



THE LITTER BEARERS





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





CHAPTER 11 - ROUTINE





Life as a litter nearer was not if fact too bad.  The Sheikh was
not unnecessarily cruel, and the trainer was only required to
whip us lightly if we did not perform adequately.  Whilst the
litter was heavy, all eight of us were strong and well muscled,
and we worked well together as a real team - working on various
building sites was harder and harsher in many ways - the working
conditions were often poor, and I had to do hard manual labour
in cramped conditions.  And I usually got no help from the
others on the site - indeed, on every site  there would be some
"slackers" who would rely on the rest of us working extra hard
to compensate for their lack of work.  On the whole, the working
conditions, and having a group of real, trusted "mates" to work
with, was much better.



Being locked in the cell each night was also not so bad once you
got used to it - after all, in all those towns where I had been
working, I used to go back to a really nasty bed-sit (for which
I was paying a lot of money!).  And I had no friends because of
moving around so much, and being so exhausted each night.  At
least here I shared the cell with the others, and for that hour
or so each evening  between going into the cell and "lights out"
we could talk - this is the first time in my life that I really
got to know a group of guys well, and I began to understand that
special bond that binds men together.  It wasn't anything sexual
-  all sexual contact between us was strictly forbidden (and I
wasn't even allowed to touch my own cock, you will remember) -
it was just that special feeling you get when you're with a
group of close mates who all know each other extremely well. 
It's not as if we had much to talk about - each day was very
much like another, after all, and we only saw the same people
every day (the Sheikh, the trainer, some of the guards, and so
on) - it wasn't as if we were part of their lives, and we didn't
really know anything about their affairs or their personalities,
we were just pieces of machinery as far as they were concerned. 
So for much of the hour or so we had every evening, we simply
sat there, sometimes leaning against each other, in
companionable silence.



I couldn't complain about the food, either - the slave mush we
were fed was bland and boring, but at least we got it regularly.
  When I had had to fend for myself in the bed-sit, I had
takeaways and a load of fast food crap that I knew was not good
for me.  Bland it might be, but the slave mush was obviously
healthy:  my body had never felt in such good condition in all
my life.



Never having been particularly good at getting up in the
morning, I found the early work-out sessions in the gym a
particular trial.  It wasn't just the extremely tough routines
we had to do, but doing them so early so that we could be ready
for the day's work that was a problem for me.   But I did
appreciate what they, and the work in the litter, had done to my
body.  I'd always had a tough, muscular frame and had prided
myself on being in good condition.  But now I knew I was a real
"stud" - all my muscles were hard, and stood out as I moved, and
there was not an ounce of fat on me.  I knew I looked like the
other slaves in the litter team, and when I looked at them
between the shafts of the litter, or in the showers, I was proud
to be a member of such a superlative set of male specimens. 
There's no way, even with my very physical job on the building
sites, that I could ever have attained such superb musculature
had I not been rigorously and strictly trained as I had been in
the Palace. 



The biggest difference between being a free worker on the
building sites and a litter bearer slave was the lack of worry,
strange as  that sounds.  I never had to think about anything
now, or make any decisions:  every act every day was planned and
decided for me.  And other than the slight concern that we might
have a harsher than usual whipping if the Sheikh was in a
particular hurry so we had to be made to run past our "natural"
limits, I had absolutely no concerns.



______________________



As a young virile male, the worst thing I found was not being
able to wank whenever I wanted to.  In my former life, I had 
always wanked as soon as I woke up in the morning, and went to
sleep at night with my softening cock in my hand following a
"good night handshake".  But now it was only once every three
days, when I was "milked", and in-between times I was forbidden
to even touch my cock.  This sometimes made it difficult to
sleep at night, as my cock was straining so hard for relief, and
my balls sometimes ached to be allowed to empty themselves.  But
I had learned that the guards were very vigilant, and obviously
monitored the security camera in our cell closely, because if my
hand even strayed near my cock accidentally at night, they would
burst in and then would beat us all.



Probably the biggest change in my new life was in the weekly
"session" with the trainer - he took us all, in turn, one each
night (even though there were eight of us, it was my "turn"
weekly, as he took the two young Eastern boys together, as a
kindness).



I'd never been with a man before, and certainly never had any
one fuck me up the arse. And now, once a week, the trainer
fucked me, followed by the two "spunkers" to flush out any of
his semen that was inside me.  The first time it had happened it
had hurt, both physically and mentally:  the shame and
humiliation that I had experienced was because of the lifetime's
conditioning against sex with men, as well as the physical pain
of that first entry up my anus.  Now I was getting used to it,
and although I wouldn't say I was "converted" to sex with men, I
actually did not mind the trainer and the spunkers so much as I
had that first time.



One week it was "my night" with the trainer, an as usual I had
been taken to his room.  Watched by the two young "spunkers",
who were kneeling in their customary place by the side of the
bed, he fucked me deeply and slowly - as ever, I was on my back
with my legs on his shoulders, and as he thrust in and out he
looked down at me, locking his eyes into mine.  When his cum had
spurted explosively up inside me, he leant forward and lay with
his warm chest on mine.  



Casually throwing his arm across me, he smiled and said "You
really have a nice arse, you know.  If you weren't a litter
bearer, part of the Sheikh's special set that he took so long to
collect and that he's not going to break up, there would be a
great future for you in the Palace sex pool.  Quite a lot of the
men here in the Palace like one of you big, heavily muscled,
tall guys as an occasional change from all the slight 'swimmer'
types that they tend to select for service there.  And you've
got a nice smile, and I know from when you clean up my cock that
you have good lips and a sensitive mouth, so you could soon be
trained to be a professional cock sucker, capable of giving a
master proper pleasure if he chose to use you that way."



He then eased himself out of me, and sat astride my chest as
usual so I could clean his cock  of my spunk and arse juices.  I
thought it was going to be a short session as they had been of
late, but instead he then eased himself down in bed beside me. 
I had one arm outstretched, and he used this as a pillow, and
wriggled his body so that he was pressed against mine, with our
faces close together.  We intertwined our legs, and I felt his
cock against my thigh.  I had a huge erection, and, to my
surprise, he reached down and started to wank me.  



He had never done this before, and of course because I was so on
edge sexually, it only took a few strokes before I was shooting
cum across the bed and our legs.  I had groaned with pleasure as
he had started to stroke me, but when I had shot my load he
continued stroking, causing me to start to protest, and thrust
my hips up and down in an effort to get my cock out from his
hands.  He grinned, as he continued to stroke, and my groans of
pleasure turned into a small gasp of pain.  



"Sorry!", he said, "I forgot.  You uncircumcised guys are
especially sensitive after you have cum - those of us who were
cut at birth aren't like that, as we can continue to stroke
ourselves as much as we like."



"That's the first time you have wanked me", I said.  "I was
expecting to be 'milked' as usual tomorrow, which is why I
thought I was only here to be fucked."



"No, actually I sometimes wank you boys if your arses have
especially pleased me.  But you're right - the Sheikh wouldn't
be very pleased if he knew that I had wasted your spunk like
this."



"What do you mean - 'wasted'?  I know they collect the spunk
from us in the showers, but I assumed this was to stop our feet
slipping in it on the tiles."



"No, they collect the spunk from you for use in the Sheikh's
breeding programme.   You may not know this, but there's a real
shortage of slave flesh.  Not only do the Sheikh and the other
'traditional' owners need constant fresh supplies for the
fields, quarries and mines, but we have new owners starting all
the time:  those rich American billionaires from the 'dot com'
companies need to spend their money on something!  And at the
same time, the supply of good, white slaves is disappearing: 
there used to be lots of delinquents and homeless to pick up
easily off the streets, and lots of corrupt prison governors who
would 'disappear' prisoners who were  never visited and had no
external communication.  But now, with all the programmes to
help down and outs, and the spread of universal computerisation
in the Prison service, all of that has got too difficult."



"The Sheikh has already put a number of imaginative programmes
in place, like the one that you took part in, so we have some
slaves coming along all the time.  But he's pinning his hopes on
a breeding programme.  The spunk from all you eight is taken to
his breeding farm, and used to impregnate female slaves:  it's
all mixed together ,as it really doesn't mater which of you
actually fathers the child - you're all the same types
physically, and that's all that matters:  the Sheikh wants a
supply of big, tall, strong white slaves."



"It's still relatively easy to get blacks, of course, especially
with so much of Africa descending into civil war again, and
there's a good supply of Orientals from the various countries in
the East that are not yet fully industrialised and still pretty
poor.  We can also get a good lot of South Americans, but these
tend to be the interior 'Indians' who are a bit small and
undersized, rather than any of those big, handsome Brazilians
from Rio or Sao Paulo.  But big, tough, strong white men are a
real problem."



"The costs of doing 'custom' captures of individual men are very
high, and there's always the risk of discovery.  So the Sheikh
is placing his hopes in breeding the slaves he wants.  It shows
he's capable of thinking for the long term, as it will be 16
years before any of the slaves coming along now are actually
useful.  Still, it must be nice for you to know that your line
is probably continuing - there'll be lots of little 'Steves'
running around and, who knows, before your time is up, you might
actually be in the same gang of litter bearers as one of your
progeny."



"What do you mean?", I asked.



"Well, you're 26 now, aren't you?  So one of the slaves bred
from you could join the litter team when he's 18, and you'd be
44.  You're a good, healthy specimen, so the chances of you
surviving until then are very good.  Of course you'd only have
about a year in the team with him, and you wouldn't know that he
was your son - just one of the 'bred' slaves who might have come
from any one of several hundred spunk donors in the Sheikh's
programme.  But it's an amusing thought, isn't it - a 'slave
dynasty'!"



"Why only a year, though?  If I'm fit, why would it only be
until I'm 45 - I could go on for years!"



The trainer, who up until then, had had a sort of bantering
tone, suddenly became a bit more serious and said "Steve, you
have to realise that there's a natural limit to a slave's useful
working life.  The Sheikh has decided that at 45 all the slaves
who serve him in a personal capacity are approaching the end of
their useful working lives, so he changes them.  At one time you
would then have been sent to the quarries or the mines, but in
practice it was found that you would not be especially useful
and wouldn't last long.  So the easiest thing all round is
simply to have you painlessly terminated.  But don't worry about
it - it's a long time away, and by the time you get there you'll
be so used to being a slave, and so used to the concept of
termination, that it will seem natural."



I lay there, utterly stunned.  Being "taken" and enslaved was
one thing.  But now here was the trainer, calmly discussing 
"terminating" me when I was 45.  I was going to ask him more,
but obviously the trainer's mood had changed because he sat up
abruptly and snapped at me "Down on your knees!", and I knew it
was time for the spunkers to go up my arse as usual.



___________________________





The following morning, at the "milking", it felt strange now
that I knew why my spunk was being collected.  But there was
nothing I could do about it, and it made no practical difference
anyway, so I stood there and gave up my spunk as usual.



Then it was time to put on the normal G-string and silky shorts,
and troop out to be chained into the litter, and go around to
the front of the Palace, and wait for the Sheikh's arrival.



That morning, the Sheikh commanded the trainer to drive us
towards the quarries first, and this was a relatively easy trip
for us as they were only a couple of kilometres from the Palace.
 We usually stopped on the flat ground at the top of the quarry
from where the Sheikh could oversee the whole operation, but
this morning, as he sometimes did, he decided on a closer
inspection and so we made our way down the steep earth ramp that
wound its way up the side of the quarry and which was usually
used for the transport of the quarried material.



I had long ago decided that if I was no longer a litter slave I
would rather work in the quarries than in the fields.  The poor
slaves in the field gangs had absolutely no freedom of any kind
- they were joined together in groups of 50 or 100, by the
strong stainless steel wire passing through a loop in their neck
collars that were permanently welded on when they joined the
gang.  The wire only allowed them a little space between them
and the next guy, and of course they were permanently "stuck"
between their neighbours, whether they liked them or not. 
Absolutely no care was given to these slaves, who were dirty and
very unkempt looking with their long greasy hair and straggly
beards - they only got to "wash" once a week, when as a
precaution against the spread of lice and so on, they were
passed through a sheep-dip trough of disinfectant.



The field slaves worked in a long line across the field, doing
the agricultural chores.  Some days, digging, some days bent
double planting or weeding, and some days harvesting.  They had
absolutely no choice as to what they did, and they had to do it
at a predetermined pace so that the line moved uniformly across
the field.  For some of the big guys things like me digging was
easy, whereas the little guys struggled and were whipped to keep
their speed up; at other times, the smaller guys had it easier
as they bent to weed or plant, whereas it was the big guys who
got whipped as they failed to work properly because of the
strain in their thighs from the effort of bending.



At night they were led, still held together in their gangs by
the wire through their collars, into one of the slave sheds at
the edges of the fields.  I had seen inside one of these through
the open door one day, and had noticed that they contained
absolutely nothing - no beds, nothing to lie on, nothing.  Their
only purpose was to keep the slaves in confinement (not that
there was much chance of them running away!) over night, so that
the guards could be allowed to go off duty - and there weren't
many guards, anyway, as one man could easily take charge of a
gang of 50 who were wired together.    The only time there was
any real risk of escape was when one of the slaves in the centre
of the wire needed changing for some reason - he was injured, or
had collapsed from overwork, for example.  Then the slaves to
one side of him had to be "unthreaded" from the wire, then
threaded" back on again after the faulty slave was removed. 
When this operation was going on, several guards stood around
with guns, as it was considered that the slaves released from
the wire might be especially dangerous.



Of course this was far from true - once the slaves had been in a
field gang for any length of time ,they seemed to lose any
ability to act, or even think, independently.  They became so
use to the life of relentless toil, at a steady pace, that any
thought of doing anything for themselves simply went away.



Although they were totally naked like the field slaves, I
considered that the quarry slaves did, on the whole, have a
better life.  The work they did was often dangerous, but there
was some variety to it.  As we progressed across the floor of
the quarry, I saw how the operation was organised.  



Firstly, large pieces of rock were broken down into smaller and
smaller chunks.  This was done by slaves working in pairs, with
one slave wielding a sledge hammer ,and the other holding a
sharp metal wedge against the rock.  Again and again the
hammering slave would raise the sledge hammer high above his
head, and bring it down onto the wedge.  It required immense
strength to do this endlessly, and high precision to hit the
wedge squarely and avoid hitting the hands of his companion. 
The slave holding the wedge had to have absolute trust in his
partner, and know that  the blow would land squarely on the
wedge - if it did not, the wedge might slip and then the slave's
hands would take the force of the hammer blow.



These slaves therefore worked in pairs, and rotated the two jobs
between them throughout the day - the slave who had been
hammering could, to a certain extent, rest whilst holding the
wedge.  As they raised the hammers high into the air and brought
them down with force, you could see all the muscles in the
slaves' backs, shoulders and thighs in action - it really was an
amazing spectacle, to see a well muscled naked man working like
this.  This activity meant that these pairs of slaves could not
be chained together by their collars as the chains might get in
the way of the hammering, and so they were chained at the waist:
 welded irremovably around each slave's waist was a belt made of
heavy chain with 3" links (I was told that solid belts tended to
chafe too much, and damage the slave's skin leading to
infections and loss of output);  from this belt a similar heavy
chain ran to the ground, nestling in their arse crack, and on to
the belt of the other slave in the pair.  In total, they could
stand about a metre apart from each other with the chains from
their waists hanging vertically and lying flat on the ground.    



It was considered that these pairs of chained quarry slaves were
potentially dangerous:  a field slave, wired through his collar,
had no means of breaking the stainless steel wire.  But the
hammer and wedge could conceivably be used to break the chain
joining pairs of quarry slaves.  And two slaves, even when
joined by a heavy chain, could run and try to escape, whereas a
group of 50 or 100 wired together could not do this. 
Consequently there were always a lot of guards around in the
quarry, on the look out for potential trouble, and they had
loaded guns and a "shoot to kill" policy - the Sheikh never
minded if a slave was shot whilst trying to escape, however high
the price of replacements had risen.  And these guards were
bored, so spent a lot of time "encouraging" the hammerers with
lashes from small, steel-tipped, whips they carried:  most of
the backs of the guys were a mass of scars, scabs, and fresh
blood from this activity.  When the hammer was high above his
head, a hammerer's back, arse and thighs made a
taught-stretched, completely accessible area for the whip to
land on. 



As the pairs of slaves split the rocks, they pushed to one side
any pieces sufficiently small, and carried on breaking their
pile of rock pieces further.  Moving up and down between the
pairs of hammerers and wedge holders were barrows, collecting
the small fragments.  The barrows were pushed by naked slaves
who had wrist bands welded around their wrists, and these were
connected to the barrow handles by chains held in place with
padlocks.  The slaves had enough chain free to be able to pick
up the rock fragments, but they could not easily run away as
they were permanently attached to the heavy barrows.



The barrow slaves delivered the rock fragments to the crushing
mill - a conventional mill of the sort formed of pairs of
rollers at closer and closer distances together - through which
the rock fragments passed to be crushed.  The only difference
between this mill and one you would find near any small quarry
was the motive power for it, as here it was of course provided
by slaves.  Coupled to the crushing mill was a treadmill,
powered by around 100 naked slaves.



Chained to the top of the treadmill by their neck collars, they
were doomed to walk endlessly "uphill", driving around a huge
cylinder with planks jutting out from it to form the "steps" for
the slaves driving it.  Guards patrolled up and down the length
of the treadmill, "encouraging" any possible flagging of effort,
but they almost did not need to do this - a slave could not stop
walking, else he would fall off the treadmill and be hung by his
collar.         



We litter bearers were pleased when the Sheikh took a long time
on one of these inspections, because although holding the litter
static was hard because of its weight and the weight of the
Sheikh, it was easier than walking along (And much easier than
when we had to break into a run).  Our day was to be a short one
today, though, because after two or three hours (we never knew
the exact time as we had no watches or other measuring devices),
just after we had been given a good, long refreshing drink from
the black slaves cocks who "watered" all the slaves in the
quarry, one of the messenger slaves approached.



He stood there in his tiny G-string, his long limbs twitching
with the exertion of his sprint from the Palace and his ribs
rising and falling in agony as he tried to replace the oxygen he
had used in racing.  The Sheikh took the message from the small
pouch hung around the boy's neck, and told the trainer to order
us back to the Palace.  We left, leaving the messenger to
collapse with fatigue into the sand - we never knew how these
boys recovered, or how they got back to the Palace, but there
always seemed to be a ready supply of them loping along behind
the litter, waiting for the Sheikh's pleasure, so I suppose they
had some system.



We got back so early that there was time for another workout
session in the gym, before we were allowed to collapse against
each other in our cell.

  

    

        

CHAPTER 12 - CHANGES



My days went on like this for what seemed like months.  I truly
almost forgot my former life, and now thought only of how far we
would have to walk or run that day, and of when I would next get
to experience the deep human contact with the trainer as we lay
together after he had fucked me.



We had been out on the estate as usual one day, and returned to
the Palace in the early evening.  As we drew up to the steps and
the step slaves scurried to form their heap of bodies for the
Sheikh to walk down from the litter, a car entered and drew up
behind us.



This was unusual - the Sheikh did not normally allow motor
vehicles on the Palace grounds, as he did not like the pollution
they caused.  His guests, and all the supplies for the Palace,
used pony slave pulled carriages, or cart slave pulled carts,
from the gatehouse that marked the entrance to his grounds.  We
knew this must be something special, and the visitor must be
especially privileged to be allowed the honour of arriving by
car.



It was a huge black Rolls-Royce, with a small Union Flag flying
from the front of the bonnet.  A man in military dress got out,
and opened the rear door so that a tall, grey-haired,
distinguished man dressed in a dark suit, could alight.  They
approached the Sheikh, bowed slightly, and the military man said
"Your highness, may I have the honour of presenting to you the
new British Ambassador, Sir Humphrey Smythe?"



The distinguished man bowed slightly again, and, with extreme
courtesy, the Sheikh extended his hand so that they could shake
hands.



I don't know what came over me - I thought I had forgotten all
my old life.  But the sight of these two English men talking to
the Sheikh was too much.  I shouted out "Sir Humphrey!  I'm
Steve Grey.  I'm not a slave, I'm a British citizen who has been
enslaved.  Please help me!"



Everyone present froze.  It was unheard of for slaves like me to
even speak in the presence of the Sheikh, and shouting was
absolutely unknown.  And then I had a sick realisation that
nothing was going to happen, as Sir Humphrey turned to the
Sheikh and said "Another of those slaves who have lost their
reason, I fear, your Highness.  My predecessor told me that
there had been a number of such incidents in his time when
slaves here at the Palace had alleged that they were British
citizens who had been enslaved.  But, like him, I will of course
accept your assurances that the slave has simply been in the sun
too long today and has become over excited by the sight of a
British flag and his mind has turned to fantasy.  Her Majesty's
Government has no desire to upset the friendly and cordial
relationships that exist between our two countries."



Bowing slightly, the Sheikh replied "Ah, Sir Humphrey, you are a
man of great perspicacity and great diplomatic skill.  Let us go
in to the Palace and continue this discussion there, whilst this
slave is taken out of the sun, and attended to!".



He gave a furious gesture to the trainer, and then he, the
Ambassador, and the military man ascended the Palace steps, with
the near-naked Place slaves fanning them all as they went.



Calling guards over, the trainer unlocked my wrist from the
litter pole, and the guards half led, half dragged me away from
the front of the Palace and through the gateway that led into
the slave quarters.



__________________



I wasn't taken in through the normal door where we went every
night, but instead went through a series of courtyards into a
small, totally enclosed courtyard about five metres square. 
Apart from the door through which we entered, there was only a
window looking down into the court, set high up on one wall. 
The guards stripped off my shorts and G-string, and I was left
standing there on the sand, half in sun, half in shadow as the
sun started to disappear down beyond the high walls that
surrounded me.     



I was very worried.  I had never been in this part of the Palace
before.  I had not been separated from my fellow litter bearers
for months.  What was going to happen to me?  I sank down into
the sand, and waited.



But not for long - the door in the wall opened and the trainer
came through, accompanied by three totally nude huge black
slaves, two of whom were carrying a large wooden frame that
looked like a set of goal posts.  These two slaves stopped in
the centre of the court yard, and stood there bracing themselves
against the "goal posts", so that the "goal" was upright.  At a
gesture from the trainer, the third slave came over to me and
snapped cuffs around my wrists.



He pulled me to my feet, and pushed me towards the centre of the
goal.  He threw ropes attached to the cuffs over the crossbar,
then went to the back of the courtyard and pulled on them so my
hands were hauled in the air, and my body was stretched upwards
so that I was having to stand on tiptoe in order to be able to
continue to breathe properly.



The trainer came and stood in front of my naked body, and said
"Steve, that was a very foolish thing to do.  You're lucky that
the Sheikh values the perfect symmetry of his litter team, as he
would normally simply have had you executed for daring to make
an outburst like that.  Didn't you think before you acted?  Do
you suppose that Western governments don't know what goes on
here - didn't it occur to you that they're glad that their drop
outs are removed from the streets, and that the unemployed
numbers go down?  And they are certainly not going to risk
upsetting the Sheikh, who controls vast oil reserves, and who
can cause disastrous things to happen in their economies if he
should turn off the oil flow."



"As it is, you're going to be punished like you have never been
punished before.  He has to make an example of you, as news of
your outburst will spread to all the Palace slaves and they have
to know the fate that awaits them if they should ever do such a
thing.  He has ordered you to be flogged, and not by me, but by
one of the specialist whipping and punishment masters he
employs."



"Normally, your flesh would be cut to ribbons by a flogging like
this and you would be scarred for life.  But again, you have
been spared this as the Sheikh does not want to have to look at
a heavily scarred slave on his litter.  So instead he has
ordered a special, sadistic whipping from the most skilled of
the Palace whippers."



I stood there, unable to move, for what seemed like an hour,
with the three naked blacks perspirting with the tension they
obviously felt too, and the trainer standing slightly to one
side and behind me.  



Then the door opened again, and a huge blond man came through. 
I had never seen him before, and I assumed he must be a Master
as he was wearing black leather trousers and his hair was
shoulder length - all the Palace laves wore only loin cloths,
and had short hair.  But as he approached, and turned, I saw his
naked arse and realised they were only chaps.  Around his neck
was a black leather studded collar, and his wrists and biceps
had black leather studded bands around them.  Hanging from his
belt were a number of small, very thin, whips.



He spoke a few words to the trainer, and they both stood there
waiting for something.  After a few more minutes, the window
high on the wall opened, and I could see standing inside the
luxuriously appointed room that was revealed the Sheikh, Prince
Ahmed, and Sir Humphrey.  They were all sipping champagne from
tall fluted glasses, and came to the window to look out and get
a clear view.



At a signal from the Sheikh the huge blond man released straps
so his leather chaps dropped to the ground.  The broad leather
belt around his waist, from which the whips hung, also supported
a soft leather pouch concealing his genitals (which seemed to be
massive and in proportion to the rest of his body), and a thin
string emerged from the top of his arse crack and attached to
the belt at the back to properly support this pouch.



He took a very small whip from his belt, and approached me
smiling evilly.  I didn't believe that this could possibly cause
me any real pain until he raised his arm and with terrifying
speed and power brought the whip down so its small sharp tip
raked across my left nipple.



The pain was indescribable, and I screamed out at the top of my
voice.  And it went on an on.  Six strokes to my left nipple,
then six to my right, then six to the left again, and six more
to the right.  He was indeed skilful - no blood was drawn, but I
had never know agony like it.  My nipples were on fire, and my
throat was hoarse from screaming, shouting, and begging and
pleading for the agony to stop.  It couldn't possibly be worse
than this.



But it could, as I discovered when the next size whip was used
to lash the inside of my arm pits which were totally exposed as
I stood there with my hands high in the air.  I'm not sure which
is most sensitive - the nipples or the area of sensitive flesh
right inside your pit, but the whipper was obviously an expert
in causing the maximum of pain from either area.  The whipping
went on and on - would it never stop, I thought.



But he did stop, and I stood there with tears streaming down my
face, and sweat running all over my body.



He barked an order to the slave who was holding me there, and
the tension in the ropes relaxed so I could lower my arms
slightly.  But there was no relief from the pain in my nipples
and pits, as I couldn't reach and try to massage some comfort
into them.  



The whipper looked up at he window, and received applause from
the watching men who were clearly relishing the spectacle of
seeing a huge masculine guy like me reduced to inane incoherent
shouting and screaming, and tears.  At a nod from the Sheikh, he
went on to the third part of my punishment.



Taking two leather cords from his belt, he bent down and
attached one to each ankle, then the other ends were tied to the
"goal Posts" so my feet were about a metre apart.  He snarled at
the black slave, and my arms were again hoisted high so that my
body was once again under tension, but now with my legs apart.



Standing in front of me, so close I could smell as well as see
the sweat that was all over his body from his exertions, he took
a third leather cord and tied it firmly around my waist. A short
fourth cord was then produced, and he looked deep into my eyes
and smiled, before proceeding to use it.



He reached down and pulled my foreskin as far forward as he
could so that there was some loose flesh in front of my cock
head.  Quickly he looped the cord around this little bit of
flesh, and knotted it tight.  I screamed as the leather cut into
my skin.  The other end of the cord was then pushed under the
cord around my waist, and pulled taught so that my cock was now
held upright, flat against my belly.



His third whip was for my balls, which were now of course
completely exposed between my outstretched legs.  He went around
behind me to start the whipping, and the end of the whip snaked
between my legs to cause me to jerk in agony - this was so that
the view of the Sheikh and his guests from the window should not
be obstructed.  



I don't know how many lashes I was given - I vomited (as you
often do when your balls have been severely hurt) after the
fourth stroke, and after about eight, I passed out.



But there was no relief in this for me, as I did come around, to
find myself lying on the sand.  I was sobbing and whimpering
uncontrollably as pain from my pits, nipples and balls
overloaded my sensory system.  I wanted desperately to piss, but
couldn't as the cord was still tightly knotted around my
foreskin.  Looking at the sand around me, I saw that as well as
vomiting, at some time during the punishment my bowels had also
let go.



There was one more punishment.  The three black slaves came over
and flipped me over on to my back, so I was lying with my feet
facing the window.  One of them knelt on each of my shoulders
and upper arms, effectively immobilising my upper body.  The
third slave picked up my legs, pulled them back towards my head,
where the kneeling slaves held them and pushed them down and
outwards.  I realised that my arse was completely and
humiliatingly exposed to the watchers at the window.



I thought that my throat was so dead with screaming that I could
shout no more.  But as the whipper's whip snaked out and hit my
exposed arse hole, I found this to be untrue.  A huge cry of
agony and despair came out, and I continued to shout
uncontrollably as the blows rained down on this supremely tender
part of my anatomy.



____________________



I couldn't walk back to the cell where my fellows were waiting,
and had to be carried by the black slaves.  I was dumped inside,
and my companions clustered around me, trying to help me
overcome the great sobs that I couldn't stop and the racking
muscular spasms that were passing uncontrollably through me. 
Will knelt down and as tenderly as possible untied the cord that
was still bound around my foreskin, and I was unable to stop
myself pissing over him as soon as it was released.  



As I sobbed out what had happened to me, the other slaves tried
to help soothe my burning body in the only way possible in the
other wise bare cell - the knelt over me, and gently licked my
nipples and pits,  and there was some relief from the agony as
their warm spit was massaged into my skin.  Seeing that this
helped, Will then gently pushed my legs apart and with exquisite
care gently licked my inflamed balls - I guess the guards were
being merciful that night, as they did not rush in and stop this
touching of my genitals.  And he finally tried to do something
about my poor arse - with two of my fellows holding my legs
back, his tongue flicked over the inflamed, pulsing flesh or my
arse hole.  Can a fellow slave offer another a greater service
than this in his time of need?  



I finally did sleep that night, as exhaustion did at last
overcome the agony from my punishment.



_____________________





The following morning I was still in severe pain, especially
from my balls and arse.  I couldn't bear to touch my nipples,
but that wasn't really important as I didn't need to.  But how
was I going to get through the day when every step would cause
fresh spasms of pain through my tortured arse?



I didn't think I would survive the morning exercises, but I did.
 And the Sheikh was in a great hurry that day, so we had to
spend most of our time running: after the first few steps, it
all became a blur and I was only dimly conscious of the midday
stop for watering.



But even the most severe pain imaginable ends sometime, and I
did survive the day.



That night it was my "turn" to be fucked by the trainer, and I
was as usual taken to his quarters.  But when I was taken into
his rooms, he didn't immediately tell me to take of my loin
cloth.  Instead, he looked at me and said "Steve, I'm not going
to fuck you tonight.  Not because it would be extremely painful
for you following that punishment yesterday, but because I'm
leaving.  In fact, if I wasn't leaving, I would fuck you through
your tortured arse to remind you again never to cross the
Sheikh: it would be for your own good, and the reminder might
serve to save you from a worse fate in future."



"But I've been dismissed.  The Sheikh has been offered a
prestigious post as one of the UN's Commissioners For Human
Rights, and is going off to live in Manhattan for the next five
years.  He is only taking a small entourage of about 50 body
slaves with him, and of course a litter would be inappropriate
in Manhattan, especially in the Winter, and such a public
display of his attitude to slavery might anyway compromise his
position at the UN".



"Prince Ahmed is taking over the running of the estate in the
Sheikh's absence, and he will use the Sheikh's litter.  But he
thinks I have been too lenient with you slaves, and he will be
using his own litter master to control you.  So I'm off - I've
saved a lot of money here, and I am going to live in the local
town with just a couple of good looking men to tend to my needs.
 So this is goodbye."



"You've always been my favourite, and I remember when I first
took your virginity.  You've come on a lot since then, and as
I've told you a lot of times, you've got a nice arse and a
really terrific smile - I've enjoyed our times in bed together."



And with that, he came over, stood on tip toe, curved his hand
behind my head, and kissed me long and deeply.  Then before I
had time to do or say anything, he clapped his hands so the
guards came in to take me back to the cell.



____________________





CHAPTER 13 - PRINCE AHMED TAKES OVER



At last!  My fool Uncle gone off to do good works on Human
Rights at the UN.  Now I can run things on the estate the way I
like them.



After my usual morning ablutions and breakfast, I go out of the
front door, and there waiting for me is that obscene litter. 
What a waste!  All those big hunks, and you can't even see their
bodies decently!  Eight of them, and it barely moves above a low
run, even when they're whipped.  But at least I have got rid of
that useless "trainer", who I think was really on the side of
the bearers and not properly concerned with my pleasure.  I've
already ordered a new litter, and the jeweller is coming later
this week to attend to the slaves.  I'll just have to make the
most of it until then.



I liked the way that whipper treated one of these slaves he
other night - what exquisite precision and control!  Complete
agony for the slave, but not a permanent mark to disfigure the
flesh.  I wonder which slave it was?  Can I tell?  Shall I ask? 
Do I really care - no!



Here comes the whipper now.  I've promoted him to be my litter
master.  I like his body - he's a Swede, I think, with that
flowing blond hair and piercing blue eyes.  And what a body -
I'd like that in bed one night, perhaps I'll ask him to join me.
 Pity he's not a slave, I could just order him.  I don't like
those leather chaps, though - I wonder why he wears them?



"Do you need to wear those chaps and cover your glorious thighs?"



"No, Prince.  I like the leather on my legs, but if it pleases
your Highness, I can take them off."



"Yes, do.  You'll have to run alongside the litter, and you'll
be too hot in them.  And I'd like to see more of your body."



I watch as he unbuckles a few straps, and slips the chaps to the
ground.  There's something exciting about seeing a free man
strip.  It's almost worth while taking a trip to London or Paris
and going to a sports club, just to see the jocks take their
clothes off.  Good - I like the look of that broad black leather
around the waist, his huge cock in that soft pouch, and that
little string coming up from his arse crack.  Shall I ask him to
go nude?  No - he's more erotic this way I think, especially as
the leather around this genitals matches the wrist and arm bands.



"Right, litter master.  My Uncle used to allow these slaves to
walk, but I will usually have them run.  Your job is to whip
them to keep  up the pace if they flag.  I've seen your
expertise with the whip the other night, and I want them to be
hurt, but not damaged permanently, if they don't perform
properly."



"But first, take those ridiculous shorts off them.  My Uncle
allowed the bearers to wear them outside the Palace, but there's
no need."



Oh... G-strings under the shorts!  Still I can see their arses
now, but it's not a very nice sight.  Lovely chestnut-brown
tanned bodies and legs, but that obscene strip of white around
their arses and thighs.  I wonder how long it will take for them
to tan evenly?  No - I'm not going to put up with this!  I'll
use my old two-man litter for the next few days, until these are
properly tanned, and have been attended to.



"Steps!".  That's about the only thing Uncle got right about
this litter.  I enjoy walking on the naked backs of those step
slaves to get down.



_________________________





At last.  Everything has come together nicely.  The new litter
is ready. After five days in the sun, those slaves are properly
tanned all over.  And their new quarters are ready - fancy
allowing litter slaves the luxury of a cell inside the Palace.  
 



"Fetch the Jeweller".  Why is it that I have to give every
little order around here?  Surely someone could have anticipated
that I would want to speak to the man as soon as he arrived.  



Ah, here comes the litter master - gorgeous as ever.  Pity about
his sexual preferences - I've looked at the records of what he
takes out of the Palace sex pool, and it's women. Disgusting! 
Who would have thought that a man capable of causing such
exquisite agony to male flesh would want to lie with a woman. 
Still, there's some good coming from it.  Unknown to him, at my
command his last three women have not been proper sterile female
pleasure slaves, but fertile breeders:  I'll be able to enrich
the breeding stock with his genes.  If he doesn't perform well
as my litter master, perhaps I'll enslave him and then I can
fuck him - it would be a pity to loose his skill with a whip,
but I'd like to experience that stunning body."   



"Litter Master, good morning.  I want you to supervise the
jeweller, to make sure that gang of litter slaves is properly
ornamented.  Have you been exercising them properly these last
few days?  I see they're properly tanned now, but being totally
naked like that, they don't yet match the litter."



He describes in tedious detail how they have been exercising and
running.  He tells me - as if I care - that their arms have
needed strengthening exercises to carry the new litter.  What a
brilliant design concept on my part.  In a conventional litter,
carried with the slaves' arms down, you can see their lovely
muscles straining as they run along.   And their bodies are in
reach of your whip.  But you don't see the view, as you're quite
low.  If you have them lift the poles onto their shoulders, you
can see the field slaves, but you loose the view of the litter
slaves' bodies.  My new design fixes all of this, and is much
more comfortable.  And it's so light, the slaves can run, rather
than walk.  The two light cross bars mean that four slaves can
be abreast at the front, and four at the back, so four bodies to
look at.  The single tube joining the cross bars is light, yet
strong enough to support a palanquin for me. But the innovation
of getting the slaves to carry the cross bars in the crook of
their arms, with their arms bent upwards - it hurts them a bit,
but it offers a degree of "springing" to smooth out some of the
bumps in the road.  I can still see their sweating bodies, but
I'm up higher, to see the field slaves, too.       



"Jeweller:  I want collars, cuffs, nipple rings, and cock rings,
all in stainless steel to match my new litter.  Circumcise the
four still with foreskins as I want them all totally alike, and
all eight are to get PAs.    Replace those tattooed slave marks
on their arses with proper, burned brands.  And I want each
slave's name tattooed on his back, and his belly.  All their
hair is to go, except for their eyebrows, eyelashes, and a
quarter inch on their heads.  And I don't want to hear them
constantly crying out when they're whipped, so mute them." 





CHAPTER 14 - BAD TO WORSE





We all stood there as usual in our silk shorts and G-strings,
waiting for Prince Ahmed to come down the steps and get on to
the litter.  This was going to be much better - after the huge
mass of the Sheikh, carrying the Prince should be easy.



He descends the Palace steps, and gets on.  The new litter
master is there, too - and after a few words with the Prince he
removes his chaps and stands there in that wide studded belt,
soft pouch to hold his genitals, and those leather bands around
his wrists and biceps.  He's more naked than we are.



Will is standing next  to me, and the litter master comes over
unbuttons Will's shorts and pushes them down.  I see Will's
naked arse appear, and then I am similarly stripped - there's
nothing I can do about it, as my hands are chained to the litter
handles.  I can't believe it - we are soon all eight nearly
totally naked - just wearing those light mesh G-strings. 
Everyone can see my arse, and my cock through the mesh.



But what's this?  The Prince gets down, and the litter master
leads us all back around into the service yard.  Our silk shorts
lie in front of the Palace, and a small breeze starts to blow
them away.



________________





In the yard, the litter master unlocks us from the litter, then
tells us to take out G-strings off.  We're used to seeing each
other naked, of course, as that's how we sleep in the cell.  But
not out here, with other slaves passing.  I feel deep
embarrassment, as the huge blond master looks us all up and
down.  I've nothing to be ashamed of of course as I know I'm
well hung, but never the less I blush slightly under his
scrutiny.



Then we're off:  he boards a light chariot drawn by four pony
slaves who have those big, long legs and very muscular thighs
that show they have been trained as long distance runners.  He
commands us to run, and we dash for miles around the estate
roads, with his whip casually licking at us if our pace
slackens.  Even with the light chariot, it's no problem for the
pony slaves to run like this a they've been trained for it - but
we're more for carrying weights, and slow sustained effort. 
We're all soon wheezing with the effort.  My limbs feel on fire.
 And there's a dull ache from my balls, as they jerk up and down
as I run - I've never exercised totally in the nude before.



And before we get back to the Palace, there's another problem -
our white arses, thighs and cocks start to suffer from sunburn
from the fierce desert sun.  No cooling drink from the black
"water carriers" - just running on and on, until I think my legs
will drop off.



We get back, and sink exhausted into the sand, whilst the new
litter master looks us over.  Then he commands us to start doing
press-ups, there in the sand, and soon our eight bodies are
pumping up and down.



________________________



This new exercise regime goes on for five days - what are they
trying to do?   At least the pain in my balls has gone away -
after two days of running naked, I've got used to my balls
jogging up and down and my cock beating up and down in rhythm
with our steps.  And I've even ceased to be concerned that I'm
naked - of course people look at us, but you cease to notice
after a time. 



On the fifth day ,we discover why we have been doing all this : 
we are introduced to our new litter.  I stand next to Will, and
Ron and Jamie are next to him.  Four of us abreast in front, and
four behind.  We are told to take up this thin, light stainless
steel cross bar and hold it in the crook of our elbows with the
palms of our hands turned towards our shoulders.  The single
longitudinal pole is at right angles to these light crossbars
and runs between Will and Ron.  Attached to it is a light
platform, and it's only kept level because our uniform height
means that the cross bars are level.



I can see why our arm muscles have been strengthened - in
effect, our forearms moving up and down provide a degree of
"shock absorption" for the whole structure.  Even though it's
incredibly light compared with the last litter, it's still
difficult to run with your arms bent in this way.



_____________________





Three more days of practice.  We can run quite well with the
litter now, and the litter master sits on the platform to give
us the experience of carrying a master on it.  I don't know
what's happening about our cell, though:   last night, we were
not taken there but simply herded into a cage in the litter
yard.  We had to lie there all night just on the sand, with only
each others' bodies to keep us warm in the cold desert night.



The next day, we're still in our cage late in the morning, and
have not even been fed.  We chat amongst ourselves, wondering
what's happening.



Hullo - who's this?  Why are those men setting up all that
equipment?  Braziers, welding gear, and those tables with straps
on them?



I soon find out!



I'm taken out of the cage and two of the young "spunkers" start
to shave me, all over.  I loose the small patch of pubic hair I
had before, and even the little "glory trail" stretching up over
my belly and around my navel and up towards my pecs goes.  My
armpits are scraped clear of their little tufts of hair.  I feel
a bit like a schoolboy again - even the 16 year old spunkers
have more hair than me!



I'm taken and told to lie on a padded "saw horse", and slaves
quickly strap my wrists and ankles to the four legs.  Then the
boss man of this operation comes over and cinches a strap around
the horse and my waist, and pulls it really tight.  I can't move
at all.  Out of the corner of my eye I see something white hot
coming out of the brazier - and the next moment there's a
searing pain in my left arse cheek as I realise it's a branding
iron that's being used where my tattoo was previously.  I can't
help screaming, and it's all I can do to stop my bowels letting
go.



I'm put back in the cage, and the grim process is repeated on my
seven fellows.



Then, one by one, we're pulled out of the cage and taken across
the yard into the Veterinarian's office - I've been here once
before, when a bad splinter went in my foot and I needed medical
treatment to be able to carry on with my litter duties.  He
stands there in his white coat, and in spite of the incredible
pain from my arse, I'm made to sit in a leather chair that looks
a bit like those they use in dentists.  The leather is warm and
clammy on my naked back and arse.  Again, I'm strapped in.



Without a word he presses thumb and forefinger into the sides of
my mouth, so I open it, and he quickly pushes spring-loaded
clips in-between my teeth so my mouth is wedged open and I can't
close it.  He tightens straps around my forehead, and clamps
push into my ears, so my head is totally immobile.  Poking in my
mouth with a small illuminated mirror, a thin flexible
instrument goes down my throat and I start to gag, but a steel
tongue suppresser prevents me.  Then there's a sharp pain in my
throat, and the instruments are withdrawn.  He releases the
clamps holding my head, so I can move again.



My legs are strapped to the legs of the chair, and he moves a
small wheeled trolley in-between my thighs.  He casually picks
up my cock and places it on a sterile cloth lying on top of the
trolley, puts on latex gloves, then teases my foreskin as far
forward as it will come.  Taking up a scalpel, he slices neatly
around the stretched foreskin and then allows the remnants of it
to retract.  It really hurts, and I go to scream in shock - but
no sound comes out.   He stabs antiseptic on the bleeding ends
of my foreskin, and again I can't cry out.       



I'm then led out to the equipment in the yard again, and made to
kneel down in front of an anvil.  A large stainless steel hoop,
about three inches wide, is placed around my neck.  There's a
lot of fussing with water pipes and small rubber pads, and then
the hiss of an arc welder as the collar is welded shut around my
neck - even with the water cooling, it gets hot and
uncomfortable.  When I'm allowed to stand, I realise I can't
really bow my head now as the collar around my neck is quite
tight and digs into the underside of my chin.  Large stainless
steel bands are next welded around my wrists, and I feel their
weight when I stand up.



By now I'm resigned to what ever is going to happen next, and I
simply sit in a chair when told and my body is strapped tightly
to it, and my arms restrained behind my back.  The man in charge
of the operation approaches me with what look like a pair of
pliers, with one very thin end and one flat end.  Standing
between my legs, he positions the flat blade behind my left
nipple, then quickly squeezes the pliers shut - the thin blade
slices through my nipple, and he deftly threads through the hole
it has made a stainless steel ring two inches in diameter, still
partially open.  The process is repeated on my right nipple.



Then in horror I see the instrument approach my nose and one
half go up each nostril.  The next minute a sharp pain tells me
my septum has been pierced, and an open ring is soon hanging out
of my nose.   



There's then a lot of fussing around with the water cooling
again, and all three rings are closed up and welded permanently
closed.



Still strapped in the chair, he approaches again carrying
something that looks like a big funnel, but open down one seam. 
Spreading it apart, he fits it around my cock and balls, then
pulls it forward so my cock and balls are squeezed in the funnel
and pulled well away from my body.  I try to strain forward, but
my body is firmly strapped to the chair, and he continues to
pull.  My balls are screaming with pain, but I can't shout or
cry out.  There's about an inch between my pubic bone now and
the start of my balls, and a stainless steel band is deftly
slipped around my cock and balls, and, with a lot more attention
to the cooling arrangements, welded permanently in place.



This surely is all - but no!  A Large, curved steel needle is
pushed down my piss slit.  It's indescribable pain, not only
because of the violation of my piss slit but because my
circumcision hurts like hell.  Then with a quick thrust, he
pushes and the head of the needle emerges from the underside of
my cock.  A steel ring is inserted, and welded closed.



I'm unstrapped, and allowed to stand up.  My nose and nipple
rings glint in the sun.  The steel bands around my throat and 
wrists gleam.  But the worse feeling is from my cock and balls -
they are now obscenely thrust forwards from my body, held firmly
in place by the broad cock ring.  The ring protruding from the
end twinkles in the light.

 

Now I'm led over to a table, and there's no need to tie me down
- the pain of the tattooist's needle is as nothing to the
throbbing from my arse, as I lie there for an hour whilst the
needle goes in and out tracing something across my back between
my shoulder blades.  Then I'm told to roll over, and the pain as
he tattoos something across my belly is worse, but bearable.



_____________________



We're all eight of us back in the cage.  We're stunned.  We're
all in enormous pain from our brands, but we can't say anything
or even whimper - we slowly realise that the veterinarian has
severed our vocal chords, so we'll never speak again.  I look at
Will, and with gestures he indicates that he thinks that what
has been tattooed on his belly is the Arabic characters for
"Will", and as he turns around, I see that those same characters
are repeated across his broad back.



We realise that we have all been obscenely ornamented - nose and
nipple rings, cock rings and PAs, wrist and arm bands, tattoos
and brands.  We are not men - we are elaborate playthings for
the Prince.



__________________________





I think it was that day that I truly realised what being a slave
is.  Before that, I was well fed, well exercised, and only
lightly whipped (except when I committed a grave crime, like
trying to speak to the Ambassador).  I had human contact, and
communication.



Now I spend all day and every day carrying  the Prince's
stainless steel litter.  I have been ornamented to complement
the litter, and I run along with my nose and nipple rings
bouncing up and down in synchronisation with our steps.  My cock
juts out in front of me, forced by the ring around my cock and
balls, and is usually erect most of the time.



We are just animals.  We are kept in a cage when we're not
running.  The litter master lopes along by the side of us, and
can inflict stinging pain if we slack.  But we can't cry out, as
we're all mute now.  We can't even have those whispered
conversations as we huddle together at night.



THE END

   

 













 

               

    



  



