served the two purposes at once.  And there was
no waste - a slave given a pitcher of water might gorge himself
on it, and some of it might go to waste as he sucked it in
desperately as he attempted to relieve his thirst.  But these
blacks had been trained to really control the release of their
piss - not for them the ecstatic, splashing relief when you
finally get to a rest-room after a few beers with the lads;
instead, they always controlled themselves, no matter how much
water they had taken on in the well, to release just enough down
the slave's throat so that he could swallow it properly. 
Indeed, you almost needed to "suck" as the piss flowed out, to
get a good flow into you.  



Initially I was revolted by the  though of having another man's
cock in my mouth, let alone at the thought of piss drinking. But
my desperate need for water overcame this inhibition and when it
was my turn I knelt and took the proffered black cock between my
lips.  I had never had a cock in my mouth before, and I was
surprised how warm and silky-soft it felt: when you feel your
own cock, it doesn't seem hot as you are used to your own body
temperature.  But now, after much experience, I am still always
surprised how warm another guy's cock is.  And of course I
suppose my own cock feels warm to anyone who has it in his
mouth.  



But this was my first time, and I was surprised!  And I was
expecting the piss to taste vile - whereas in fact it had only a
slightly astringent taste.  Thinking about it, this must have
been because it was extremely dilute as the blacks spent all day
drinking gallons in and pissing it out again. It's rather like
the difference in colour and smell - and quantity - of your piss
after a night beer drinking, and a night when you've been
smashed on whiskey.



They say you always remember the first time, and for me that
anonymous black cock was my first experience of being  in such
intimate contact with another man's sex organs.  Kneeling there
in the hot sand, sucking greedily to get the blessed relief for
my raging thirst that my body craved, I knew I was turning from
a civilised man into a slave - my only thought was to survive,
and it didn't matter what I had to do to keep going.  Whilst I
was "only" sucking the slave's piss, deep inside I knew that if
I had been told to go on and wank him and suck down his spunk as
it spurted out, I would have done that too in exchange for a
drink, or for avoiding the lash.  Only a few days before I would
have thumped anyone in a pub who might have mistaken me for a
muscled gay guy and who even suggested that I might like to
fondle him, and now I was sucking at a cock as if it was the
most normal thing in the world.     



We all drank our fill, and the slaves even came around for
"seconds" (however much you drink when you're really thirsty,
once you have stopped drinking and rest a moment, you can always
take more!).  And then, inevitably, I wanted to piss - I guess
it's natural that however dry you are, taking in a lot at one
end triggers the reaction to get rid of it at the other.  I'd
seen the field slaves simply letting it out wherever and
whenever they wanted, so

I used my left hand to try to free my cock from the G-string and
the tight shorts. The trainer at once saw me doing this, came
over and ordered me to stop.  I told him I was desperate to pee,
and he asked me if I thought that the Sheikh would like to see
wet patches on the sand when he returned!  It was he said
typical of the attitude of a new slave, who did not have the
proper concern for his Master: what was my need to pee compared
with the disturbance to the enjoyment of the scene for the
Sheikh if he saw ugly wet patches on the sand?



However I then found out that this need had been catered for -
the black slaves who had fed us their piss now came around to
each of us in turn and knelt down in front of us. They pulled
down our shorts, freed our cocks from their confining G-strings,
and, keeping their hands clasped behind their backs as they
knelt there, guided our cocks into their mouths with their lips.
 



As the warm moist lips of the black in front of me touched my
cock, I had a huge, hard erection.  I felt the hot flush of
blood to my face and chest as I started to blush with desperate
embarrassment.  And my emotions were in  turmoil - I had never
had another man touch my cock in this way, and I had never
thought of myself as gay - how could I be sexually aroused by a
man touching me in this totally intimate way?  I had sometimes
been to women prostitutes occasionally and they had given me a
blow job, but that was different - it was a woman, in the
privacy of a closed room;  and this was in the open air, in
front of lots of other men, by a man! 



The trainer saw what was going on and came over.  "Stop that!",
he said.  "Your file says you're straight, and the first gay
experience for that lovely cock is being reserved for a special
occasion!  Or have we got it wrong?  Does that huge tool erect
like that whenever a bloke's lips touch it?"



I was too overcome with the shame and embarrassment of the scene
to be able to be able to do more than mumble a "I don't know....
I've never had this done before...." because, in truth, I really
did not know what I was feeling.  There was something different
about the totally confident way the black slave was sucking at
my cock that meant it was not the same as any of the women who
had me in their mouths before.  I could feel the sensitive tip
touching the silky moistness of the back of his throat, with the
warmth of his tongue lying against most of my shaft:  previously
the women I had had only ever just put the first inch or so
tentatively in their mouths.   He actually seemed to be enjoying
it, rather than doing it as a chore.



The trainer rasped an order and the black drew back, leaving my
jutting erection reaching upwards for all to see.  My foreskin
had retracted fully, and the pink moistness of my cock head was
fully exposed to the blazing sun. In a flash the trainer leaned
over and hit the sensitive head with the tip of his whip - and
my erection collapsed instantly.  It wasn't the actual pain, as
much as the unexpectedness of it, and the extremely sensitive
nature of my cock head (I don't think circumcised men who are
used to having their cock heads rubbing against their clothes
understand exactly how sensitive an uncircumcised guy's cockhead
is - it's usually protected by the enveloping moistness of the
foreskin from such pressures).



He then rasped another order, and the black again mouthed me. 
"Piss, then!", I was ordered. "I had to get you soft, as you do
need to get rid of the pee as it will be an equally long
afternoon."



Now I'm not pee shy, and usually don't have any problems peeing
in front of other men in communal lavatories and so on - you
can't be like that working on a building site!  But having a
slave's mouth wrapped around me was too much - I just could not
get started.  And having the trainer shout at me again to start,
didn't help.  I was desperately in need of going, but it just
wouldn't start.



We stayed that way for what seemed like hours, and I could see
my fellow litter slaves finishing, the final drips being licked
away from the ends of their cocks by the black slaves, and their
G-strings and shorts being replaced.  Now they were all looking
at me, and this made my predicament worse - I could feel the
"piss pain" in my bladder, but I just couldn't start the flow.



"All right then", said the trainer.  "Be it on your own head. 
It's two hours at least before we'll be back in the Palace, and
if as much as one drop of pee starts to stain the front of your
shorts and the Sheikh sees it, all hell will break loose!  Even
though he's taken so long to locate you to make up his set, he
won't tolerate that sort of behaviour from a slave and I think
he'll order you sent to the field gangs immediately.  Now - one
last chance!".



My need was now so great, that I pushed and strained again, and
the black on my cock, sensing my urgency, was sucking with all
his might.  Suddenly I felt a little trickle start, and then, as
it does when you have been bursting to go and manage to get the
first few drops out, the trickle became a flood as my aching
bladder started to force the pee out.  The poor black was
swallowing frantically, but he simply could not keep up with me
and I saw my pee starting to ooze out from the corners of his
mouth, and then start to run in a steady stream down his chest. 
  The trainer was furious, and another black was commanded to
lick frantically at the first's chest, to make sure no pee wet
the sand.



It was really sweet relief!  I forgot all about the unusual
position I was in with the sheer joy of finally being able to
empty my bladder - you know how it's possible to empty your mind
whilst looking at the wall above a urinal whilst the piss is
flowing, well, this was just the same.   And when I had
finished, I didn't have to shake myself off and massage the last
few drops from under my foreskin - the lips and tongue of the
black slave did this for me.



He then pulled my G-string up, and I felt his long fingers 
"settling" my cock and balls neatly in position, before he
pulled up my shorts.



We were all then ready for the afternoon, and stood there, at
attention in the hot sun, awaiting the arrival back at the
litter of the Sheikh. 





CHAPTER 8 - THE SHEIKH'S PLEASURE





When the Sheikh returned steps were again made for him from
three muscular slaves, and he again reclined in shaded luxury on
the pile of pillows, as we were commanded to trot off.



We had not gone far, when the trainer ordered us to halt because
something was approaching - at first, I thought it was another
litter, but as it got closer I saw it was a light chariot - but
a chariot drawn by two sweating slaves!  They were not as
heavily muscled as us, because their function was different - we
needed sustained power to carry the heavy litter for long
periods, whereas they were required to run, and pulling a
chariot is not as hard as carrying a heavy load.  They were
long-legged, as were we, and I could see that their hair was
cropped like ours, and they had the same type of brands.  They
wore small satin shorts like us, and I guessed that this was so
that they could run with their cocks and balls properly
supported.  These slaves were, I learned later, "pony slaves",
and the Sheikh had a whole stable of them to pull various types
of carts and carriages around the estate.



I saw that this was another example of how the Sheikh's estate
was run using specialised bodies - the heavily muscled bearers
like us, the strong, lithe chariot pullers, and the tall, thin,
light sprinters for message boys.  The Sheikh had succeeded in
reducing men to objects so completely that he selected them for
the specialised physical purposes to which they were to be put,
not for any inherent qualities of their personalities.  This
truly was considering "man flesh" as something akin to the
old-time farmers who would select a "good piece of horse flesh"
for their tasks on the farm.



But it was the contents of the chariot that were most
astonishing.  The reins that ran from bits in the mouths of the
pony slaves went to a young 16 year old lad who was the driver
at the front of the chariot.  As a 16 year old, he was still
totally naked although his cock and balls were well developed
and he was obviously fully sexually mature because of the bush
of pubic hair he sported and the wiry black hair that covered
his chest.  He had a long, thin whip, and it had obviously been
used on the journey because the backs of the two pony slaves
were flecked with blood and ugly red whip marks could be plainly
seen - I guessed that the ponies had had to be "encouraged" on
the journey, to ensure the Sheikh was not kept waiting longer
than necessary.  



Behind him stood the most handsome man I have ever seen - he was
about six feet tall, and looked just as if one of those ancient
Greek statues that portray manly beauty had come to life.  He
had sharply chiselled features, bright blue eyes, a mouth that
seemed to be in a permanent smile revealing perfect pearl-white
teeth, and his dark blond hair was sharply cut to emphasise his
beautiful face.  It was clear that he spend hours each day in
the gym,. because without being overly developed anywhere, each
set of muscles was sharply and properly defined.  There was not
an ounce of fat on him, and his golden brown skin had been
lightly oiled to emphasise the perfection of his musculature. 
I'm not gay, but even I could see why this stud would turn
anyone's head - man or woman.



He must have been a Palace slave, because he was dressed in a
small loin cloth of white linen, hung from a golden chain that
was in some danger of slipping down over his narrow hips, and
was only saved from doing so by the swell of his muscled,
"bubble butt".



He got down from the chariot and approached the litter, dropping
to his knees when he got there and waiting, head bowed and hands
neatly crossed behind his back, in the submissive posture
adopted by Palace slaves when they are waiting for instructions.
 The Skeikh snapped something which was obviously meaningful to
the slave, because he sprang to his feet and snatched his loin
cloth away contemptuously.  His  apparatus I now saw was exactly
as you would expect in such a perfect specimen of manhood - low
hanging, free-swinging balls behind a long, thick cock.  He was
circumcised, and his cock head was surrounded by a meaty flange
which served to emphasise the general power that he obviously
possessed sexually.



The next moment he vaulted up on to the litter to join the
Sheikh, and I almost let go of my handle because of the sudden
sharp increase in the load - with all that muscle, he must have
weighed about 14 stone!  But my companions clearly knew what was
coming, because they had braced themselves and the litter
fortunately remained stable and secure. 



 Now totally naked except for the thin gold chain around his
hips, he knelt between the Sheikh's legs.  With gestures
indicating reverence and respect, he carefully raised the hem of
the Sheikh's robe, and slowly slipped beneath it.  I saw the
outline of his head moving towards the Sheikh's crotch, and then
it became apparent what was happening - the Sheikh had summoned
this slave from the Palace because he wanted relief, and this
Adonis was expertly sucking the Sheikh off.



As his head moved up and down underneath the Sheikh's robe, the
slave's muscular arse bobbed up and down, and we were all
treated to the sight of his cock and balls swaying backwards and
forwards.  I even caught glimpses of his anus, as it
occasionally flashed pink against his golden brown arse - again,
this was something I had never seen before as most men keep this
carefully hidden and never expose it to other guys, not even in
communal showers in gyms and so on.  The Sheikh began to moan
softly with pleasure. It was clear that neither the slave nor
the Sheikh were in any way embarrassed by what was going on -
and then another slave thought came to me - why should they be? 
The Sheikh was only having a slave service him in front of other
slaves;  we were no more to the Sheikh than animals, and he
would not hesitate to have sex in front of a horse, or a dog, so
why should he be concerned about the many pairs of slave eyes
watching him?      



Judging from the expression on the Sheikh's face, he must have
been near to climaxing when we saw another of the chariots
approaching, at high speed.  With a slap on the head of the
slave under his robe, the Sheikh stopped the sucking for a
moment, and when it was clear that the approaching chariot held
another Arab, he leaned up and closed the curtains around the
litter, and we could tell from his moans a few seconds later
that the slave must have resumed his attentions to the Sheikh. 
The Sheikh was not embarrassed about being sucked off in front
of many slaves, but would not want a fellow Arab to see him in
that position.



As the other chariot stopped, I saw that it was the Sheikh's
nephew, Ahmed, who had been driving two of the pony slaves
himself.  He leapt down, and waited respectfully by the litter
until his uncle the Sheikh drew the fine silk curtains.  The
slave had withdrawn his head and was respectfully rearranging
the hem of the Sheikh's robe, before lightly leaping to the
ground.  He had obviously enjoyed servicing the Sheikh, because
his previously flaccid cock was now massively  erect, and I
could see a bead of pre-cum on its tip.



In spite of myself, I found this whole thing very erotic - I
don't know whether it was the perfection of the Adonis figure,
the humiliation of seeing him worming his way up the Sheikh's
robe, the sight of his cock, balls and arse in motion as he
sucked vigorously, his erection, or what  - but whatever it was,
I was aware that I was very aroused, and my own cock, which had
been without relief for days now, was pushing painfully hard
against my tight G-string.  And I had that exquisite almost
painful sensation in my balls as they readied themselves to
start pumping spunk.



How could this be?  I was straight!  I had never even thought of
going with a man, and here I was with a class A erection - or
what would be a class A erection if my cock could have escaped! 



"Greetings, Uncle", said Ahmed.  "I hope I have not come at an
inconvenient moment".



"No, nephew.  I just needed a little light stimulation, so I had
this slave sent from the Palace pleasure pool, but he's finished
now.  He's a pretty fine specimen, don't you think?"



"Yes, Uncle.   I can see that whoever bought him in the slave
market and had him toned and trained certainly had a good eye
for man flesh.  I trust that he has also been properly trained
to pleasure a Master - sometimes these slaves who are physically
perfect get ideas above their station, and forget that they are
only here for our  enjoyment!  I had one like that last night,
who clearly thought that I should worship his body, rather than
him properly reverencing me!  After I had fucked him, I sent him
back to the pleasure pool with instructions that he was to
receive 50 lashes, each to draw blood.  When they brought him
back to my bedchamber later, he was a pitiful sight and was
sobbing with the pain.  I hope you will not be displeased if the
whipping was so severe that his skin is permanently marked and
his value as a pleasure slave is diminished."



"Not at all, Nephew.  I know you have a way of understanding
slaves, and if that one was becoming too much above himself, he
needed to be taken down.  Even if he is somewhat spoiled
physically, it sounds as if he would have ceased to be much use
soon anyway if he had been developing the wrong attitude.  And a
slave is never totally wasted - there's always plenty of work in
the fields or quarry."



"Did you want something urgently?"



"No, Uncle.  I just fancied a ride in the country, and when I
was told that you were on an inspection tour with your litter, I
decided to come and find you.  These ponies are the pair that I
like particularly because they are quite stylish - do you see
how they are well matched, and have the fashionable
semi-foreskin?  But  I need to exercise them hard myself to keep
them in perfect condition - the stable lads tend to be too
lenient with the whip, and let them run too slowly, for too
short a distance, if they are in charge of the exercise".



I could see that the pony slaves were in fact almost at the
point of exhaustion - their chests were heaving with the
exertion of sucking in air, and they were covered with a glossy
sheen of sweat all over.  But their respite was to last for only
a short time, as the Sheikh and nephew finished their
inconsequential conversation and Prince Ahmed remounted the
chariot.  He snapped an order, and whipped each slave's back to
emphasise it as they started off, gathering speed, back towards
the Palace.  How, I wondered, were they going to make it at that
pace back, given that hey seemed exhausted by the journey out? 
I suspected that the Prince's whip would be a powerful incentive
to them to keep running!



The Sheikh now turned his attention to the Adonis who had been
sucking him so vigorously a few moments before, and who had been
standing, fully erect, patiently alongside the litter.  On a
command from the Sheikh, the young man took his own erect prick
and started to wank himself off - he only took about four
strokes, before a jet of thick white spunk shot out from his
cock.  He was well prepared, because his other hand had moved to
catch it, and he stood there a moment later holding out his
outstretched arm to the Sheikh, to show him the palm full of
spunk.  I'd never wanked off in front of another man, and I
wondered how the slave could do so so quickly, and without any
hesitation or embarrassment.



At a nod from the Sheikh, the slave licked his own cum from his
palm and I could see his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed it
down.  This was, as I learned later from my own experience, a
common practice with the Masters - they did not like to think
that a slave might harbour some of the Master's spunk in their
mouths, so they made the slave wank themselves off afterwards
and swallow their own cum.  That way, even if any of the
Master's spunk was still in the slave's mouth, it would be
intermingled with the slave's own and no one could ever in
future say positively whether it was the Master's or the slaves,
if they secreted it away for later use.  Again, I marvelled at
what this slave was doing - obviously I wanked myself off two or
three times every day in my "normal" life, but I had never ever
even thought of tasting my own spunk, let alone swallowing it
down!  Did men really do this with their spunk, and how could it
be part of "normal" sex for gay guys to swallow their partner's?



On a further nod from the Sheikh, the beautiful man picked up
his discarded loin cloth and walked back across the sand to the
waiting chariot.  I noticed that he did not bother to put the
loin cloth back on - he had, after all, exposed his entire body
to everyone present, and had committed the most intimate acts. 
What had he got to hide any longer?



____________________



But now it was our turn.  After a command from the Sheikh to the
trainer, we were given the order to get under way, and started
off back towards the Palace.  But whereas our pace had been just
a brisk walk on the way out, the trainer now required us to go
at a fast jog, and "encouraged" us in this by constant switches
of his whip across our naked backs.  I was of course very fit,
but jogging when you're carrying a heavy weight is not as easy
as it might sound to "weekend runners" and those who believe
themselves to be gym fit.  I was soon gasping for breath, and as
the hot desert air was sucked into my lungs, there were searing
sensations in my throat and chest.  Sweat was running from my
head down my face and neck, and there was a positive trickle
from my upper body across my stomach, and down my back.  My
already sodden shorts could no longer absorb all the moisture,
and the sweat trickled down my arse crack and into my G-string
as we ran on across the desert.



On arrival back at the Palace, it was all we could do to remain
standing upright whilst the Sheikh laboriously levered himself
upright, then used his human steps to alight - it was as if he
had been doing all the work, and not us poor litter bearers.  He
mounted the steps, fanned by the near-naked blacks with the
ostrich feather fans, and entered the Palace.  He said not one
word of thanks, and did not even look back at us standing there,
utterly wretched - but then, I thought, why should he?  We were
just slaves to be used for his absolute pleasure, and our
physical needs were of as little concern to him as those he
might have for the needs of a fly landing somewhere in the
Palace.



But eventually we were allowed to carry the litter back around
the Palace the way we had come in the morning, and finally lay
it to rest.  Most of us were simply helpless with exhaustion by
this time, and collapsed alongside it in the sand of the
courtyard.  



The trainer released the shackles holding us to the litter, and
we were now again at least "free agents", and no longer some
part of that mighty machine.   He led us back into the Palace,
along the corridors that got progressively more austere and dark
as we got further into the slave quarters, and into our cell. 
The door clanged shut behind him.



I now understood why the slaves had been so relatively subdued
when I had first met them the previous night - it wasn't just
that they were not allowed to make loud conversation, it was
more that they were at the point of total physical exhaustion
and simply could not be bother to make the effort of speaking.   



I went to throw myself on one of the bunks, but my fellows
restrained me - the bunks were only for sleeping at "lights
out", and before then we had to huddle together on the hard
concrete floor if we did not want to stand up.



_________________



Two hours later we were taken out and fed the special "slave
mush", then led back to our cell, told to strip, and then it was
"lights out" and my body could finally sink into sleep and
forget the first day in my life as a litter slave.



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



Ahmed comes to live at the Palace.



How Ahmed treats litter slaves



Naked litter slaves



WATCH THIS  SPACE



 















 



