A kinky story written by Pete Brown | Chapter 16 of 16

Click here to see all published chapters. Illustration by Theo Blaze.


By the time the Overseer got back several days later, I was almost completely recovered – I could run, although not for long. In spite of the large dressings being replaced by only a sizeable adhesive plaster, I had not returned to the Stables – I still slept on the leather-covered bed in the veterinarian’s hospital.

He came through the door, shouting for the veterinarian, and was annoyed that the guy was not there. He stormed out, and when he did come back with the veterinarian some time later the veterinarian was saying “Look, don’t go on. I know I have the only key. But I couldn’t wait around all afternoon for you as I was called out to an accident at the quarry. One of those big Nubians had got his legs crushed by a rock fall, and I had to put him down. And before you start in at me about that – yes, I know it’s a waste of the Sheikh’s money to lose a slave like that, but there was very little chance of him ever being able to walk again, and whilst he could have gone on living, what would have been the point? You know the standing orders say that any irretrievably damaged slaves are to be terminated, and that’s what I did – a simple, swift injection.”

However the Overseer couldn’t retain his anger, and he came over to me, smiling. “Sorry I’ve left you for so long, Steve, but my business in the Capital took longer than I expected. I went to please with the Sheikh again to let you go free, but he wouldn’t even consider it. So I offered to buy you from him.”

“I get a god salary by USA standards here, and I don’t spend most of it as all my housing is found, and the Club is free. I don’t have to run a car (he grinned at me), and you know I don’t spend much on clothes!. Although I can never be as rich as the Arabs with their oil wealth, I have quite a bit put by. I offered him all my savings – about $800K – but he just laughed. He said you were worth $1.2M, and would not sell you for less. We dickered a bit, and he looked at the books to see how much you had cost, how much you took to train, and so on. He came down to $1.1M, but wouldn’t go any lower. I don’t think he really wanted to sell you at all.”

“So I then played a master card. I said I was quitting my job as his Overseer. I was going to take my $800K and buy a little apartment in the Capital, and take up guiding tour groups around the historic sites. I could easily make enough to live on, and maybe even enough to own a couple of house slaves for all my chores”.

“We was worried by this, as this place only ticks as smoothly as it does because of me. It’s not wise to make a threat to the Sheikh, and I saw he was thinking that I was going to blackmail him into selling you at a low price. But when he heard what I had to offer, he was delighted.”

“He agreed to advance me my next five years wages in a lump sum now. So then I had enough to buy you. Of course, I can’t now leave here for another five years, as I would then be in breach of my contract with the Sheikh and any court in the land would order my enslavement again. But you’re mine now.”

“And you’re free to leave – just come back and visit me sometimes!”. And with that, he took the key from the Overseer and reached up and undid the chains holding me to the bed.

He then gave me the parcel he was carrying, and said “Open it. It’s a present!”.

I tore off the paper, and inside there was a white cotton T-shirt, a pair of white cotton bikini briefs, and a pair of khaki shorts. The Overseer told me to get dressed, as I couldn’t go around naked now I was a free man again.

I pulled the bikini briefs on, and even though they were the right size, I couldn’t bear the constriction on my cock and sac, and took them off again. I pulled on the khaki shorts, and they felt OK as they were relatively baggy, but because of my long legs and long cock, I though I would need to be careful if my cock head was not to start poking out of the short legs. I went to pull on the T-shirt, but thought that this, too, would be stifling, and said “You’re a free man too, and I’ve never seen you wear anything other than cut-offs. I’ll skip the T-shirt. But thanks for being so considerate, and thinking of such a great gift.”

I believe that was the first real decision I had made for five years, since I had been enslaved. I hadn’t asked the Overseer’s permission to go bare chested, without a T-shirt, I had just decided to do so.

The veterinarian shook my hand – another “free man” gesture, and the Overseer said we should go over to his bungalow, as I was welcome to stay there as long as I liked, whilst I got sorted out.

We walked out of the veterinarian’s office and through the complex to his bungalow, our arms around each other’s shoulders, we were both so happy.

I had never of course seen inside he bungalow, as I had always been tethered outside. We went up the steps, and there was a cool marble hall with two doors opening off it. The Overseer pointed at the right hand one and said “That leads to the house slaves’ quarters. I don’t know what’s down there really, as I have never been”.

We went through the left hand one, and were in a large square marble-floored living room, with big windows at the back opening onto a private terrace with a pool. “This is the living room”, said the Overseer. “I have a great stereo, a big TV, and a satellite installation that can pull in almost any channel from the USA you want to watch. But I don’t much use it myself. The pool is kept sparkling clean by the slaves, but I don’t use it much, either. I prefer to use the pool at the Club, as there are always some other guys to talk to, or I can exercise better by ordering one of

the ‘comfort’ slaves to race me – they never know whether to really beat me, in case I’m angry, or go slow so that I can beat them, when I might be angry because I saw they were not trying. It’s fun to see them wonder what the hell to do!”

“Those two doors” – he pointed to two doors on our left – lead to the bedrooms, one for you, one for me. He took me through the left-hand door, and there was a massive bed with crisp white linen sheets, and a row of closets along one wall. An arch opposite the door was, he said the entrance to the bathroom, and we went over to look at it.

“There’s no actual bath”, he said, as I know that every drop of water has to be pumped with slave muscle, so there’s only showers”. In fact, though, there didn’t seem to be much of anything – the room appeared to be totally empty, just a marble space sloping down slightly to a hole in the floor.

“Of course, when I said ‘bathroom’, you were expecting something different, weren’t you?”, he said. “Let me explain. The hole in the floor is of course the crap hole – you’re familiar with that. So much better for you to squat down, rather than using a western lavatory. Everything else is carried in by the bath slaves, when you need it. So if you’re going to shower, they’ll run in a flexible hose and wash you with it. If you just want a shave, or to brush your teeth, they’ll carry in the mirror, water, and so on – although I usually have the slaves shave me, as it’s so much easier. You don’t have to stand up whilst you’re shaving or towelling dry – one of the slaves will kneel down, and you sit on his back. If I’ve just had a really cold shower, I quite like the feel of the warm slave back under my ass.”

“Although you can do exactly as you like, and they’re there for the taking, I personally don’t fuck the house slaves. Of course I have them masturbate me if I’m feeling horny and I haven’t had a comfort slave in over night, but I don’t think it’s a a good idea to stick my cock up a slave who I am going to have showering me every day.”

“The arch over there, opposite the one we came in from your room, leads to my room, which is identical to yours. There are no doors, but I’m used to living with relatively little privacy after my initial period in the gladiators’ dorm, and I know you are, too, in the Stables, so that’s not a problem.”

“Why don’t you have a good look around whilst I shower”. With that, he clapped his hands, and two bath slaves entered. They were both about 18, I would think, and were twins. They were of half Arab, half European stock, and their skins were a pale olive brown. Their black hair was cut very short, and their pubic hair was of course neatly trimmed in the way that the Overseer liked.

One of them was carrying a shower head on the end of a pipe, and it was already spraying water. The other went over to the Overseer, dropped to his knees in front of him, and opened the button at the top of his cut-offs and helped him out of them. The Overseer was not at all concerned about having me watch, and before starting to shower, squatted down and dropped a giant turd into the crap hole. Then he stood up, and the two bath slaves started to shower him – one expertly directing the water spray, and the other soaping his body gently.

When he had finished showering, one of the slaves knelt down, and the Overseer did indeed sit on the boy’s bare back – he took a towel handed to him by the other slave, and started to dry his feet, paying particular attention to getting between the toes and so on, as you see guys do all the time in locker rooms, unconcerned by the sight of other bodies around them.

I wanted a shower, too, so whilst the Overseer sat there watching me, I dropped my shorts and allowed the one remaining bath slave to both soap me and wash me with the spray. When he had finished, it was as if my body still knew that the end to a shower was ‘milking’, because my cock sprang to attention. The Overseer saw this, and told me that he would move and let me sit on the slave, if I wanted the other one to jerk me off whilst I was sitting comfortably. But I was used to being ‘milked’ whilst I was standing, and said no – in fact, I didn’t want to be ‘milked’ at all, in spite of the ache in my sac, whilst I was being watched by the Overseer. I thought he sensed this, because he said “You know, I’ve watched you dozens of times being ‘milked’ in the stables. You must need it after lying in that hospital, so why don’t you go ahead – if it will make you feel any better, I’ll shut my eyes!”.

I realised I was being foolish, and signalled to the bath slave to wank me. It only took a few quick shakes to climax me, and my cum spurted out onto the shower floor. Then I stood there whilst the slave expertly removed the slick of cum still coming out of my cock, and used a huge, soft towel to dry me.

The Overseer was handed a fresh pair of his habitual cut-offs, and the slaves handed me the shorts I had got out of when entering the shower. But I found them so constricting, and hesitated in putting them on. The Overseer told me that I didn’t need to wear anything if I didn’t want to, and I decided I was more comfortable naked.

We went out, through his bedroom (which was indeed the same as mine), and into the large living room. We sat down next to each other on a large leather couch (and I loved the sensation of the cool, smooth leather on my ass and back), and the Overseer said “Well, we’d better plan for tonight, your first one of freedom. I can’t take you to the Club until I have fixed for your temporary membership, so we’ll eat here. What kind of slave do you want in your bed tonight, so I can have one sent over for you from the Club – they have all sorts – blacks, whites, and some Asians; tall ones, short ones, and thin ones; blondes, dark haired ones, red heads, straight hair, curly hair, totally stripped of hair…. tell me what you fancy for your first night as a free man, and we’ll see what we can do”.

But I didn’t want a slave that night – all I wanted was to be left alone with my thoughts – the day’s events were so amazing. So I mumbled my apologies for turning down his hospitality, and he simply ordered a couple of steaks and some beer to be sent in.

One can of the beer was enough to make me feel very light headed – I hadn’t had any alcohol for five years, and my body was not used to its effects. As we sat there on the couch, my arm, which had been resting along the back, simply fell off, across the Overseer’s shoulders. He obviously thought this was the start of a pass on my part, because he turned to me and smiled.

I didn’t know what to do, as although I really wanted the Overseer, I didn’t think it was seemly for me to approach him. So I mumbled “Sorry, master”.

The Overseer looked at me and said “I’m not your master, remember?.”

I then had to explain to him that I did not know what to call him – “sir”, or “master”, or “Overseer”, or what. “Steve “, he said, “we’re equals now. I call you Steve, and you call me Stu.”

I had another beer then, and it had such an effect on me that I had to go into the bathroom to pee. I realised I was so tired, and poked my head back into the living room to say that although I really did want to talk more with him, I was exhausted. He understood completely, and I went off to my room.

I tried to sleep between the luxurious linen sheets, but my body was not used to being covered at night, so I stripped all the covers off. But still I couldn’t get to sleep, as the bed was too soft. So I lay down on the floor, and started to fall into a deep sleep.

But then I heard noises, and realised that they came from the open arch into the bathroom, and through that, from Stu’s room. I listened, and realised that he must have sent to the Club for a slave for himself. I heard him say something, then there was a sharp ‘slap’ sound, and another, and another. I thought I could hear muffled grunts – presumably Stu was slapping or paddling the slave, and it was so hard that the slave had not been able to restrain himself from trying to cry out. Then after a few minutes of this I heard Stu shouting “Yes, Yes, Yes… “, and I knew he must be riding the slave hard, followed shortly by “Jesus!” as I imagined him climaxing. There was no more noise, and then I went to sleep.

I woke with a start, as someone slapped me hard on my ass – I had been sprawled out, face down, on the floor. Stu was standing over me, laughing. He said he had never seen anything so strange as a guy sleeping on the floor when there was a luxurious bed. But it must suit me, as he had come into the room several moments before and tried to wake me, and had had to resort to a slap on my ass to get me to stir.

I climbed to my feet, conscious of my morning hard-on jutting out, and saw that Stu was in much the same position. “Come on”, he said, “Shower time. You have a busy day.”

We went through into the shower, and as well as the two bath slaves there was a guy about my age, completely smooth except for a patch of dark black hair over his cock, and about 6’3″ tall, like me. I realised that his must have been Stu’s companion, and saw that the slave looked quite red around the ass were he had been paddled.

Stu said to me “We’ve both got that morning problem – let’s have a bit of fun. I challenge you to come last!”, and he commanded the ‘comfort’ slave to kneel down in front of us, and wank us both. I didn’t have time to say “no” before the tall, lithe slave fell to his knees and took my cock in one hand and Stu’s in the other. I realised what Stu meant, and as the slave rubbed us both simultaneously, keeping each hand in synchronisation with the other, I tried to hold back. Stu was doing the same, and we were both equally hopeless – we both came at the same time, squirting our ropes of cum over the slave kneeling in front of us. We laughed a lot at our inability to control our reflexes, then the bath slaves washed us, and we sat down to be shaved.

Stu sat on one of the bath slaves, and the ‘comfort’ slave was told to kneel on all fours, like a dog, so I could sit on him. I had never done this before, and his hot back under my ass was a new sensation. It wasn’t a particularly comfortable seat, because he was well muscled and there was not an ounce of fat on him, and his back bone stood out from his muscles. So I had a hard bit running across under my ass, and shuffled from time to time as one of the bath slaves rubbed shaving cream into my chin.

Stu saw me and said “Those muscle jocks can be hard on your ass. I should sit astride him, if I were you, so you get his spine between your cheeks, rather than across them – you’ll find that more comfortable.”

I swivelled around, so I was sitting astride the slave, and it was indeed better. My balls and the tip of my cock now also touched his warm back, and I found this mildly erotic.

After the bath slave had finished shaving my face, Stu said “Have you decided how you want your body done? I always kept your hair very short and the bottom of it cropped in a straight line. I see that after a couple of weeks lying in the hospital it has grown a bit – you’re free of course to do what you want, but even if you do decide to grow your hair longer, can you have the back of your neck shaved in a tight line, please? Do that as a favour for me, as I think it makes a man much more sexy”.

“And what about your chest? I seem to remember that when I first had you had a pleasant thatch there – not too much. There’s a stubble I felt there already yesterday, as you haven’t been shaved properly for a couple of weeks. Whilst you’re free to be shaved all over if you want, letting your pecs have a nice covering of hair again would be a nice change.”

“And please, do continue to have your balls shaved and your pubic area kept in some sort of control! Again, you can do what ever you like now, but most of us here shave our balls and our ass cracks – for one thing, you’ll find it’s a lot more comfortable because you sweat constantly.”

I agreed with him, and the bath slaves trimmed my hair, shaved my neck, and then took great care to give me the most gentle shave over my balls, around my anus, and up my ass crack. Unlike my time in the stables, where this was of course done regularly but it was always quite rough with no consideration for me, the bath slaves proceeded cautiously and slowly, so that I should suffer no inconvenience.

We then went and sat by the private pool, nude, and breakfasted. Stu said that he had to work that day, but would break off at lunch time. He wanted me to go back to the veterinarians for a check up that morning, and for a “special treatment”, and then he thought I would like to spend the rest of the morning exercising in the gym to complete my recovery – he would call in on his rounds and fix my membership at the Club.

He offered to take me over to the veterinarians, but I reminded him that I knew my way around! So he clapped for a slave, who came holding his cut-offs, pulled them on, and I followed him to the door to say goodbye.

I felt a pang of acute jealousy, because tethered to the post at the bottom of the steps was a new pony – Stu had chosen a slave who was quite like me in build (not surprising, really, as you needed our legs to get he speed he needed), but who was black haired – well, at least the 5 mm stubble left on his head was black – all the other hair on his body had been totally removed. He had a good cock and nice balls, but I thought they looked faintly ridiculous sticking ‘raw’ out of his pubic bone without even a neat patch of pubic hair to set them off.

I made my way to the Veterinarians, and went in. The veterinarian was carrying out some treatment on a slave, but as soon as I went in he commanded the office slaves to remove the slave under treatment off to the cages, as it was of course more important not to inconvenience me.

He came over, extended his hand, and said “You must call me Bob now.

Welcome to freedom!”.

“You can go off to hospital in the Capital for the rest of your treatment now, but, if you like, I would be happy to carry on with it here. Although I’m known as the veterinarian, that’s really only because I treat slaves – I am a proper MD, and actually would not have the faintest idea what to do if a cow, or a chicken, or even a pet hamster was brought in!”

“You might want to carry on your treatment with me because I am most familiar with your wound, and, of course, I have checked out your body regularly every month for five years.”

I told him I was happy to continue, and he inspected my wound, which had now healed to the point at which it did not even need the surgical plaster covering. We both examined it closely, and I could see a line of scar tissue running down the inside of my thigh, from about 10 cm below my crotch for about 3 cm.

“Sorry about that “, said Bob, “But it was a messy wound. Deep tissue wounds always result in some scarring, and I did my best to minimise it. Still, now you’re not going to be sold again, it doesn’t matter so much.”

“Thinking about your regular check-ups, one is due – shall we do it now, whilst you’re here? Although it’s not compulsory for men as it is for slaves, quite a lot of the guards and so on do come in regularly, as you can never be too careful with your health in this climate.”

I agreed with him, and was then taken aback when I realised he was doing exactly the same things to me as he had when I was having my slave inspections. He listened to my chest with his stethoscope, took a blood sample, then told me to stand up and drop my shorts. I did, still acting on autopilot almost and obeying a ‘master’ without question, and he reached down to start to masturbate me.

“Hey!”, I said, “I can do that myself, now!”, and I quickly brought myself to a climax, so he could take a semen sample in his little collecting jar. “Sorry for that “, I continued after I had cum, “but it’s one of the little pleasures of being free. I can shake my own cock whenever I want to. At least I’m not embarrassed at jerking off in front of you – you’ve seen me in action so many times, after all!”.

Then I gave him a urine sample, but there was no getting away from the normal rectal exam – I couldn’t do that my self, and I had to bend over as always so that Bob’s finger could probe me.

Then Bob told me that he had a little surprise for me – he was going to remove my slave number tattoo from my arm. He asked me to go and sit on his examining table whilst he got out his equipment, and I went over and sat there. It was only as the cool leather touched my ass and balls that I realised I had not bothered to put my shorts back after the examination – I was so used to being naked that it simply never occurred to me to think about dressing.

Bob brought out a complicated piece of equipment which, he explained, was a new laser gun for tattoo removal. He had it to help out the guards – some of the newly-employed guards came to the estate with prominent tattoos which they had unwisely had done when young, or drunk, or both, but when they realised they could spend their leisure time in the Club and gym naked, they now found them embarrassing. “Some of the young guards who have come out of the armed services have tattoos that they now find vulgar and inappropriate”, he said “you know the kind of thing – naked women. Every one likes a good tattoo on a guy, and a strategically placed design can really enhance a guy’s body. But we don’t want pornography here, and they are glad I can help them get those designs off them without the need for constant trips to and from the city.”

I saw him get out a needle, and come towards my arm. I shied away, and Bob said “Oh come on, don’t be silly. It’s only a little needle, with Novocain. The laser is a constant series of little stings as it burns the dark ink away under your skin, and you’ll also get some very hot sensations. This will stop you being in any pain or discomfort.”

“No!”, I replied. “I’ve had a lot of pain sedation recently, and I don’t want to risk getting hooked. Just carry on – I’m used to the sting of the whip, after all – Stu was always a considerate master, but he used the whip a lot to keep me running at top speed when he needed to be somewhere and I was flagging because I was tired. And don’t worry about the burning sensation – it can’t possibly be worse than the branding; I can still remember that, five years after!”

So Bob and I chatted for about an hour, whilst he painstakingly (and painfully!) erased my slave number from my arm. He told me how he had become a doctor in the US Forces, because when he was in general practice he found that having to treat a huge mixture of patients was unacceptable to him – he wanted to specialise in men’s medicine, and although you can have doctors specialising in women’s complaints, it was “politically unacceptable” to have doctors specialising in guys’ bodies. So he had joined the Army medical corps, and had been enjoying it when they, too, changed their policies and he had to start treating women soldiers and soldiers’ families on the base. He had heard about the new order in this country and the reintroduction of slavery, and had come to see for himself whilst on leave. He liked what he saw, had applied for an honourable discharge, and had come back and entered the Sheikh’s employ. He explained that apart from the small number of breeders, he now could devote himself exclusively to studying and fixing men’s bodies.

As he finished, Bob then asked me if I was going to the Club, and I said that I was – I was going to continue my workout sessions, and he said he would come along with me. He had only been dealing with minor problems with the slaves that morning, and they could wait in the cage whilst he was away.

At the Club they knew about my membership, and we went in to the locker room where I had spent those four fateful days years ago. Bob pointed out that the Club made a variety of kit available to its members, so you didn’t have to take any with you. Neatly arranged on the side were a selection of T-shirts, singlets, running shorts, tennis shorts, jockstraps, swim costumes, and so on, in several sizes. Bob said he would join me in working out, and selected a T-shirt, jock strap and shorts, and proceeded to strip to put them on. I felt strange – here I was seeing the naked body of the man who for so long had had intimate knowledge of my own.

I took a singlet and shorts, deliberately choosing the largest size so that they constricted my body as little as possible. There was no way I could subject my cock and sac to the constriction of a jock strap, though.

We went into the gym, and started to exercise – Bob ordered some of the ‘comfort’ slaves already in there to leave – I don’t know why, as he had nothing to be ashamed of in his own physique, which, in spite of his 45-or-so years, was still in good shape as he had carried on looking after himself having learned good practice from his early years in the Army.

We pounded away on the exercise machines, and after about 30 minutes when we were changing exercises, Bob looked at my sweating body and saw that my singlet and shorts were soaked – they were sticking to my skin as they do when you exercise hard. He said that I should go and change, as I didn’t want my skin to be chafed from the wet fabric, and there were always plenty of fresh clothes in the locker room.

But, frankly, I was so uncomfortable that I didn’t think it would make any difference – I was used to working out nude, and the clothes were a dreadful restriction, whether wet or dry.

Bob said I could do just as I liked – although most men wore conventional kit in the gym, there was absolutely no need to, and if I wanted to exercise naked, I should as it was healthier to do so. He explained that most guys had to wear clothes because they were used to having their cocks and sacs supported by their clothes during the day, and if they tried to use the running machines without anything on, they would get ball ache from having their unsupported cocks and sacs jogging up and down. Some of the guards exercised only in jock straps therefore, he told me, and some preferred just the very minimum covering of a posing pouch – although, he said, that always made him feel a bit queasy when he saw it, as during the harsh exercise the guys did, he knew the string underneath must be cutting into the soft tissue of their anus.

He suggested I simply exercised nude, if that was what I found best After all, in ancient Greece, all the athletes did. So I let the damp clothes fall to the floor, and went to restart my exercise.

“Not so fast”, said Bob. “One of the reasons why I wanted to come with you today is to see whether you are doing too much too soon. Let me see if your heart is OK”, and he came over to me and probedt my chest sensitively with his hands. I felt as if it was just as if I was a slave again for a moment – the veterinarian, clothed, feeling the nude slave. But I knew I was a proper free man, and in an instant that feeling was replaced by the slightly erotic feeling every guy gets when a doctor starts to handle his body.

But Bob said I was OK, and we passed another hour together in the gym, stopping for brief chats in-between exercises.

Bob reminded me that although he and Stu knew the full story, there were a lot of guards and other workers who would not. I had a potential problem, because although he had removed my slave tattoo, there was nothing that could be done about the brands on my ass and my pec – they were designed to be ineradicable, so that the Sheikh could always identify his property in case of escape, or theft, and was stuck with them now. Some of the other gym users, seeing the brands on me as I exercised and not knowing my new status, might think I was a ‘comfort’ slave, the only slaves allowed in there, and command me to perform some sexual service. If only for that reason I might want to wear some kit in the gym, as anyone clothed could not of course be a slave.

I told him not to worry – if the guard was good looking, I might anyway consider helping him out! And the rest would be told to fuck off!

We finished our morning’s session with a deep massage from a couple of slaves – Bob and I lay head to head so we could talk, whilst a couple of muscular trained masseurs probed our muscles and relaxed us. Bob had his masseur wank him as part of the treatment, but even though I had an erection whilst he was massaging my thighs, I commanded the slave not to touch my cock.

We met up with Stu for lunch afterwards, and all three of us sat around the Pool whilst we eat a light snack. I told the guys that I wanted to do something for Hans and Mike, and the Nubian that I had met on my first outing to the stud. They found it very touching when I recounted how, as still new to being used for breeding I had been affected and ashamed of it, and how I had felt a mutual bond with the other three slaves in the same position.

Bob asked me for the number of the Nubian, and summoned a messenger slave to go and fetch his files from the central registry. The lad came back about 10 minutes later, and Bob read the strip of paper he unrolled from the messenger’s capsule slung around his neck. The lad stood there, his skinny flanks and chest heaving from his run, waiting to see if there was another service Bob required.

Bob read the details that had been copied from the central computer files on all the Sheikh’s property for him, and said “Like you, he was very successful at covering the breeders, and we have been able to breed some of his great body strength and physique into a couple of good lines. In the next generation, we’ll breed back some lighter colour, as the Sheikh really only allows those very black blacks to be used in the quarry – he won’t have them around the estate generally, and usually only has lighter toned blacks here. But let’s see… oh yes, he was so good and his progeny tested so well, the Sheikh was going to sell him on to a stud farm, but earlier in the week he had an accident in the quarry, and I had to terminate him”.

He saw I was visibly upset by this, and said “It’s for the best, you know. If you had not recovered from that gun shot, what life would there have been for you here? As a slave who can’t work properly, the only duties are as urinals and things like that – and you know for yourself that a slave who is proud of his body and revels in working it hard finds being used in those sorts of ways intolerable.”

I suppose I agreed, but told Stu I would still like to do something for Hans and Mike, and he agreed. But, he said, he wanted to show me something later.

Stu and I spent the afternoon at the Pool and in the gym, working out together as real buddies, and enjoying helping each other keeping track of our reps, and so on. When he saw that I was exercising in the nude, Stu did too – we’re buddies now, he said, and that’s how buddies treat each other.

As the desert night started to fall, we showered and put on our shorts and cut-offs, and Stu took me towards the stables. The ponies were all in for the night by now, and had been showered, milked, and fed, and were in their stalls for sleep. Stu led me up to the observation gantry overlooking the stables where the guard paced, keeping an eye on the slaves. I could hear the familiar snoring, farting and breathing of the ponies as they lay beneath us, deeply asleep following their day’s exertions. We looked down at the large stall holding the cart-horse slaves, and saw all eight of them lying together, intertwined in a touching, tender way.

A lump came to my throat when I saw how those eight slaves were treating each other – some were ‘spooned’ into the backs of others, arms were casually flung around the bodies of their fellow slaves, one of them had another’s cock lying in his open palm – they were all totally at ease with each other, just enjoying the pleasure of sleeping with their fellows.

Stu pointed out that I probably could not tell him which was Hans and which was Mike now, from the other six, as they were so completely acclimatised to their role. I had to agree with him, and he said “Would it be kind, do you think, now to signal them out for some special treatment that the others did not get? Or do you think they would like to be taken away from their fellows totally, and given a new job on the estate?”

Looking at them, happily curled up with their comrades, sleeping peacefully, without a care in the world, I had to admit he was right.

“Don’t feel sorry for them”, Stu continued. “Had they stayed in the Marines in South Africa they probably would have been dead by now from fighting terrorist groups, or they would have been dying of AIDS from having used women out in the country areas where it is endemic. They have a good life here – and I think you know that, as you did, they enjoy using their bodies to their maximum potential.”

“I will mark their files , though, to make sure they are not sold on, and that they therefore can continue to live their lives out here under the Sheikh’s benevolent rule. And, of course, when the time comes and they really can’t work any more, you know that Bob will terminate them peacefully, and they won’t suffer any of the indignities of an old age with a failing body.”

We left the stables and went back to our bungalow, and the slaves served us a delicious dinner of chicken stew, vegetables, and fruit, which we washed down with a couple of cold beers. I didn’t want a ‘comfort’ slave that night either, and neither did Stu, he said, and we retired to our respective rooms relatively early.

But I couldn’t sleep – I realised I wanted Stu. I wanted his body next to mine.

In the middle of the night I tiptoed through our shared bathroom to go and look at him – I thought that being able to gaze on his body whilst he slept would take away some of my longing.

I saw him spread-eagled in his bed, lying on his back, and moved stealthily towards it. I pulled back the corner of the fine linen sheet, and looked down at wide shoulders that I had now exposed. In a fit of madness, almost, I pulled the sheet off the bed entirely, and could then see him in all his lovely nakedness. He was in a classically unconcerned sleeping pose – on his back, with one leg turned at right angles to the other, One arm was resting on his flat stomach, and the other was lying casually by the side of his head.

I couldn’t stop myself, and leaned over and kissed his eyelids, ever so gently. I thrilled as I felt his eyeballs fluttering away under the lids, and knew he must be in a deep sleep, dreaming.

I moved my face lower, and pressed my lips to his half-open ones. I smelt the warm yeast smell of the beer we had drunk coming out from him, and as he breathed out, my cheek was warmed by his moist breath.

I ddid something I had never done before then, and moved my head down so that my tongue could play across his nipples. They went stiff as I did this, and he uttered a tiny, contented sigh from the depths of his sleep.

I was by now trembling with excitement, and my tongue next moved to lick up the tiny moist patch of the sweat sheltering around his navel. Although I had tasted another man’s sweat before, there is always something very special about the taste of that that has formed in the navel – an indescribable flavour of man. I was very careful to lap just with the tip of my tongue, oh so gently, as all guys are sensitive to any pressure in their navels ( and, indeed, Stu had told me that some masters on other estates tortured their slaves by pushing a sharp pencil into the slave’s navel, whilst the slave was ordered to remain at “display”).

How could I stop now? I moved down and bent over his genitals. I gently kissed the tip of his lovely penis, lying there at rest sticking up above his balls. Then I started, ever so slowly, to let my tongue massage all around his fretum, and, as he started to respond and became hard, I got access to his sac and continued by teasing his balls with my tongue.

I moved my head just a little lower and to the side, and because of the way his legs were splayed on the bed, I could see his lovely tender anus. The tip of my tongue explored it eagerly, and I was rewarded with that delicious taste that only a man’s ass has when he was freshly showered before going to bed but has had time to accumulate his own special strong man-odours since. I was scared of waking him, as he was now obviously very pleasured in his dream, and I moved my attention back to kissing his cock head again.

He was completely, magnificently erect now, and little sighs were escaping from him as my ministrations on his body were obviously breaking through into the strange world of his dreams, and causing them to move in ever more erotic directions.

I wanted to take his cock completely, and moved my mouth down over it so that I could suck him to a climax. I wanted his cum to spurt down my throat.

But what was I doing, another part of my mind demanded? I was taking advantage of Stu in the most deplorable way. I was thinking only of my needs, my pleasures, and was not considering his right as a man only to have sex with whom he wanted. Whilst I was not up his ass, what I was contemplating was morally just the same as rape.

So I stopped, and instead lay my body alongside his on the bed, and returned to kissing him on the lips. His lips parted more, and I could kiss him fully, with our tongues together. He started to wake up, and as he did, whilst keeping my mouth locked onto his, I drew my legs up and knelt beside him on the bed.

Awakening fully, he reached out for me, but I moved my head away from his, and pushed it, and my shoulders, down on to the mattress. My ass was now sticking up, and I moved my hands back to prise apart my ass cheeks.

Stu knew, or probably felt with all his senses and understood what I intended, and rolled up and over on top of me so that his cock was pushing into my exposed ass crack. Ever so gently he positioned his chest on top of my back, and wrapped his arms around my waist.

As his cock had entered my ass crack, I had let go of my butt cheeks and now tried to guide his cock closer to my anus. Suddenly it was there, and I could feel Stu gently pushing to gain entrance.

It was an almost superhuman effort for me, but I willed my sphincter to relax to let him in – previously, I had always resisted wildly all those cocks that were trying to rape me, and it took every ounce of my longing and desire for him to get my conscious mind to override the panic reflex that my body was otherwise using.

He was already spurting pre-cum, caught up with the eroticism of the moment, and was able to slide gently in. Then I saw what a wonderful, considerate lover he was, as he rocked back and forth, letting his cock massage my anus and rectum, whilst his warm body pressed down on top of mine and he whispered little lover’s words into my ear, whilst gently nuzzling at my earlobes.

We continued like this for what seemed like an eternity, until he could no longer control himself and I could feel his hot cum spray up inside me.

I wondered why his hands, which could have easily reached, had not been massaging my cock whilst we had been making this exquisitely sweet love, but now I saw why. He rolled off from on top of me, lay sideways on the bed, and raised one leg in the air. He drew my body towards his, so that we were facing, and started to kiss me, passionately. I wriggled closer to him, and our legs intertwined. I then saw that by both lying on our sides in this way his own anus was exposed to me, and he moved a hand down behind my ass and urged me forwards into him.

So that was why he had not been playing with my cock – he had intended to give himself to me, and wanted me to be able to experience my own pleasure to the full as I entered him for the first time.

I could not believe this was happening to me. I was lying in my lover’s arms, sliding my cock into his ass which was welcoming me. It was surreal. I, his slave for so long, was fucking my master.

I knew now that he felt for me as I did for him, and I felt tears in my eyes. As I looked at him, I saw that he, too, was overcome with emotion.

We spent the rest of the night in each other’s arms. In the morning my head was pressed into his chest, and he had one leg resting companionably across my hips. We woke simultaneously, and I though we would fuck again. But he whispered to me “No, not this morning. Let’s have our memories of last night kept fresh for the rest of the day. If we fuck now, it will not be as good as I am already thinking about work, and it would spoil that perfect harmony we had last night”.

With that, he suddenly slapped me hard on the ass, and said “Come on! Into the pool. I’ll race you – best of 20 laps”. We both sprang up off the bed, and ran across the room laughing hysterically, to fling ourselves into the warm, clear water. I don’t remember who won. It didn’t matter to either of us.


When we got out of the pool, there was a messenger-slave waiting with a message in the little canister around his neck. It was still quite early and the sun had not yet taken the chill off the desert, and without a lot of muscle to keep him warm, the lad was standing shivering whilst he waited for us. I knew he would have liked to rub his protruding ribs with his skinny arms to try to get warm, but of course he had been well trained, and was standing at “display” with his hands behind his neck and his legs apart. I glanced at his cock, and saw that the cold had had its effect here, too, because it was shrivelled up. These tall, thin lads usually had long cocks, but there was not much to look at this morning.

Stu read the message, and said that we needed to go over to the “welcome centre” straight away, as a consignment had just arrived from the slave market and he knew I would be interested. We didn’t eat any of the delicious breakfast that the house slaves had laid out for us, but just grabbed a cup of coffee. Only pausing to pull on our skimpy shorts and cut-offs, we strode out.

The “welcome centre” was Stu’s ironic name for the place where all the new slaves from the auction houses were processed. It was well guarded, as in general the estate only bought in “wild” stock, because it could breed for itself all the “farmed” slaves it needed. “Wild” stock was always at its most dangerous in the first few days, before it had begun being trained and conditioned, and, of course, before it was branded and micro-chipped. An escape at this point might just have been possible, and it would have been difficult to get our property back.

We went in, and standing in the centre of the room, which had a guard with a stun-gun in each corner, were three of the Arabs who had attacked Stu and me at the water-hole. They were no longer wearing Arab dress, and were dressed in T-shirts and jeans.

Stu said “As soon as Bob had got you out of danger, I called the military and they sent in helicopters to scan the desert near here looking for their truck. It was a good exercise for them, and they soon targeted it. A group of soldiers was sent to arrest them, but their leader had already died from my shot – he bled to death in the truck. Without him, they were like headless chickens, and surrendered without a fight. I deliberately did not shoot them in the dessert, even though I could have, as I knew we could capture them and it would make for a better punishment.”

“The three slavers thought they would be in no danger, because they are all the sons of wealthy and influential families in the Capital. They thought that once they had got there, their families would pay the fines, dish out a few bribes, and they would all be set free.

But they had not reckoned with the incredibly severe slavery laws in this country, and with the Sheikh’s influence.”

“They went to court, thinking it was just a formality, but were sentenced to enslavement. They had broken one of the fundamental laws of the country – you must not take away a man’s freedom!”.

“By trying to illegally enslave me and deprive me of all my human dignity and rights, they were now miserable slaves themselves.”

“They then thought that their families would simply buy them at the auction – they had all been to lots of auctions in their time as customers, and knew the form. But they had forgotten that under the law, the victim owns the enslaved assailant – so they were mine. Or, rather, would have been if I could own slaves. Only citizens can do this, and I am not a citizen, I’m an American. So instead their ownership bounced up to my ‘owner’, or employer, the Sheikh.”

“The Sheikh asked me what I wanted to do, because, like me, he thinks it’s entirely wrong to try to enslave men who are not criminals. And we devised a plan.”

“The Sheikh called in the heads of the families, and told them that they could buy slaves from him. They laughed at him, until he had their sons shown to them and pointed out that he was now the owner of these prime pieces of meat. Each family offered $1M immediately, and rapidly went to $5M before the Sheikh stopped them. I know all this because he had allowed me to watch it from a small gallery overlooking his audience room.”

“He told them that they needed to understand the importance of keeping their unruly children in check. Paying $5M meant almost nothing to these wealthy families, he pointed out, and that therefore if they wanted their sons back, the price would be 20% of everything they owned. The Sheikh’s own auditors would go through their assets, to make sure he got every penny”

“The families tried to argue, but the Sheikh was not interested. One of the families tried to brazen it out, and said he would not pay that much, even for his son. So the Sheikh had that slave dragged into the room, and in front of his father, another very large slave was summoned who pulled down the slave’s jeans, put him across his knee, and spanked the slave 20 times, very hard. Before the father could even try to comfort his son after this, the large slave dragged the boy out of the room. Then the Sheikh just sat there, waiting to see what they would say.”

“Faced with the awful reality of the Sheikh’s rights over their sons, they all eventually agreed to pay up. But the Sheikh was still not finished. He railed at the families and told them that as they had failed to teach their sons the meaning of citizenship, he would do it for them. The 20% payment was only to buy their sons from the Sheikh AFTER he had had them for training, and he was convinced that really understood what slavery was all about. They had tried to deprive a man of his freedom, and now they would learn what that means.”

“So “, he continued, turning to the three slaves, “Get naked, so I can inspect you properly and decide where you will be most use on the estate.”.

When they hesitated, and when one of them tried to say something, he was poked with a stun gun. Having seen the utter futility of resisting further, they all slowly took off their T-shirts, jeans and trainers, and stood there in shorts. This was like my own induction to slavery all over again, and one of them was arbitrarily chosen by Stu with a casual gesture, and the stun gun knocked him to the floor with pain. After that, they all pushed down their shorts, and just stood there.

Like men do when they are uncertain about their surroundings and they are nude, they all had their hands sort of cupped in front of their genitals, but of course Stu gave them their first lesson in slavery. He said “Understand this – on the estate, you are always totally naked. The guards and masters like to be able to see all of you, all of the time. You have no right to privacy, and, indeed, no rights at all. When you are not doing any service for him, in the presence of a master you will always assume the ‘display’ position – you must be familiar with this from when you owned slaves in your former life. Now – ‘display’.”

He then went on to reveal his plan. He told them that normally ‘comfort’ slaves could only be ‘farmed’ slaves, as it was too risky to allow ‘wild’ slaves to be in intimate contact with a master’s body unless they were properly restrained, and it was of course impracticable to restrain ‘comfort’ slaves all the time. ‘Wild’ slaves were used in the fields, quarries, stables, and so on. However he liked the look of all their bodies, and had decided that the entire staff should share his pleasure by making the slaves available as ‘comfort’ slaves.

But first, they needed toughening up a little. Their bodies were too soft and ‘citified’ for the tastes of most masters, who liked their ‘comfort’ slaves to be hard-bodied. So they would all be sent to the quarries for three months. At the end of that time, they would be ‘comfort’ slaves for three months, then they would go back to the quarries for three months to top-up their muscle, and then there would be a further three-month spell as ‘comfort’ slaves. At the end of that year he would review their behaviour, and if he thought that they were truly reformed, he would release them to be sold back to their families. However if any of them was in the slightest was still insufficiently servile, the cycle of quarries and serving as ‘comfort’ slaves would be repeated for a second year, when a decision would be made again.

They had therefore to serve a minimum of one year, with one year increments served in full if all was not well. And, of course, it would be a case of all three being kept as slaves if any one of them was not to be released that year. So, Stu explained, you slaves had better work hard at being good at your job when you are servicing us masters as ‘comfort’ slaves. I think there are a lot of men here who will appreciate having a fiery ‘comfort’ slave who is having to keep his temper completely under control, rather than the usual run of extremely handsome, but rather dull, ‘farmed’ slaves. There will be a complaints book kept in the Club, an if any master registers a complaint, that will be it – you’ll all be there for another year.”

Stu asked them if they understood, and they all nodded meekly.

“Now we come to the important part”, said Stu, “as you have understood me so well so far, continue to listen carefully. It is really important that you do truly experience what it means to be enslaved – you’ll have to work hard in the quarries, so hard that you will think your muscles cannot continue. And you will experience every form of humiliation possible when you’re being use as sex toys in the Club. But it is essential you experience the whole thing – you were ready enough to deprive me of my freedom, and you need to get a deep understanding of what that actually means.”

“So after you leave here you will be examined and tested by our veterinarian. Then you will have your hair cut very short, most of your body hair shaved off, and your pubic hair neatly trimmed. And then we will take you and brand you.”

The slaves all looked uncomprehendingly at this. There were no slaves in the room other than the three, and Stu decided to demonstrate. He called for a slave, but inside the heavily guarded “welcome centre” there were none. He whispered to me and asked if I would mind demonstrating, and of course I didn’t, as I had long since lost any inhibitions about displaying my body, even to a room full of guards.

So I dropped my shorts, and went and stood in front of the slaves, and went to ‘display’. “See “, said Stu, “He has short cropped hair, unlike yours which is almost down to your shoulders Note how the hair under his arms has been neatly trimmed away so his armpits have just a short, bristly crop – no danger of hairs sneaking out from a T-shirt’s arms for him, unlike you. And look down at his cock, and see how his balls have been shaved clean, and his pubic hair trimmed away to leave just that little patch on top of the cock. “

Then to me he said “Would you mind turning around and showing them your ass, please?”. So of course I turned my back to them, and bent from the waist, reached behind myself and pulled my ass cheeks apart. “See how there’s no hair in there at all”, said Stu, “and how his anus is perfectly visible. That’s how you three will all be when you have been to our barber, unlike your very hairy state now.”

“But look most carefully at the brand on his ass. That was burned in by a white-hot branding iron, and even though he is now a free man, he will bear that mark for the rest of his life.”

“You, too, will be branded and it will be the most exquisite pain you have ever experienced. But best of all, if you ever are released form slavery, every time you examine your body in the mirror as you bathe, you will be reminded that you were once a slave”.

I stood up – I no longer needed to stay being displayed until commanded otherwise, as I was a man, not a slave – and saw that all three were trembling.”

“Take them away!”, Stu told the guards.

“Now let’s go about my work for the rest of the day”, said Stu. “Will you come with me in my rickshaw? I’d value your comments on my new pony”.

I laughed, and went to leave with him. “Pick up your shorts and cover your gorgeous cock”, Stu said, “I have to work today. It will be bad enough having the distraction of your body next to mine all the time, without seeing your constant erections!”.


I spent the next few days continuing to get myself back into shape using the excellent facilities in the Club, accompanying Stu as he went around the estate supervising the Sheikh’s many enterprises, and, of course, spending the evenings and nights with my lover. I was blissfully happy.

One morning after our swim – which had by now become a regular morning habit for us – a messenger slave was again waiting, shivering slightly, by the pool. Stu read the message, and told me that something very unexpected was about to happen – there would be a truck arriving at the estate, and the Sheikh had given orders that it should be allowed right in, and not be required to tranship at the gate house.

We breakfasted, and after eating walked across to the “welcome centre” just as a large Army truck pulled up. A group of soldiers got down, exchanged greetings with us, and then hauled out from the back of the truck four US Marines, who were cuffed with their hands in front of them, and chained together with chains joining their ankles. They looked dirty, and tired. I could see that one was a sergeant, and the others were grunts.

Stu ordered them to be led into the “welcome centre”, and they shuffled off behind the soldiers, who then came out, and drove their truck away.

It seems that the US had decided to have a small “punishment raid” against the country, and a whole company of marines had been sent in, clandestinely, to blow up one of the oil refineries. But a patriot of ours in the State Department had warned the ruler, and so his troops were ready to intercept the Marines as they landed. They had all been captured, without a shot being fired – they had walked straight into the most carefully laid trap that could be devised.

The ruler had decided that he did not want to kill the Marines, as he was not in favour of cruel punishments, and did not like an unnecessary waste of man flesh, but that he also did not want to return them to the USA as he wanted to send a signal to the US Government that such action against his country was unacceptable. So he had decided to say and do nothing, and make no fuss internationally. He knew that the US knew what had happened, and he thought that if he made no international complaint, the US Government would try a “cover up”.

The ruler had decided to reward his key Sheikhs by giving them a present, and several of them had received a “parcel” of marines, like ours. The Sheikh had decided that his should work as slaves, of course, and so he had sent them to the estate for processing. But Stu was uneasy – he could not use these wild, tough marines as ‘comfort’ slaves, and it seemed a waste to use their bodies for hard labour in the quarries or fields – they were , after all, fit young Americans, and potentially more valuable than this. He had thought of training them as ponies, but currently the stables were full, and we had all the ponies that were needed.

Stu needed time to think, and look at the estate’s resourcing plan, so he decided to keep the Marines in ignorance of their fate as slaves. We followed them in to the “welcome centre”, to the familiar bare room that now contained the four, and our guards.

Stu commanded the marines to be unshackled, and then spoke to them in English, explaining that there was a potential diplomatic problem, and that they would therefore be held, temporarily, as prisoners of war. He said to them that they must be in need of a shower after being chained up after their captivity, and that they would then be held in the cells pending their final disposition. The Marines must have been reassured on hearing him speak English after being herded by Arab guards before, and one of them – who I now saw was a Sergeant, said “Sir, thank you. We sure do need to shower, as we’ve been living in these clothe for three days. And my men could do with a meal. Could you also get a message to the US Ambassador for us, telling him where we are, so that our families will know we’re OK?”

Stu nodded, and said “Strip off, and the guards will l take you to the showers.”

The Marines proceeded to do that, and Stu and I went out and up into the viewing gantry overlooking the showers area. Stu told the slaves that would normally wash new slave meat to stay out. He told me he did not yet want to alarm the Marines, as they were potentially dangerous fighters, and the simplest thing to do for the next couple of days was to make them think that they were indeed prisoners of war.

We stood and looked at the Marines, as they showered. They were obviously at home with showering together and were not at all bashful about exposing themselves to each other, but did not actually touch each other’s bodies. “Typical”, said Stu, “They live together and are used to seeing each other naked, but the Marine training has not yet progressed to the point where it makes them really intimate – the US forces really miss out here – think of the Spartans, where a small number of them could hold off the mass of the Athenians. It’s well known that’s because they were all lovers, and none of them wanted to be anything other than totally brave in front of those with whom they shared their bodies intimately. Although the US Marines are brave, and fight ferociously, they would be at least twice as good if they were all gay. Far from encouraging comrades to enjoy the splendours of each others’ bodies, the US Military hierarchy actually throws them out if they are found in bed with each other!”.

We stood there and watched, sizing the men up and trying to think how they could be used most appropriately. At that moment, a messenger slave arrived, and Stu read his message. “It’s from the Capital”, he told me. “They have got the men’s records from hacking the military computers in the US.”

“The sergeant is 26, and comes from Texas. He is married, and has two kids.”. We focussed on the Sergeant, and I thought that he fitted the stereotype of a Texan – tall, over 6′, with a tanned, rangy body. His cock was about average for his build, and he had a light thatch of medium-brown hair over his pecs and stomach.

“That one there”, he said, pointing at a guy with darker skin, liberally covered with black wiry hair, “Is 24, and from Brooklyn. He is known as a bit of a trouble maker in the files, as he tends to drink too much then breaks up the bar! He is of Jewish stock, which probably accounts for his general build and complexion. He is not yet married, although there are also reports of incidents said to be related to women, in his file”.

“The next one ” – indicating a very well muscled guy about 5’11” tall, with abs, pecs and traps, all standing out as he bent to vigorously soap his well muscled thighs, “is from San Diego. He entered the service straight from school there – it was just like crossing the road for him, to go from High School into the Marines training base. He got married six months ago, and his wife is just about to give birth.”

“And the young little piece of meat is 20 and from Florida. He has only been in the Marines for 18 months, and this is his first mission.” I looked and saw a typical Florida “beach boy”, about 5’8″ and only about 150 lbs. He was deeply tanned, with a very visible bikini line around his slim hips. He had a nice V-shaped body extending down from well-muscled shoulders, to flare out above a good bubble but. “He’s a bit like you”, Stu remarked as we looked closer at the men, “As, unusually, they didn’t cut his foreskin off at birth. The file doesn’t give us any clues about his sexual interests, although I expect that as he hangs around with these four studs, he’s probably screwing some little chick around the base”

I looked down again at the four marines, and saw that he was indeed the only one not circumcised. Otherwise they were all much as you would expect – hard bodies, from the training. Natural body hair, except for on the head, where they all had typical “flat tops”.

They were finishing up in the showers, and planing the water off their bodies with their hands in that way that guys do in communal showers before they go to towel themselves off. Stu went down from the gallery, and I saw him enter the tiled shower area with towels for them. As they stood there drying themselves, Stu said “I have had your uniforms taken away to be cleaned, as they were pretty sweat-stained. After you are dry, the guards will bring you T-shirts and jeans to wear until your uniforms are ready. You’ll need to be kept in the cells here whilst we sort out your status, but I’ll see you get some food, and, of course, water.”

“Sir, thank you, sir”, said the sergeant. “Can I ask one favour for the guys. Can you let us use a phone to call our folks back home in the USA, so they know we’re all right?”

“I’m sorry”, Stu said, “But we have to keep you incommunicado for the time being. As prisoners of war you are not allowed unrestricted access to communications. Just wait in the cells, and I’m sure everything will be resolved soon.”

With that , the guards brought in clothes for the Marines, and I watched them dress and be led off to the holding cages in the “welcome centre”.

Stu then said that he needed to spend the rest of the day working on Admin in the central complex, and thinking about how he was best going to be able to use these new slaves. So I went off and spent the rest of the afternoon swimming and working out. My body was now almost totally recovered, and apart from the scar on my thigh, I could no longer detect that I had been shot.

That evening after we had had dinner, Stu said that he thought it was time we did something about the Marines. During the afternoon at the office he had read on the Internet that the US had said that there had been a “troop ship accident in the Gulf”, and that a company of Marines “had all been killed”. Clearly, he said, the US was going to forget all about the captured Marines to avoid embarrassment, and was now concocting this cover-up to conceal the loss of so many fine young men.

Unusually, we switched on the TV, and watched CNN. There were the usual reports in cases like this, with the reporters across the US interviewing the folks of the Marines “lost in this tragic accident”.

Stu then told me he had thought long and hard during the afternoon, and had come up with a plan to use the Marines most efficiently. He summoned a slave, and arranged for the four to be brought to the Bungalow, well guarded – they were, after all, trained fighting machines, and we did not want any accidents!

When the four arrived, you could see that they were relieved to see us Americans in a “Western” setting. But their relief turned to shock the moment Stu told them to strip,

The Sergeant said “Sir, why do me and my boys need to do that?”, and with a small gesture Stu indicated to one of the guards that he should be felled to the floor by a bolt from a stun gun.

“That’s why, sergeant, or, should I say, slave!”, said Stu. “You men are no longer Marines. You are no longer men. You are now slaves. If I command you to strip, you will. When I command you to suck each others’ cocks, you will do that too!”

The Sergeant glared at Stu and said “We’re not slaves, we’re US Marines. We’re not going to be part of any filthy perversion. The US Government will hunt you down if you cause us any harm and you’ll be hung as a traitor when you’re hauled back to the USA!”

“Don’t raise your hopes, slave”, said Stu. “Now, I am going to tell you one last time to strip. If you don’t, I won’t have you prodded with the modified cattle prod we use here to control slaves. But I will have it pushed up the ass of your young little guy there! Now, strip!”.

After a few glances at each other, and a little nod from their sergeant who clearly saw they were not in a good position, the four of them did. Although before, in the showers, they seemed unconcerned about their nudity, now they were clearly embarrassed – probably because they were in a familiar, “western” style room.

Stu then told them to go and sit on the leather couch, as he wanted to show them something, and they gingerly sat down next to each other. I remembered the erotic sensation I had felt when I first sat naked on that very same leather couch, and I think they all felt much the same thing. It was made worse for them, because there was only just room on the couch for all four of them, and their bodies were pressed closely together.

Stu turned on the TV again, and we saw they were doing one of those “documentaries” on the crisis – State Department officials, and generals from the Pentagon, lamented “the terrible tragedy that had taken our men’s lives”. Then there were endless interviews with the parents, wives, and children of “those brave boys lost overseas”. The Sergeant burst into tears when he saw his wife and kids lamenting the loss of their daddy, and one of the others had to sit and watch as his heavily pregnant wife told how now “her husband, who she loved dearly and only married six months ago, would now never see their little baby grow up”.

“So you see, slaves”, said Stu as the programme finished, “the US has abandoned you. It doesn’t want to risk looking foolish, if it had to reveal that our army here captured the whole lot of you the moment you landed. You’d better stop thinking of any hope of rescue, as none is on its way. And even if you escape, the CIA will probably kill you if you do get to a US embassy, to avoid the Administration being shown up as liars.”

He then went on to explain to them that their position was deadly serious. They were slaves, because they had broken the laws of the country. By coming clandestinely to destroy community property, their freedom was forfeit. He went on to say that these four were however lucky, as the Sheikh was a merciful owner, and provided they obeyed orders they could expect to live long lives, and keep their balls. The slaves were shocked on hearing this, and Stu had to explain that some owners, but fortunately for them not the Sheikh, castrated soldiers as a matter of course, in order to control their fiery tempers.

Stu took the time to explain to them that he didn’t want to waste them in the quarries or fields, and that they could not really be ‘comfort’ slaves, as they were too ‘wild’, and in any case the sergeant was too old. So he revealed his plan to them.

“The Sheikh get s a lot of visitors here now”, he said, “as more and more foreigners want to come and see our slave-driven society at work. If they come for the weekend, it can be a bit dull for them in the evenings, as after they have inspected all the facilities during the day and have had a sumptuous banquet, there’s nothing to do. Of course the visitors can make full use of the ‘comfort’ slaves and the Pool and gym, but many of them are not in the best of health and certainly not in the peak of condition, and even though they like looking at the slaves on view in the Club, they are embarrassed about exposing their own bodies. Some of them are all right, of course – we had a party of US Senators here a month or so back, and although they did not want to fuck any of the ‘comfort’ slaves themselves, they had a lot of fun instructing a number of them to carry out the most amazing group sex so they could watch it. But I can’t rely on that, so I need something to entertain the Sheikh’s visitors.”

“A few years back nude wrestling was the fashion in the country, and there were big audiences for naked slaves fighting each other until one fucked the other. It died out, as a new rage took over, but I’m going to revive it. Whereas some guests might be offended by a straight orgy, I think everyone will enjoy an after dinner entertainment where nicely muscled fighters, slicked with oil, grapple with each other until one gets fucked.”

“You four are going to be the start of a new fashion. You all know how to fight, and after a bit of training, some adjustment of your body hair to make you less offensive to decent folk, I think you will be a hit. Our American visitors will, I think, be particularly amused because you can always tell an American body – your skin tone is different from that of the Arabs we would otherwise have.”

The four slaves were now looking stunned. Stu told them that the following morning they would be taken to be branded, but as a mark of respect, they would be allowed to keep their Marine Corps tattoos – each of them had one, on his upper right arm. He also did not propose to have them “muted”, as the crowds liked to hear the fighters shout and groan as their bodies were hurt and fucked.

The Sergeant started to argue about not being a slave and it being “wrong”, and Stu shouted at him in anger and said “Shut up. You don’t realise that you are in big trouble. I could order you to be executed here and now, and that’s probably what you deserve. You were coming here to attempt to destroy our way of life – a way that is much better than that in the decadent USA. We have no crime, no delinquency, no drugs, no unemployment. And when the oil does run out, this society will keep on, driven by slave muscle, whereas the USA will be in big trouble.”

The Sergeant ignored Stu’s warning, and went on that he was not going to be a slave, his “boys” were not slaves, and they were not going to fuck each other! In fact, he was not going to fuck any man, as he was a “proper” guy, with children!

Stu was very cross, as he was not used to having slaves argue with him. He said to the Sergeant “OK. That’s it. I was going to give you one last night of ‘freedom’ to be alone with your comrades, but now I am going to show you what being a slave really is, subject to my every whim. I am going to fuck you myself tonight. And my friend Steve here is I know really turned on by the neat little one, so he’ll fuck him. The other two of you will be strung up to watch the first humiliation of your buddies.”

He rapped out orders to the guards in fast Arabic, and the naked Marines were manhandled out of the room.

Steve and I sat and chatted for a bit, and then it was time to turn in. “I hope you don’t mind fucking that little marine for me”, he said, “But I do need to teach them a lesson. If they learn now that their bodies are no longer their own, life will be much easier for them – it will be a kindness, really.”

I didn’t know what to say. I was not gay, and had always been a real womaniser back in the USA. Although Stu and I were now lovers, that was different – we really did love each other, and fucking each other was natural and right. I was not certain that I could overcome my inhibitions against sex with men and actually fuck another guy, even if he was a slave. But Stu had asked me, and he went on to say “Yes, I know it must be difficult for you. But do try – masters have to assert themselves in the interests of the slaves sometimes. And I don’t think you actually find him totally physically repulsive – I thought I saw that cock of your stirring this evening, even though it was buried in those shorts!”

He was right, of course, and I agreed. We went into Stu’s bedroom, and the sergeant was lying on the bed with his hands cuffed together and attached to the bed head. The Jewish guy was cuffed, too, but he was standing in the middle of the room with a chain leading from his cuffs to a hook in the ceiling. Steve went over to a dresser, took out a ball gag, and gagged the Jewish guy. “I want him to watch his sergeant and me”, said Stu, “not give a commentary!”.

Then I went through the bathroom in to my own room, and found the same arrangement – the young Marine was lying there on his back looking scared, and the fourth marine was standing there, chained and unable to move, watching.

I dropped my shorts, and went and lay by the side of the marine. I told him not to worry, as I knew what it was like to be raped, and I was going to be gentle. I asked him if he had ever had another man up his ass before and he told me “Certainly fucking not! I haven’t even wanked any of the other guys in the platoon”.

I started to stroke his body, running my hands gently down his arms first, and then resting my hands under his arm pits whilst my thumbs stretched out and rubbed his nipples quite hard. He started to shout in protest, so I stopped and reached down and took his balls in my hand. I whispered to him to be quiet, as I did not want to hurt him – in truth, I didn’t like feeling his balls ,as he had not yet been properly shaved, and their rough hairiness was not to my taste.

He calmed down, but the next minute his whole body went rigid as we heard Stu slapping the Sergeant’s ass. We could tell it must be hurting, because the Sergeant was crying out between each blow – that must have cost him a lot of self respect, as I did not think he was the kind of man who had ever before admitted he could be hurt to the extend hat he wanted to shout about it.

My marine’s body was so light that I had no difficulty in turning him over onto his stomach, and then with one of my arms wrapped around his waist to control his body movement I pushed his legs apart with the other. I raised the centre of his body up, so I could see his cock and sac through his spread legs, and was pleased to see that it was not all terror for him as he had a reasonable erection.

I decided he needed to be treated gently as this was his first time, so I stopped what I was doing, got up, went over to the Marine suspended from the ceiling, and jacked him off. That marine called me obscene names as I started to touch his cock, but soon quietened down after a good hard squeeze on his balls. The little marine on the bed was looking on in amazement, as I came back to him, with a big blob of his mate’s cum in my hand.

I held it under his nose, and invited him to smell the gift his mate had given him that was going to make his life easier, then flipped him over again onto his stomach, and hauled his ass into the air using my arm around his waist. I probed for his anus, and as my finger touched the warm, smooth spot in the midst of all his ass hair, I gently pushed it in so that the marine’s cum would thoroughly lubricate the area.

I took him then, doggy fashion, being very slow and gentle as my cock pushed into him. I tried to be as helpful as I could, telling him to relax his sphincter, and I think it made some difference because he stopped bucking and allowed me to rock gently in and out, until I climaxed.

I was kind to him for the rest of the night, wrapping his body in mine so that he should not be cold – I was used to sleeping nude in the air conditioning, but he was not and I did to want him to get a chill. He was crying gently, as he finally fell asleep in my arms.

In the morning, I went into Stu’s room and saw him in the middle of vigorously – and I mean vigorously – fucking the sergeant again. He looked over his shoulder at me as he heard me come in, grinned, and said “Cant stop now!”. He thrust on for a few more strokes, then climaxed, pulled himself out of the sergeant, and come over and kissed me. I could smell and taste the dried sweat and cum on his body, and knew that he must have had quite an energetic night breaking the sergeant in.

We had the bath slaves take all four marines into the shower, still cuffed, and Stu and I showered each other for a change, rather than allowing the bath slaves do it, so that they could masturbate the four marines. The two slaves took one marine in each hand, and quickly brought them to climax – I guess they were all embarrassed about the situation. Although they were used to being in communal showers, they had, I assume, never been masturbated in a group before by two naked slaves, whilst two masters watched!

Whilst we were eating breakfast Stu had the nude marines stand at “display” in front of the table, whilst he re-emphasised their position. “You see, he said, you are totally in our power here. I counsel you to forget your own life, and enjoy what you have. This morning you will be taken to the veterinarian to be examined and given your shots – I say veterinarian, because he specialises in slave medicine, but he is in fact a proper MD. After that, if your tests are all OK, we will shave you properly and trim your hair – although you have good ‘marine’ crews on your head, none of you shaves his testicles or ass crack, and it would be offensive to our guests whilst you were wrestling if they could not properly see you. After that you will be branded, and it will hurt. It will hurt VERY much. Normally our slaves are muted by this time, and as you will not be, I do not want your screams to disturb the peace of the complex. I hope that, as you probably still think of yourselves as marines, you will try to uphold the honour of the corps by showing that you can remain silent in the face of physical agony – although the sergeant here soon screamed when I was paddling his ass last night and the paddle ‘accidentally’ hit his exposed testicles!”.

“Finally, you will be taken to your new home. I have had a special training quarters constructed for you with exercise machines, and you will live there, naked of course, training hard every day. There is no privacy of any kind there, and of course you need none, but even though you are used to a life in the marine barracks, you will find it strange at first to be able to see every inch of your mates’ bodies, every moment of the day and night.”

“I expect your first fight will be in about one months time, and you will need to be very fit as I will be inviting a set of my old fighting buddies over, and your first opponents will be us. Although I’m 35 now, I’m a skilled wrestler and I keep in shape – I warn you, I will fight hard, and if you do not respond properly, I will rip your balls off!”

He then commanded the guards to take the Marines away, and we carried on with our breakfasts.


A couple of weeks went by, and my ‘idyllic’ existence continued – I worked out, lived with Stu, and completely recovered my health. We had a little trip into the Capital, and Stu took me around and showed me the sights.

But, ultimately, I was bored. Stu worked every day, except for the half day he had off each week, and I found myself waiting for him to come back to the Bungalow. Even when he was tired and irritable after some fuck up on the estate, I wasn’t, and I wanted him to focus on us, and “play”.

I took up racquet ball again, and worked my way up the leagues, but this didn’t satisfy my desire to be “doing” something, either. Of course I enjoyed beating the guards, and Bob, on the court, but then I was fitter and stronger than they were, and I expected to win. And whenever I played Bob, I took an unfair advantage by playing in the nude, with just racquet ball shoes on to stop my iron-hard feet spoiling the court floor. Even when he might have played a winning shot, he would see me racing to intercept it, and would be distracted by the sight of the muscles in my long legs stretching, or my cock bouncing in the air. And after showering, he was completely unable to concentrate on enjoying his massage – even though the massage slave would of course pleasure him in any way he wanted, he just lay there and watched me being massaged. It was me he wanted, but I did not want him – I was not gay.

Stu and I started bickering sometimes in the evening. I wanted to talk, and hear all about his day, and he just wanted to flop down on the couch and relax. On one fateful evening we even quarrelled so badly that I went and slept in my own room, to “punish” him.

We both realised this couldn’t continue, and one afternoon, at the water hole, we seriously discussed what was going wrong. We knew we both loved each other still, but why couldn’t we live together? Only after a long period of picking over why we had been quarrelling did we realise it was because I was bored, and, he finally admitted, Stu was envious of my freedom to spend the days as I liked whereas he had to work. So it was simple – I got a job.

The Sheikh gladly employed me on the estate, and as I did not want to be a guard, I worked in Administration. I gave Stu the money I earned, as I wanted him to be free of the obligation he owed the Sheikh from buying me as soon as possible.

But I found I could not settle to office life again, and each day was like torture for me. I went in the morning, pounded my PC, and came back each night. Fortunately I had the gym, Pool and racquet ball court to provide some physical relief, but I sometimes thought I would explode with frustration. I started running, seriously, again, and most mornings would slip out from Stu’s warm embrace in bed, pull on a little pair of running shorts, and pound around the estate roads for about 8 km. Then I would go back and wake Stu, by throwing my sweaty body on his as he lay there, still innocently dozing.

On one of our afternoons off we had decided to lunch at the bungalow, and then go to our favourite water hole. But when Stu came in, he was cross and said that he had to complete an urgent report, and then he needed to go to the gate house to collect a parcel that was there – this was a special gift for him from the Sheikh, and it would be impolite to send a slave to fetch it. I watched him working on his report for some minutes, then suggested I went to the gate house to collect the parcel – surely, his free lover could do this without fear of causing offence to the Sheikh.

Stu thought this was a great idea, because we could get out earlier then. I was going to walk, or run, there and back, but Stu said I should take the rickshaw, in case the parcel was heavy. I went outside, and unhitched Stu’s pony. As I got into the driving seat, I felt strange, and as I cracked the reins on the pony’s ass to get him moving, I realised it was exciting to be in charge of a pony slave, with him pounding his muscles in my service. I watched the pony’s strong ass pump his longlegs up and down as he jogged along, and then decided he should go faster, as I wanted to get back to Stu so we could enjoy our afternoon out. Before long, I was lashing the pony with the whip, because I thought he could go faster, if he “tried harder”.

On the way back from the gate house I was getting pretty pissed off with the pony – when I did this journey, I knew I could go faster than he was, and in spite of spreading the area of my whipping from his ass to his back to his shoulders, the pony didd not seem to be as swift as I thought he should be able. When we got back, it was obvious that he was absolutely exhausted, as I could not tether him properly – his legs simply gave way, and he half lay on the ground, between the shafts, as he was manacled.

Stu had finished, and the present from the Sheikh was not very interesting – just a rare old book that he had found, and that he wanted his Overseer to have as a particular mark of esteem. We were therefore free to set out for the water hole, but could not do so because the pony was unfit for further work that afternoon. Stu sent to the stables for a replacement ,but there was none available.

We talked about going to the Club, but then I said that I would pull Stu. He was appalled – he wouldn’t have me pull him now I was a man, not a pony slave, but I laughed and said it would be good exercise. Anyway, I was fresh, and it wasn’t that far. So we set out, and, laughingly, Stu flicked my shoulders lightly with his whip.

Running in my shorts was very uncomfortable, and after a couple of minutes I stopped and dropped them, leaving them lying in the road as I ran on, naked as the puller of a rickshaw should be. We had a fabulous afternoon, all the tensions in our relationship had disappeared and we made languorous love many times in-between bouts of fun in the water.

I was so elated thinking about the enjoyment I was going to have from using my body in the way it was intended on the journey back, that I insisted Stu put the bridle into my mouth – I wanted to feel him gently guiding me, and the “slap” of the reins on my bare ass.

That night in bed I told Stu the solution to our problems – I should become his pony again. I really loved the feeling of running between the shafts, and I wanted to serve him. His current pony was not nearly as good as I was – not as fast, not as willing, and without the stamina I had for long journeys. I pointed out that Stu must be slowed down by this, so he couldn’t serve the Sheikh as well, and that I thought he was sometimes frustrated at night because he had had to spend so much time whipping the pony in an attempt to get where he needed to be, fast.

I was determined, but Stu was equally determined that he would not use me as a pony. So for three days I ran alongside Stu, wherever he went. He could see that I could run harder and faster than his pony, even when the pony was being whipped and I was running free.

There was only one way that I could get him to change his mind. I went to the forge, and gave orders to the blacksmith. I arranged to meet Stu in the forge, and, when he entered, I threw myself down on the anvil and shouted “now” to the blacksmith.

Before Stu could stop him, the blacksmith had executed my order and pushed a white-hot branding iron, with a new design, across the site of the Sheikh’s brand. In spite of myself, I did scream. And my bowels let go.

Stu rushed over and cradled my head. Gasping through my pain I told him that I had chosen to be re-branded with a new mark – I was not a free man any longer, I was again a slave, Stu’s slave. And as his slave, he could of course use me in any way he wanted. And I begged him to want to use me as his pony.

Stu was almost overcome with emotion, especially when I insisted on turning over to have his slave brand placed over the Sheikhs on my pec. I would not be dissuaded, and he held me tight as the white hot iron bit home.

Now my life is perfect. I live entirely naked, pulling Stu around as he works for the Sheikh. He has overcome his initial inhibitions on using the whip, as he knows that, especially in the afternoon, I need “encouraging” if he is to get the best out of me. We spend our evenings in the Club, but we never need the services of the ‘comfort’ slaves – we have each other.

How boring my life would have been had I not been enslaved. I would have lived a suburban life in the USA, and would never known the twin joys of realising the full power of my body, and worshipping my master with my body and my mind.


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