The Bezistan Chronicles
 By: Jean-Christophe
(© 2012 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 5
"Geoff's Pet"
 

I am known as ‘slave’!
 

My name used to be Aindrias, now however I'm simply referred to as ‘slave’. However, in my secret thoughts, I still think of myself by my given name. But, I'm always very careful to refer to myself as ‘slave’ in front of my fellow slaves and our overseers. To do otherwise would be unacceptable to my owner, Prince Rashid, who has decreed that all his slaves shall remain nameless.

When I was younger, I used to wonder why this was so, but as I grew older and gained some understanding, I came to realise this was done, quite deliberately, to dehumanise us. Without a name, we are no longer individuals; we are mere beasts-of-burden. That is how our Master views all his slaves and indeed, that is how we slaves see ourselves.

I don't know my age or for how long I've been a slave. If I was aware of time, I would realise that I'm in my nineteenth year. But I don't know this. As a slave, time isn't of any consequence to me. I know only the dull monotony of its passing - today is the same as yesterday and tomorrow promises to be the same as today - with the days stretching into months and the months into years. As with all slaves, any concept of time has no relevance to my life.

I bitterly remember the occasion when both my father, a Greek fisherman and I, a young teenager, were enslaved; although I can’t remember the circumstances of our enslavement.  I vividly recall being brought to this isolated estate somewhere in the Middle East and being presented to our new owner, Prince Rashid. I still recall the humiliation and shame I felt as he examined our naked bodies for the first time and the utter terror that overwhelmed me as he ordered my father to be cruelly flogged for disobedience. Those moments - and our subsequent branding - are fixed indelibly in my consciousness.

After our branding, we were sent to the stables; my father to be trained as a human pony and I as a stable hand. I lost my father that day; indeed I was to learn that family relationships aren't allowed between slaves. Our Master strictly forbids them and insists that his slaves should focus all their attention on him and his needs.

As we began our separate lives as slaves, I watched, at a distance, as my father's resistance was broken down and he became the docile animal that he remains as to this today. When fully trained, he was assigned to pull the rickshaw of Geoffrey Myles-Lytton, the English estate manager and close friend of my Master. In the stables, I was given the duties of a stable-boy.

In my ignorance, I wondered why my father was condemned to such a demeaning existence. At that time, I didn't understand my Master's attitude to his slaves.

Later, I was to learn that he has the Arab’s inherent fondness for horses and regards them with great affection. He would never debase such noble creatures by using them to haul his carriages and drays around the estate. From his perspective, slaves are better suited to perform these baser tasks.

My Master has many fine, thoroughbred horses of various breeds and he takes great pride in his ownership of them. They are his pets and he lavishes much love on them. These pampered creatures are housed in palatial, air conditioned stables where they are fed the finest fodder and are groomed by an army of slaves who cater to their every need.

By comparison, the human ponies and we grooms are stabled in more austere surroundings, without the comfort of air conditioning and where we exist on a bland, unsatisfying diet of specially formulated food designed to keep us fit, lean and healthy. This disparity between the treatment of his horses and his slaves reflects my Master's complete contempt and disdain for us.

At first, I considered my life as a stable slave to be hard; although I subsequently found there are other slaves on the estate whose existence is much bleaker than my own. When I first commenced work in the stables, my duties were determined by my youth and included keeping the large number of traps and carriages used by my master clean and in running order and ensuring that the ornate harness sets worn by the ponies were always polished and sparkling. My other duties included ‘mucking out’ the ponies’ stalls and the spreading of fresh, straw bedding for them.

During this period, the overseer's cane was my ever vigilant teacher and under its tutelage I became a quick learner.

As I grew older and my body developed, I progressed through the ranks until finally, fully matured, I joined a select band of stable slaves - the senior grooms. It was here that I found a small degree of pleasure.

Together with the other senior grooms, I am responsible for the care of the ponies; we grooms exist to serve their needs. We are woken while it is still dark and our first task is to clean and prepare our bodies for the new day.

Then, in the predawn light, we feed and water the ponies before leading them out to an area adjacent to the composting pits where we wait patiently for them to relieve themselves. After that, we take them to the ablution block and prepare them for their day's duties.

Once they are tethered in place, we first of all hose them down with cold water, wetting their bodies prior to body shaving, soaping them, and scrubbing them clean. Faris, the Stable-Master is very fastidious in insisting that the ponies ‘sparkle and shine’ and he will subject them to close scrutiny before they are harnessed; any slackness on the part of a groom is rewarded with two strokes of the cane.

We grooms have our favourite ponies that we choose to work on. I never work on my former father; even after all this time I still have a residual respect for him. My current favourites are two Australian ponies recently acquired by my master.

I overheard a conversation between Faris and one of his assistants and learned that they were once brothers before their enslavement. They are so alike that they could easily be mistaken for twins; but they are not. Formerly known as Liam and Patrick, they are aged twenty-one and nineteen respectively.

When I first saw them, I was strangely attracted to them. Standing at just over six feet and evenly matched at approximately 85 to 90 kilograms, they are heavily muscled and possess magnificent physiques. With their blond hair and blue eyes, they stand out from the other ponies that have darker complexions and hair. Being black-haired and olive-skinned myself, I suppose it is this unique colouring that attracts me to them.

Unusually, they still retain their body hair, unlike all the other ponies that are smooth-bodied. Their muscular limbs are dusted with a golden down that gleams against the deep, brown of their skin.  Their powerful chests have an attractive covering of hair that matches that on their blond, cropped heads and intriguingly, for me, each has a delightful line of slightly darker hair trailing down the centre line of his muscled belly to his thick, golden pubes. For some reason not explained to us grooms, Faris has allowed them to keep this hair.

Strangely, since their arrival, Faris has taken a personal interest in these two slaves. He has personally broken them into harness and taught them all the Arabic commands a pony needs to know and how they are required to respond to these commands. He has reserved them for his personal use and they spend all day harnessed to his trap waiting to deliver him to whatever part of the estate he needs to travel to. This is unusual; in the past he has only ever used whatever ponies were available to him at the time he required them. Although there’s a Spanish pony that he favours and uses frequently. However, it is almost as though Faris has higher plans for the Australian ponies.

Like my fellow grooms, I enjoy my daily contact with the frisky ponies' bodies. Our common nakedness makes for a sexually charged atmosphere and I like nothing better than to feel my hands glide over their wet, soap slicked torsos. It is obvious from their rampantly erect cocks that the ponies also enjoy these close, personal encounters. They aren't alone in this enjoyment - all we grooms sport cocks to rival those of the ponies. My own is always painfully erect and throbbing with unfulfilled lust.

What parts of the ponies do I enjoy working on the most? I don't know. All parts of their bodies are exciting and all offer varying degrees of pleasure. When working on a pony's chest, I playfully tweak his nipples until they are fully erect and I especially like the way they respond to my touch. But then, there is pleasure to be derived from stroking his hard abdominals or inserting my finger into his sensitive navel.

Of course, we must be circumspect in all this; after all we are supposed to be preparing the ponies for their day's labours and not indulging ourselves in sexual pleasure. Sometimes, an impatient overseer will apply his cane to a groom's back; jerking us all back to the reality of our true work. Mostly, however they are indulgent of this covert attention we pay to the ponies. The overseers seem to enjoy watching this interaction between the ponies and their grooms; the ‘tent-poling' in their voluminous pantaloons is testament to this.

I always enjoy soaping and washing the cocks and balls of my two, Australian ponies; I find the rise and fall of their chests and the nervous fluttering of their stomachs, as I do so, to be especially erotic. Surreptitiously, I tickle their balls, gently stroke the sensitive underside of their throbbing, hard cocks and tease their piss-slits. Invariably, as I do this, I feel their legs tremble and their knees sag - just a little. Both possess beautiful penises; each is long, thick and ramrod hard.

They are circumcised and as I look at them I see a particular badge of their slavery - the bright red ring left as a result of their recent skinning. Our Master follows the age-old al-Bahr tradition that all male slaves are to be deprived of this symbol of their manhood. He believes that on becoming a slave, one is no longer considered to be a man.

Somehow, under the guise of working on each pony, I always contrive to move my body closer to him. I like the feel of their muscular hardness pressed up against me and as our chests and bellies touch and our cocks ‘cross swords’, I am overwhelmed by sheer sexual longing. I want for nothing more than to spend a night in their stall with them, where they can fulfil my every fantasy and satisfy my lust. Most of all, I want to be free of my frustration. However, this isn't to be!

My Master, forever disdainful of his slaves and ruthless in his treatment of them, does however recognise that they have sexual needs and he has a fairly relaxed attitude to what happens in the stables between the overseers, the ponies and their grooms.

In the stables, there is a pecking order in operation with the overseers being at the top of the ‘food chain’. To satisfy their sexual appetites, they have first call on any slaves under their control. That is their right, given to them by my Master, and is seen by them as one of the perks of the job.

The overseers have a decided preference for the grooms and very rarely will they interact with a pony - why I don't know? Perhaps they see a pony as being too animal-like whereas a groom, while still a slave, does retain some vestiges of his former humanity.

The grooms, for their part, have learned to respond immediately to an overseer's command to service his cock. They are conditioned to quickly stop whatever they are doing and to either drop onto their knees and take a cock into their mouths or to present their asses for fucking.

When speaking of the grooms, I say ‘they’ and not we because I am excluded from these activities. And frustratingly, I don't understand why this is so.

Inexplicably, I'm NEVER used for sex by either the overseers or other grooms. It seems that I'm ‘off limits’ to them and even though they look at me lustfully, I'm left alone. I'm not stabled with the other grooms - whilst they are locked into a communal stall, I sleep alone. Each night, my wrists are fastened behind my back and I'm locked into a stall by myself.

Here, as I lie on the straw covered floor, I'm surrounded by the sounds of the ponies and grooms in their uninhibited enjoyment of each other. Frustratingly, I'm tormented by their sounds of sexual pleasure; by their slurping, grunting, moaning, panting and farting as they suck or fuck one another to climax. How I envy them!

As I listen to them, my own cock is rampantly erect and my balls are churning for release. And with my hands fastened behind me, I'm denied this release.  Occasionally, there are times when my arousal is so great that I ejaculate spontaneously - the intensity of these ejaculations only adds to my overall feelings of frustration. Enviously, as I listen to the sounds of the rutting ponies and grooms, I picture them humping and thrusting into each other and I long to join them.

I ask myself - which would I enjoy the most? Fucking or being fucked? If only I knew!

However, there is one stall that remains silent; its occupants impervious to all the activity around them. The occupants of that stall are the two Australian ponies.

Even though they share a stall, I know that neither is sexually active. I was puzzled by their indifference to sex until I overheard Faris talking to another overseer. He believes that the two recently enslaved ponies, quite mistakenly, still think of themselves as brothers and with their obsolete ‘western values’, they have decided NEVER to indulge in sex with each other. Faris concludes that time and their natural urges will overcome their scruples and that eventually they too, like all the other ponies, will be vigorously fucking one another.

Why am I excluded from the activities allowed the other slaves? I don't know!

I'm aware that the overseers refer to me as ‘Geoff's pet’ and that they are resentful towards me. This resentment is directed at me in the overuse of their canes and I, more than any other groom, am likely to be punished for any real or imagined misdemeanour.  I'm not to know the estate manager Geoff had inexplicably taken a liking to me upon my arrival and had strictly ordered Faris, the Stable-Master to protect me from the predations of the overseers, ponies and other grooms. I've always sensed that Faris strongly disapproves of this and, strangely, of late he has shown me a number of little kindnesses.

When he is absolutely sure that the estate manager is well away from the stables, he'll order one of the other grooms to illicitly ‘milk’ me. How I now look forward to these clandestine occasions and my gratitude to Faris knows no bounds. Because of this, he has my complete devotion and loyalty.

Once, in a moment of weakness, he confided in me that Geoff saw me as being different from the other slaves and was keeping me for something special. Perhaps, it is as Faris said.

"He intends to fuck you himself'.

Certainly, over the years of my slavery, the estate manager has taken a personal interest in my development. There isn't any doubt that, in his eyes, I'm a slave and no different to any other slave on the estate. However, he has always involved himself in my physical well-being. He subjects me to regular inspections to gauge my musculature and, if not satisfied, he will direct Faris to assign me to duties that will rectify any shortcomings in my physique.

Now, at the peak of my physical development, even Faris grudgingly acknowledges the estate manager's efforts and he often tells me.

"You're a magnificent slave and one any master would be proud to own".

I glow with pride at Faris' compliments. Slaves, of course, don't own their bodies, and possessing nothing, they take immense pride in a master's appreciation of their appearance. And so it is with me.

In many ways I'm very similar to the Australian ponies. Our bodies are almost identical in height and weight. The three of us possess broad shoulders, narrow waists and long legs. Like them I have a muscular chest and a flat, hard-muscled belly and I am very aware of my large, circumcised cock and balls. I am slightly younger and they have blond-hair and blue eyes whereas I have black hair and brown eyes.

As I have already noted, both slaves still possess their body hair; normally my Master requires that his slaves' bodies are smooth and hairless. My own body meets his requirements in that it is smooth and glabrous. In my natural state, my head is covered with thick, black curls but it is cropped short as befits a slave.

And, if allowed to grow, I know my chest and belly would have a hair covering. But since I was brought here at an early age and my body kept smooth, I really don't know the true appearance of my body or how it would look if I was a free man.

On his last inspection of me, the estate manager showed special interest in my buttocks - playfully patting them and laughingly telling Faris that.

"The slave's ass is a thing of great beauty and appeal."

And sensuously, that is how I see the asses of the two Australian ponies.

Like all the grooms, I like to linger on the ponies’ buttocks as I prepare them for harnessing. I feel a special eroticism as I massage the soap onto their muscular, well rounded buttocks and I always manage to slide a soap- slicked finger into the valleys between seeking out their tight, sensitive ass-holes.

At first, they reacted with horror at this; the sharp intake of their breathing, the tight clenching of their buttocks, the movement away from me and the shuffling of their feet all indicated their abhorrence at what I was doing. Still, tethered as they were, there wasn't any way they could avoid my probing finger.

Overtime, they have overcome their natural shyness to such extent that I now believe they actually welcome the attention I pay them. I sense this in the way their flanks quiver at my touch, the relaxation of their sensitive sphincters and the less than subtle pushing back of their asses against my finger in an invitation to probe deeper.

I also sense that Faris is correct; slowly but surely their resolve not to have sex with each other is crumbling. I am certain that, as he predicts, they will soon be fucking one another and, in my imagination, they include me.

Whenever, I look into their handsome faces, I'm entranced by their dazzling white teeth and the brilliant blue of their eyes where I see mirrored all the sadness and disbelief of the newly enslaved. All too soon, these will give way to despair and will be replaced by an empty hopelessness as they learn to accept the grim reality of their fates.

I know - for I have been there!

 

Still, I'm unaffected by their sadness. Slaves don't feel sympathy for each other; each is too pre-occupied with himself to show concern for another slave. For me, as with all slaves, there is grim satisfaction in knowing that others are to share my fate.

Today, as I harness them to Faris' rickshaw he seeks me out. I have been chosen by the estate manager to deliver the Master's two black ponies and his cart to the front steps of the palace. This is normally a job for a responsible overseer and like Faris I’m surprised that I have been commanded to do so.

Unlike the overseer, who would normally drive them, I'm to lead the ponies up the long driveway to the palace and tether them at the bottom of the front steps. As Faris points out, my Master wouldn't want his upholstery soiled by my naked, sweat-stained body and fouled by my stable stench.

Then worryingly, I'm commanded to climb the marble steps to the front door of the palace and assume the ‘display’ position. There, I'm to wait for my Master's arrival.

I overwhelmed with fear and quake at the thought of coming face to face with my Master.

To be continued...

Posted: 03/02/12