THE BEZISTAN CHRONICLES Chapter 14: `Rashid returns to the Palace'
This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age of eighteen years.
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Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris) Read my stories at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jean-Christophe_Stories
"The characters and ideas in this story are the writer's and shouldn't be used without his permission. Please respect the integrity of the story and don't do any rewrites, make alterations or add pictures."
Part 1: Rashid returns to the Palace
Impatiently, Rashid slaps his reins against the shoulders of the two African ponies urging them to run even faster. As he watches the muscular display of their magnificent bodies in action, he frowns with annoyance. His anger with them is tempered by a sense of regret at the thought that this is the last time he'll drive them. Once back at the palace, the stable-master will deliver them to the Bezistan where each will receive twenty strokes of the whip. And tomorrow, they will begin their new lives as heavy duty draft slaves.
They have served him well over the past two years and although he never has any regard for a slave, he nonetheless does have a small degree of affection for them - such as one has for a faithful dog or animal. They came to him as a gift from a valued, business associate in Africa. At first, they were two unbroken, eighteen year old colts; wild, nervous and highly strung. He'd entrusted them to the care of Faris, his stable-master, who with infinite patience and skill, had turned them into the noble beasts they now are. Faris had transformed them from shy, untested youngsters into proud, young stallions.
It really is too bad that they had offended his dignity by disgracing themselves at the front steps of his palace. But they have offended him and they must be punished for it. Still in his regard for their past good services to him, he'd ordered a light punishment of only twenty strokes. Unusually, he really does feel a twinge of sadness at their parting.
But then his mood lightens at the thought of the two replacement ponies that he'll be driving tomorrow. These two ponies are a `novelty' for Rashid in that they are Australians. He has never had Australian slaves in the past. He wonders - why is that? Is it because that country is so remote and off the beaten track? Indeed Australia is something of a mystery to him, He'd never been there nor had he ever done business in the country. Of course he knew it was home to kangaroos, koalas and all manner of strange animals. But of its human inhabitants, he knew absolutely nothing.
However, some months ago all that had changed and he got a new `insight' into the country and its male inhabitants. On one of the rare occasions when he and Geoff were able to relax and spend the night together, they had watched a telecast of a sporting event between two Australian teams and he had liked what he saw.
By and large the Australian players were a brawny lot and they all appeared to be tall, with broad shoulders and thick, muscular chests. However, it was their asses that attracted his attention. The brevity of their shorts had left little to his imagination and the tightness of those shorts had accentuated the firm, rounded muscles of their buttocks. As they battled with their opponents, the strain placed on their shorts teasingly hinted at what was concealed beneath the stretched fabric.
But it was the after-match scenes televised from the dressing-rooms that had excited him the most. Of course, in that strange, almost homo-erotic camaraderie that is unique to sporting teams, the players had stripped to the waist to enthusiastically embrace one another and delightfully a few wore nothing more than their jock straps. Rashid and Geoff had salivated at the sight of so much naked muscle and they watched eagerly as the camera panned slowly around the room pausing from time to time to interview a player. Rashid paid little attention to what the players were saying; his concentration was firmly fixed on their sweaty, heaving chests and undulating bellies rather than their words.
Rashid continued to watch voyeuristically. For several all too brief moments he watched as, in the background, the camera showed some of the players, now proudly and unashamedly naked, sharing the communal showers with one another. From Rashid's perspective, the sight of the glistening, soap-slicked bodies twisting and turning in the showers was like some erotic ballet. He leaned forward in his chair for a closer view and lasciviously ran the tip of his tongue over lips.
Unable to hear their conversations, Rashid nevertheless knew from their laughter and body language that the players were in high spirits. As the naked players moved around in the highly charged, steamy environment of the shower, they provided Rashid and Geoff with a homo-erotic floor show.
They watched as one young player bent over to retrieve a dropped cake of soap and then to straighten up and face his team-mates before slowly and suggestively using the soap to lather his lower belly and genitals. And as others also bent to wash their lower legs or feet, Rashid and Geoff were treated to brief but tantalising glimpses of their blinking rosebuds or their pendulous balls hanging low between their muscular legs.
Rashid supposed the players would vehemently deny there was any sexual suggestion to their actions but their hard, throbbing erections told him otherwise. And the way they preened and stretched their bodies spoke to him of young men sending out subliminal signals of.
"Look at me - do you like what you see?"
A lifetime of experience with slaves told him that these magnificent, young men were attracted to each other's bodies but go to great pains to conceal that interest. For them it was very much a case of 'look but don't touch'. Rashid supposed this is why sportsmen have reputations for possessing aggressively heterosexual appetites; better to be seen as a womaniser than gay.
It had been a diverting interlude for Rashid and the sight of the players' nakedness and their enticingly curvaceous buttocks whetted his appetite. In his imagination he envisaged a pair of matching Australian ponies harnessed to his cart running naked before him as he caressed their asses with his whip. It was at that moment he knew he had to possess a pair of Australian bred ponies.
Next morning he placed an order with one of his many contacts around the world. His order was quite explicit; his new ponies were to be a perfect match in height, weight and musculature. Additionally, they were to be matching honey- blonds with blue eyes and hides that would darken to a golden brown colour.
Rashid didn't foresee any difficulties in fulfilling his order; after all there must be countless, young men in Australia who'd meet his requirements. The reality was different however.
Impatiently, Rashid waited for his two new Australian ponies. But frustratingly, they proved difficult to recruit and it seemed they truly were a 'rare bred'. Finally, he'd despaired of ever owning such a pair and had forgotten about them when one day, quite unexpectedly, he'd received word to say his new Australian ponies were on the way - having been shipped out of South-East Asia that very morning.
Unable to contain his excitement, he was on hand at the air-strip when they arrived. He was overjoyed with them; they were perfectly matched and were just what he'd wanted. Eagerly, he scrutinised their shipment documents and to his surprise, he discovered they were sportsmen - not professionals but talented amateurs - who also happened to be brothers. Their names were Liam and Patrick - not that their names will be of any further use to them. Rashid doesn't name his livestock and from now on they will be referred to by their new status- 'slave'. Indeed, they were no longer brothers; Rashid doesn't allow family connections among his slaves.
Consigned to his stables, he'd entrusted them to the care and training of his very capable stable master, Faris. Now fully broken in to both harness and the whip they are ready to serve him as replacements for his African ponies.
Ahead of him, the white, marble palace he calls home sparkles in the late afternoon sunshine. His thoughts turn to the young slave he'd encountered at his front door earlier in the day and who now waits in his apartments for his return. The thought of the handsome, young slave stirs his loins and as he recalls the slave's beauty his cock grows hard. Of course, he is very keen to fuck this slave - Geoff assures him the slave is a virgin - but decides he'll take his time to savour the slave much as one does with a good wine. He recalls that he'd ordered the slave to the whipping-yard for ten strokes of the cane and wonders if this has been done. In a way he hopes not. It would be entertaining to 'introduce' the slave to the private punishment room within his apartments.
Rashid is on a 'high'; the arrival of any new shipment of slaves always energises him and he needs to discharge some of this energy. This is usually achieved by a 'workout' session in his punishment room with two or three key elements - a slave, a cane or a whip. And of course there are his two recently acquired body slaves, the black-haired French-Canadian and the blond Russian who he could also work with. He knows they will be in a heightened state of anxiety and waiting fearfully for his return; he quite deliberately keeps them that way. He's sure he can conjure up some imaginary misdemeanour on their part that requires punishment.
But then, does he really need a reason to punish them? Of course not! As their Master, the choice to punish or not to punish them rests with him and really, he doesn't need to justify his actions to anyone - freeman or slave.
Turning into the long, tree-lined drive leading up to his palace, he savours for the very last time the erotic display of the African ponies running in unison. The muscles of their backs ripple under their coatings of slave oil and sweat and the shiny, ebony orbs of their asses undulate in time with the flexing of their powerful legs. Yes, it really is a pity they are no longer to be used by him.
Rashid lashes their shoulders and buttocks - more out of his frustration with them rather than a desire to make them run faster. Nevertheless, they do increase their speed and carry their Master to his assignation with the young, Greek slave once known as Aindrias.
Part 2: Aindrias waits for his Master.
My senses are overloaded. How can I - a mere slave - begin to comprehend the oriental magnificence and splendour of my Master's palace? Used as I am to the austerity of the stables, I am overawed by the vastness, the sheer opulence and self-indulgence of this place. And my view of it has been limited to the passage ways that led from the slaves' quarters to my Master's private suite of rooms. On our way here, we'd by-passed the vast audience chamber and reception rooms which are out of bounds to a common work slave like me.
I am unused to such luxury as now surrounds me; it is unimaginable to my slave mindset. Luxury for a common work slave is to have clean, straw bedding and a communal tap and toilet. Even my diminished memories of my home before my enslavement are of a mean, mud-brick, one-roomed, fisherman's cottage with a packed earth floor and thatched roof. Twenty such cottages could easily fit into just this one room of my Master's private suite.
After my caning - and my ass still throbs painfully - Daoud, the major domo took me to the slaves' quarters where I was taken in hand by two of his slave assistants and prepared for my Master. There, my bowels had been purged and my body purified ready for my Master' use. For the second time today, I was body shaved, my finger and toenails trimmed and polished, my body bathed, buffed and anointed with scented unguents and then finally they had greased my hole and made it ready for my Master. I had been prepared should he wish to fuck me.
Once these slaves had finished with me, the major domo delivered me to the Master's private suite and commanded me to kneel at 'display' in the centre of this vast room and wait for my Master's return. I was ordered, under pain of further punishment, to remain silent, not to move from the spot or to fidget. That had been several hours ago and now my body aches from its enforced inactivity and my knees are sore from kneeling on the hard, marble floor. But fearful of further chastisement, I remain immobile; my only movements are the twitching of my stressed muscles and the nervous rise and fall of my breathing.
I wait for my Master's return with great trepidation; I am very afraid of what he'll do to me. I know that he will fuck me; Daoud, the major domo left me in no doubt as to that and my body had been prepared for that eventuality. He'd gone into great detail informing me of what to expect from my Master but more importantly what my Master would expect of me. I'm to submit my body to my Master and 'work' hard to give him the maximum pleasure that a master expects and demands from a slave. He'd told me my Master's pleasure was of paramount importance and any discomfort or pain caused to me was of no consequence. This has left me very apprehensive.
Earlier, I'd heard Daoud and another overseer refer to me as a virgin. Strictly speaking this is so in that no one - freeman or slave - had ever penetrated me. The estate manager, for reasons best known to him, had kept me that way and several times I'd heard Faris, the stable-master and his overseers say that he was saving me, but for whom or what, they didn't know. To ensure my 'unspoiled' status, the estate manager subjects me to weekly digital inspections. And he also, on impulse, chooses to check me out at any time. It isn't unusual for him to call me away from my labours, order me to 'bend and spread' and examine me in full view of my fellow slaves and our overseers.
To 'preserve' me, I spend my nights alone, locked in a cage. There, I listen to the sounds of the ponies and draft slaves as they copulate. It is frustrating to hear the sounds of their intense pleasure whereas I can only masturbate. But over time, I've worked out a system whereby I start slowly, timing the beat of my strokes to their low, guttural sounds and then matching the speed of my hand to the intensity of their moaning and groaning before reaching climax with them. It is however a poor substitute and I envy the nocturnal frolics of my fellow slaves.
So, while it is true that I have never been fucked, I am no stranger to sexual pleasure. Faris, it has to be said, is an enlightened overseer in that he turns a blind eye to the sexual activities of the slaves under his control. He believes that slaves, being the healthy animals they are, need sexual relief to keep them calm and even tempered. He is supported in this by my Master who views slaves as sexual objects. He is, after all, in the business of taking inexperienced young men and turning them into the ultimate sex toy; the perfect pleasure slave for the most discerning of Masters.
Faris has never approved of my isolation and on occasions, when the estate manager has been away or occupied at the far end of the estate, he allowed another slave to pleasure me. However, he strictly supervised these brief encounters and always limited them to mutual masturbation or to the use of our mouths. How I love the feel of another slave's tongue flicking at my piss-slit or arousing the myriad of nerve ends on the underside of my cock. And how do I describe the intense pleasure I receive from him as he takes my eager cock into the warm, moist embrace of his mouth? Or at the exquisite feeling of his mouth sliding up and down my hardening shaft at an ever quickening pace to bring me to my explosive climax? Faris allows me to reciprocate and over time I've perfected my technique and judging from the responses of my partners, I give as good as I get. I wonder - will my Master require me to use my mouth to service his cock?
But the reality is that neither freeman nor slave has ever penetrated me and I'm naturally apprehensive of what the Master will do to me. It is now obvious that the estate manager has 'saved' me for my Master and finally I'm to experience that which my fellow slaves take for granted; I'm about to be introduced to full sex and the thought of it both thrills and excites me.
I'm not alone in the room; there are two other slaves present. They don't speak to me for they too have been forbidden to talk even in the absence of their Master. So strong is their fear of his anger that they remain mute at all times and they speak only when he gives them permission to do so.
Both slaves have strong, powerful bodies and unlike the other palace slaves I'd seen earlier, these two had been allowed to wear their hair longer than is usual for a slave and to retain their body hair. Both have identical physiques but differ in that one has thick, black curls whereas the other has whitish-blond, straight hair with the texture of fine silken threads.
Like me they are naked but their bodies have a 'refinement' that I lack. I suppose this difference between us is due to me being a common work-slave. I have the coarseness of the stables and the fields; they have the poise and demeanour of the palace. While my neck and genitals are encircled by iron, they wear collars and cinches of pure, gold that are encrusted with expensive jewels. These mark them as my Master's personal, body slaves.
However, as they move around the room, I notice one thing all three of us have in common; our buttocks give testimony to our Master's anger. Whereas I only wear the eleven, red stripes of my very recent caning, by comparison, their asses bear the layers of regular beatings. I can't help but see the fiery red stripes of their most recent canings superimposed over the dull, reddish marks and fading blue-black bruises of other previous beatings. I'm not to know that our Master has a fondness for 'reddening' the asses of his slaves.
As I watch, the two slaves busy themselves cleaning, dusting and tidying the room. The room is immaculate yet they seem to find imaginary specks of dust to flick away, already spotless floors to sweep, soft cushions to plump up and clothes to unfold and re-fold before replacing them back into wardrobes or drawers. All this is done with a nervous energy almost as though they are fearful of inactivity. I'm not aware of course, but idleness on their part is always rewarded with a trip to the adjacent punishment room.
Suddenly, in the distance, there is the muffled sound of the same gong which I'd heard earlier in the day announcing my Master's departure from the palace for the airstrip. This latest gong announces to the palace and its army of slaves that our Master has returned.
Panic stricken, the two slaves scurry to take their places alongside me. They drop into the 'full obeisance' position and silently indicate that I should do the same. Now all three of us kneel with our heads and palms pressed to the floor and our legs spread wide to expose our private parts to our Master's full scrutiny; we now await his arrival.
I sense the two slaves quaking fear; it is infectious and I too begin to tremble.
To be continued.....
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